“H-hello. I’m M-Mycroft Canner.” The microphones had trouble catching my first words, stifled in my throat as in a dream. “I know I don’t deserve to live. I don’t ask you to accept what’s been done—I wouldn’t. All I ask is this: please, blame only me. If the Emperor, Chair Kosala, and Tribune Mason deceived you, they only did it because they believe human beings are better than most of us do. Please don’t punish them for having hope. And please don’t punish my fellow Servicers either. Three days ago rumors started spreading that I was one of them, and since then six have been killed and hundreds injured by attacks which should have hurt only me, not them. In future if one of you finds me in the street, and asks if I am Mycroft Canner, I swear to you I will not lie, or run, I’ll answer honestly, and take whatever punishment your anger wants to give, I deserve it all. But if you find a Servicer who says they aren’t me, please believe them. Please don’t attack the others. They have no more involvement in this than the bad luck of wearing the same uniform I do.”

“Enough, Mycroft,” the Emperor ordered. “Encouraging violence against one of my Familiares is a crime, even if it is against yourself. And you know you will not walk the streets again.”

“Yes, Caesar.” The command of silence was as welcome as a shield.

The Enemy stepped forward, or rather lurched forward on the crutches which helped him battle gravity. “Why are you protecting Mycroft Canner, MASON?”

Caesar did not grant Tully a glance. “The Emperor does not discuss the sentencing of Familiares.”

“But in this case—”

“That is the Lex Familiaris, Hiveless,” the Emperor snapped. “I will not break it. I will say only that, from now on, I shall never again let Mycroft Canner free to wander in public. Those of you who would use Canner as an excuse to vent on Servicers these violent instincts you’re so expert on will find their target lacking, and yourselves prosecuted for your assaults with the full strictness of Cousin’s law, and the harshness of my own. Now, leave here, Tully Mardi. The world’s eyes, like mine, should be on the Senate and my son’s report right now, not you and your vendetta. The Tribune would be within their rights to have you arrested for inciting riot. Go.”

Tully smiled, as if he had not felt comfortable upon the Rostra until someone tried to kick him off. “I will not go, MASON, not while you’re still hiding the real reason Mycroft Canner targeted my bash’. We predicted that this war was coming all those years ago, and Canner tried to silence us so we couldn’t prepare the world for it, just like you’re trying to silence me now!”

Mason’s fists clenched, but in public he could not contradict the only living Mardi’s claims of what the Mardis tried to do.

“You’re still deceiving everyone!” Tully continued. “You think I don’t have evidence? There’s a recording circulating of you, MASON, and J.E.D.D. Mason meeting together with Mycroft Canner in Alexandria, only five days ago, both of you sharing secrets with Mycroft about the Seven-Ten list case, and proving both you and the Censor knew something about the Anonymous and Felix Faust lying about their own Seven-Ten lists, pretending they’d been tampered with, to try to cover up what really happened. You knew then what danger the public was in, and you did nothing!”