“You mean the Hives?”

“Viae,” Jehovah corrected. “Branches. Ways. Going Ways. Only the leaving Hives say the Rest are wrong.”

“Which Hives do you think are leaving?” Faust asked at once.

“You and Utopia.”

Faust stroked the bristle of his chin. “You think we’re dying out? I could see that, we are the smallest two.”

“Not dying. You leave, explore, exitis, go.” The Child flexed his still-growing fingers, not an idle fidget but deliberate practice, like an athlete impatient to rehabilitate after an injury.

“The Utopians are leaving, that’s true,” Faust confirmed. “I doubt if anyone expects many to stay once they have Mars.”

“You go too. They go out, you go in.” Jehovah illustrated this point, one small hand pointing to the infinity beyond the ceiling, the other to the equal infinity within His uncle’s skull. “Either the Trunk is on Earth, or in Space, or Inside with Brain Words. If Either of you is right, the Majority is wrong.”

“Majority,” His uncle repeated slowly, playing with the word like caramel.

“Histories say scared Majorities hurt Minorities. That’s why you hide. Utopia pretends ut because they’re openly giving Implants to U-beasts they aren’t secretly giving them to humans too, and you pretend ut because you don’t make Set-Sets anymore you aren’t making other, stranger Things. They make U-Beast Jokes to make Others forget Mars will be real; you make Number Puzzles to make Others forget your Machine-Brain-Copy will be real too.” The Child reached up to touch His uncle’s head above the ear, where thinning hair left visible the reddened pressure marks left from the Headmaster’s last session with the mind-to-machine experiments that every Fellow at the Institute will claim are nothing. “Gordian isn’t in Danger now,” the Child continued, “because Utopia is so conspicuous that all the Afraid target them. You don’t seem alien because they are more so. You need that. There has to be an Outsider or the next strangest will be named Outsider. If Caesar Apollonem condit in Pantheon, si plus Utopianes in Pantheon qu—” He caught Himself. “If there are more Utopianes in Pantheon than Brillists, you will be in Danger.”

The Headmaster nodded, a slow commixture of agreement and praise. “Perfect. I’d never have phrased it as Branches and Trunk, but you’re right, we do depend on the Utopians to focus Paranoia on themselves.”

“How will you stop it?”

The Headmaster sighed. “I don’t dare mess with the Pantheon Vote. Cornel MASON is a good Person in most ways, but if they found out I deliberately blocked Apollo from the Pantheon they’d destroy me.”

The Child looked at His uncle. “People must not kill, we don’t know the full Consequences.”

“ ‘Destroy’ does not always mean ‘kill,’ ” Faust corrected. “Do you want to help protect us, Donatien? To help protect me and my Hive?”

Jehovah took nine silent seconds to think. “You want me to keep my Fathers friendly ad you?”

“That would help, yes, but what I need most isn’t that, it’s this.” Faust tapped the Child lightly on the temple, then eased Him forward on his lap, pointing through the window. “Look at that Pair there, in the Cleopatra Room, third on the left, the 3-5-10-9-3-10-3-10 and the 4-3-5-9-3-8-3-9. What do you think of them?”