Papa shrugged. «Before Sniper could take off again, Dominic jumped them from the car roof and held on hard enough to strangle.»

«Sniper’s dead?»

With decades, even the unzipping of a body bag grows routine. «This is what Dominic caught.» Papa eased the bag open, baring the familiar face with open eyes still lifelike. «Sniper’s cameras never left it for a second, it can’t be a substitution. This is what shot J.E.D.D. Mason.» He aimed a light, highlighting the crinkling of synthetic skin, and shards of plastic vertebrae which poked out through the crushed gel of the poseable neck. «There’s no robotics or modifications inside. Serial number checks out and everything. For all science can tell me it’s a normal Sniper Doll.» He held my eyes. «Thisbe introduced me to Private Croucher.»

A sob gave my chest and shoulder their first taste of the incision’s pain breaking through the anesthesia. «Then it was Bridger’s fault. Bridger said it was, I thought they just felt guilty that they couldn’t stop it.»

«Bridger brought this to life?»

I almost laughed. «It’s your fault too, Papa. You fried Bridger’s electronics when you tried to corner them at the Sniper Doll museum. They lost contact with their little soldiers, and must have animated a Sniper Doll to help protect them. Bridger always said Sniper looked fun and friendly.»

Papa’s voice darkened. «Then you agree the real Sniper was never at Romanova?»

I nodded. «They’re out there somewhere, watching, and, knowing Sniper, they won’t rest until they’ve killed Jehovah again. They’ll try again, soon.»

Papa almost smiled. «Sniper’s ahead of you.» He reached to my tracker and set it to mimic his as he flicked through pictures of Sniper standing beside images of burning Brussels and other fresh events to prove that it still lived. Papa’s sigh was not an easy one. «They’re transmitting manifestos in all directions, swearing they won’t stop until they’ve liberated the world from Madame and Epicurus Mason, and calling on all free people who still love their Hives to join them.»

I expected to see Sniper smug in the photos, the showman’s glint in its eye as it paraded costumes tailored for its new Rogue Assassin persona, but there was no play now. It wore its Humanist boots, a practical shirt, almost Hiveless gray, and its dark eyes were alight with a grave, steady fire, almost a grown-up’s. Such a face even those who no longer play with dolls might follow.

«Go back,» I snapped, «two images ago, was that Tully Mardi with Sniper?»

«Yes.» Papa scrolled back to a still shot of Sniper and the Enemy, shaking hands before a wall-sized world map like two freshly allied heads of state. «We’d detained Tully for inciting riot, but Sniper’s people busted them out, and Tully went, the fool. I would have dropped the charges if they’d cooperated, but now they’ve got resisting arrest and conspiracy and all sorts of crimes on their record. Sniper’s no fool, though. Tully’s stuck with Sniper now, on the run together, and Tully’s making speeches at Sniper’s side about how the war they’ve been predicting all this time is this one, Sniper against Epicurus Mason, independent Hives against unifying the Hives. By implication it’s also Tully against you, with those who like you on Jehovah’s side and those who don’t on Sniper’s. How many Humanists was it who put you on the Wish List again? Nine hundred million?»