The set-set clung tighter to Martin’s arm. <this morning’s list was partial. these points are hard to spot, even for me. i mostly work investment trends, sanling clients. i didn’t realize the points were people. i had no idea deleting a live datapoint would kill someone.>

“Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble. But you’ve found more murders since, yes? More deleted points than the initial eighty-one?”

<yes.>

“How many more?”

<some.>

“I’m not a dentist and I don’t like pulling teeth. How many?”

<9.4 per year, like i said before. actually, it starts out at 9.1, then goes up to 9.4 later.>

Papa’s nose twitched. “After how long?”

<the first thirty years or so are 9.1, the rest are 9.4.>

“Thirty years?” Papa looked to Martin, who met him with equal pallor. “That’s a lot more than seven years.”

<you know what, i refuse to do this. i don’t care what you do to me. i won’t be complicit in wrecking everything for everyone forever.>

In seventy years of service, how many attempts at self-sacrifice to save a friend has Papa watched, and watched fail? “You can’t save Sidney and Eureka.”

<you think it’s sidney and eureka i care about? you’re a european, you must see the consequences for you, too!>

“European?” It was Aldrin who repeated it, but that steely tone might as easily have risen from any of the digital faces that ringed the set-set. “You can’t masquerade here. You recognized this data. Ten billion points in seven groups with two percent floating, you know the proportions as the Hives. You know which Hive is which by size, so you know which are the masterminds, which benefited.”

The skin of sensors shifted over the set-set’s trembling limbs.

“Tell me,” Aldrin pressed, “when you tried to delete a point yourself just now, were you trying to save the whole, or the Mitsubishi?”

<lies! i didn’t know!> The set-set groped for Papa, unused to judging distance with their eyes. <you must believe me, commissioner general, i didn’t know anything!>

“I don’t give a goat’s crap if you knew or not. Somebody tell me how many murders are on that list before I confiscate every hard drive in the building, furry or otherwise!” Papa swatted at the Techupine, which lumbered to safety behind its master’s knees.

<you won’t get it from me. ask them, the spying utopians. they know everything already. they’re the ones that want this. let it come from them, not me.>

Rarely in my history, reader, have I been tempted so to lie. It was Utopia who supplied this last inch of fuse which let the spark reach the powder keg. They were innocent, as innocent as the Emperor who had sent Martin on this quest with no motive but justice, but you will not believe that. You distrust Utopia already. You distrusted them the instant the name ‘Apollo’ made you shout inside: A cult! A cult! You have hungered these many chapters for some evidence to let distrust mature into suspicion. Even when I prove another guilty, when I put a name to that gloved hand which dropped the Seven-Ten list in Ockham’s back room, you will still believe Utopia consented, knew, as shamans know what sky will turn to storm, or what village boy will grow into a monster. They didn’t know. I don’t care if you don’t believe me. Utopia knew nothing of O.S., Apollo knew nothing, and if the Mardis knew enough of human nature to sense a predatory darkness pent up by these years of peace, they did not know to call that sin O.S.