Force sharpened Quarriman’s final syllable, and I remembered suddenly that the bull’s-eye sigil had started on her breast. They were multiplying, these symbols for our many sides and stances. It would be a strange Olympic summer that did not bloom with flags of Hives and nation-strats, but the bull’s-eye bloomed with them, O.S.’s supporters printing bull’s-eye circles in their Hive colors: European blue and gold, Humanists’ Olympic polychrome, Mitsubishi red and white with a dash of green for Greenpeace, Hiveless gray or black with Romanova’s gold and ocean blue, and, here and there, the Cousins’ azure and white, or Gordian’s gold, black, and red. I wish I could say the crosshairs was rare, that grim addition to the bull’s-eye which declares support, not just for O.S.’s past work, but for its current choice of Target. I peeked from Papa’s shelter, just enough to glance at Quarriman, and see. Was there (Murder! Murder in this very room!) a crosshairs on her bull’s-eye? No, her rings were clean. The Olympic Champion supported Sniper’s principle, but not Sniper’s plan. Not yet.

Lesley’s eyes caught Papa’s. “Have you already play-arrested Jehovah Mason? Like you play-arrested me just now?”

I felt Papa’s quick intake of breath. A laugh? Sigh? Curse? They merge sometimes, like rivers into sea.

“Knowledge would facilitate My search for Sniper.”

All sense of playful sparring left the room when He spoke.

Lesley: “What kind of knowledge?”

Jehovah: “Secrets: allies, homes, resources, vehicles, loves, enemies beside Myself and Mine. A human’s path follows these things.”

Acting O.S.: “You must realize why I won’t reveal things like that.”

Target: “I abuse neither Knowledge, nor Trust, nor the fruits of human misfortune.”

Assassin: “Well, I don’t give knowledge or trust to enemies.”

Prince: “Then My search is unlikely to outstrip the police’s.” A nod of praise for the Commissioner General.

Rebel: “Not if you sabotage their investigation. You’re powerful enough.”

Tyrant: “From your lips, this request surprises Me.”

Human: “What else are you good for?”

God: “…”

Human: “Well?”

Her question silenced Him a very long time, all the way through the remaining planning and confused farewells—confusing for Lesley and Quarriman, who did not understand why He stayed silent, how vulnerable He is to words. Even as Quarriman led us up the central turret to exit by the City Gate, the wonders of Esperanza City spreading lively at our feet could not distract Him from the Realities of Idea. What good was He?

“This city seems lively to you?” Apollo asked, gazing out with me across the domes, where clouds of black birds schooled like flakes of ash.

“Of course!” I answered. “See the seats and tracks expanding, stadiums rising, the great Games sprouting up before our eyes. Look there”—I pointed—“around the training fields, how the team colors mix like crocuses on snow? And the ice sculptures on the street where we arrived, you can see the whole long tunnel glowing like a… like a…”

“Like the life-force ghost trail of a slain dragon,” Apollo finished for me.