“We have our own warcraft under way,” Utopia announced.

“Apollo’s plan?” It hurts when I hear anyone pronounce Apollo’s name with hate, even someone with as good reason as war-stained Achilles has.

“We will not unweave it while you have no replacement.”

The Great Soldier nodded. “That’s good sense. I—”

Static flashed, the coats displaying only harsh white blankness as, across the rolling surface of the Earth, all the worlds Utopia dreamed of turned to nothing. Four seconds, five, six Utopia mourned the untimely loss of one of their own, somewhere on the far side of the Earth, or past it. They have not disarmed death, reader, not enough. Not yet.

“Violence?” Achilles asked. “Or an accident?”

Silence held the Utopians as their vizors told them the story of whatever comrade had fallen. “An accident, this time.”

Godlike Achilles breathed deep. “I need to know what you’re doing.”

“We will tell you. We won’t tell Mycroft.”

Hubris again, reader! Will I never escape the sin which made me raise my voice, indignant, to this kind-descending daemon and protest: “You know I would ne—”

“Your will is too broken for you to control your mind, or tongue,” Utopia admonished.

Still I snapped back against their righteous sting. “I’ve read Apollo’s Iliad. I already know the plan by heart.”

“No, Mycroft, you do not. Not all.”

“But I—”

«Enough, Mycroft,» Achilles ordered in our native Greek. His frown contained no sympathy. «If Jehovah Mason asked you what we said here, would you be able to stop yourself from answering?»

I choked on a sob. «No.»

His face softened. «I’m sure somewhere on this globe great leaders of men are waiting for you to do a thousand tasks for them.»

«But—»

«I’ll call you when we need you. Now we don’t.»

My throat tightened. «Alright.»

«And, Mycroft.»

«Yes?»

«Don’t eavesdrop this time. I know you spy by habit, but don’t spy on this. Never on things like this.»

«Alright.»

«I have your oath?» Achilles caught my eyes, and held them.

«You have my oath.»

He did, my tears as well, as I cursed the weakness which made me, not only unworthy, but unable to serve the cause as purely as I loved it. I had indeed many orders waiting from many masters, and the Utopian robed in storm rode back with me to make sure I could not double back to spy. Utopia’s car was quick to whisk us from those salt-swept sands, though not quite too quick to let me see—or rather not see—one last thing.

Utopia: “Take this, Achilles. It will suit and serve you well.”

Achilles: “What is it?”

Utopia: “Nothing.”