"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm…

"CASCADE." The barest of nods. "I've been playing 'I Spy' relentlessly with myself to pass the time. Pretty even as things stand, but I'm certain I can best me."

"I, uh... debriefed the Small Controller."

Your former double stiffens.

"Did he capitulate? Or was he a fanatic to the end?"

"Well... he said he was you. And that you... were still the Small Controller."

"Of course. Of course! One life is merely the compliment of the other, of course that's his final play."

"You weren't taken in, I presume, CASCADE?" He looks at you, both eyebrows raised.

Asked as if the question scared him.

"No way. The old team are back together, stronger than ever."

"Heartening to hear. It would be cosmically sad for us to get this close and have it flicker to nothing."

He looks beyond you for a slow moment.

You'd say 'eerie'. An eerie moment.

"In case you need me to say it straight, CASCADE -- I am anti-compromised in both role and person. I am completely and utterly myself."

Better for everyone that you just take him at his word. The alternative... well, there's a recently vacated room at the bottom of a silo, if you're interested.

You have more pressing things to worry about than this. Better for the assignment that you just believe him and move on.

"Uh, well, you know, maybe a little..."

"I don't blame you. He took me all the way in for five whole years." He looks past you. "I feel for him, somehow. Who's going to notice when we leave the party? Who'll remember what we brought along?"

"Fanatic to the end, I would say." (Eye him suspiciously.)

"Out with it... What lies has he spun within the narrows of your mind?"

"He said I'd extracted the wrong one. That he was HOLOCENE."

"There's more to the Opera than me. You're going to have to work with other people on this."

"Of course, CASCADE. That's a sacrifice the directorship of M.I.H.O. has decided it's willing to make. We put it to a vote."

"My one condition -- I won't work with anyone from the old Crew. They simply cannot be trusted."

His voice is reasonable, calm -- utterly at odds with the sparks of fear behind his eyes.

He can't face them again. A part of him still believes he let them down.

"Why not?"

"CASCADE, I myself may no longer be compromised, but everything I said about the Crew still holds true."

"We were betrayed once -- now we are contaminated, cordoned off. Hazardous. The shape cannot be reformed."

A lost cause. He's not going to budge on this one.

Standard Operant Bureau procedure: once burned, an asset is not to be revived except under exceptional circumstances.

"Not even Karolina?"

"KINDRED was already susceptible to all sorts of manipulations, primarily yours. And after a stint in enemy captivity..." He glances at her table and lowers his voice.

"It might not even be KINDRED anymore. For all we know, she's Weeping Eye now. Techno-fascist to her core."

"KINDRED was already susceptible to all sorts of manipulations, primarily yours. And after a stint in enemy captivity..."

"What about Ramses?"

"Absolutely not. If non-lucid is the order of the day, I would rather pick a vagrant myself. There's one in the Hill of Pigs who claims to be able to hear microwaves."

They are natural enemies, organisms which, if placed in a jar together, would slaughter one another instantly.

"Fine, what about Vespar's ghost?"

"A reanimated narc? A ghost cop? Unhinged, yet intriguing. I'd consider it, but only out of grim curiosity, if I'm honest."

"... Though it's unsurprising that his consciousness left some kind of impression upon the terrestrial plane... Maybe it could hold up useful placards in-theatre..."

"You're not leaving me many choices."

"I trust you to find new allies worthy of our assignment, CASCADE." He smiles encouragingly at you.

"How's the hole?" (Gesture at your forehead.)

"Breezy."

"I was aware that the brain itself has no tactile receptors, but nothing prepares you for the realisation that what it feels like to have a head is entirely dependent on the surrounding skull receptors."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that if I touch the soft pia mater, then it feels as though that thin layer of skin is enveloping a great mass of nothing, a gristly void in the centre of my head."

Pia mater: the thin, almost transparent final membrane protecting the brain. On top of which you found the small controller.

Your former double extends a slow forefinger and pushes it inside his head.

Just the tip.

"Pretty cool."

Void is exactly what it is. The body is weight, presence -- the mind is conjecture, absence.

"So... it doesn't hurt?"

"No. It doesn't hurt."

"Nor does it, as famed anthropologist Gerardo Muela claimed, 'open one to the visions of the night sky'. But that's for the best, I suppose..."

He doesn't think it's for the best at all. Part of him is still hoping that the visions will arrive, albeit late.

Trepanation is hardly the most extreme thing an operant has done in pursuit of becoming a supranaturally-inclined spy. Nor is it, for that matter, the only one involving bodily mutilation.

"Trepanation gave him visions?"

"Muela spent thirty years living amongst an Ansaunni tribe that practiced ritual trepanation -- not for medical reasons, you see, but spiritual ones."

"After being initiated in the customs of the tribe he was allowed to undergo the procedure, and claimed the visions entered directly through the hole if he stood outside with the hole pointed upwards on clear night."

He's been out staring at the sky every night since you forcibly inserted that drill into his skull.

"Tell me the truth, is that the real reason why you wanted me to trepan you?"

"Nonsense, CASCADE." A light smile plays on his lips.

"But then again, the world is always many things at once."

"Actually, I don't want to know. Sounds existentially troubling."

"Thank you again, CASCADE."

"Do you remember the photograph we took here, in 91?"

"Of course. We were sitting in that booth over there." He points across the bar.

"TAXMAN, ESTOC, VIRTUE, you, RADIAN, KINDRED, me." He flicks a finger at each, no hesitation.

The air charges as he recites each name.

Like a ritual.

"I'm hardly going to forget the most flagrant breach of stagecraft I've ever committed in my professional life."

"I found it, you know. In TAXMAN's office."

"Even after the crew collapse, he didn't destroy it? Schoolboy error."

"Though the true error, of course, was taking it in the first place... Oh well." He smiles to himself.

Photons propelled through silver halide gelatine, nothing but the momentary flash of a false star.

"Why did you come?"

"Because it was your birthday."

"It wasn't. I just said it was."

"I know, I said 'birthday' in inverted commas."

"And now, five years later, it is still not your birthday... yet here we'll all gather once more."

"So? I thought you were immune to sentimentalism."

"But you're not, are you CASCADE? Not quite. So along we all went, for you, despite the risks."

"And why we'll do so again, in some form."

"I want to try something with you, HOLOCENE... help me work through the possibilities of our assignment."

"You mean a game of hypotheticals, CASCADE?" A boyish smile appears on his face. "I enjoy hypotheticals. They fall somewhere between fiction and so-called reality."

The narrow space where anything which is not can safely exist within his mind.

"Give me the parameters. The 'what' is obvious -- zeroing out a major Luzian diplomatic figure. Now tell me -- how, and where?"

"Say the idea is to plant a bomb on the Luzian delegation's boat."

"Plot dead on arrival, CASCADE. Don't do it."

"Oh, come on!"

"The biggest question in this scenario is how you are even going to get close to that boat. It will not be docking in any commercial port and in fact, might not even dock at all -- they may stay offshore and send in the delegation via a disguised barge."

You can almost hear the warm hum of his brain as it processes and cools itself.

"So if your plan is dependant on being able to get a bomb onboard, high probability you're putting yourself in a position where you're going to have to improvise. And high grade explosives do not lend themselves well to improvisation."

"Probable conclusion: you end up having to plant the bomb in some other location, a tuk-tuk, or a tram, probably -- civilian casualties abound."

"Unless you enlist a depressive or fanatic to charge into the boat on a smaller vessel... Neither to be trusted, of course."

"But say we can get someone on the boat?"

"Say you do. It's still a suicide mission in all but name. But, let's suppose you already know that and don't care..."

"The more important problem is that you're not getting your hands on a device with the yield to sink an open water vessel, so whatever bomb you do place requires extreme precision of placement."

"Now you're in a scenario where you're trapped with your targets on the same contained location that you're aiming to destroy. Highly unfavourable."

As unfavourable as the scenario is, there is a comfort to seeing it lucidly played out before you.

"Doesn't sound like a goer. Thanks, HOLOCENE..."

"We can think of better plans, CASCADE. Come back tomorrow and we can try again."

"Yeah, that was just a test one..."

"Wait." He lifts a dagger-like forefinger.

"How about a poisoning operation?"

"That's better as a prelude to the zeroing out than as the method itself. You see, CASCADE..."

"For all their technology, the Weeping Eye are old school. A delegation with an important state figure is not only going to bring a body double for show, they're going to bring one specifically to take the bullet."

He's right -- if you fall for a decoy instead of the real thing, all your careful planning and execution will have been for nothing.

"If you manage to secrete then release a deadly poison, then I anticipate you manage to kill a few of his guard, maybe the body double himself, before they figure it out and put the target out of harm's way."

"So how would we go about poisoning them?"

"Ventilation. Vehicles. Meals. Drinks. Clothes. The tried-and-tested fling in the face."

"But that of course requires precise intelligence -- where they'll be, how many their number."

"If I were you, I'd find out where they get their laundry done and make an asset of one of the hired hands. Put a nerve agent directly into the underwear."

Comical, yes, but also horrifying. The last place you would suspect.

"Then we pick off any stragglers one by one."

"Like I say, CASCADE. Better as a prelude than the method itself. At the very least... you lay some goons low. Clear the way for a clean shot."

Maybe breathing is slow-acting poison that takes eight decades to kill. Death's contingency when he can't get a clean shot at you.

"Okay, that doesn't sound so bad."

"Standard set-up, no trimmings. Single gunman, broad daylight."

"We arrive at the missionary position of assassination. Seems like a fine plan to me, so long as you don't intend to survive."

SURVIVAL IS SECONDARY. ANONYMOUS MARTYRDOM, ETERNAL.

"A Luzian diplomat will travel with a security detail of four, maybe five armed Weeping Eye agents. All trained in ballistics, able to identify the source of gunfire within seconds. This is assuming you have a good vantage point."

"Meaning that after the first shot, you will have time to fire off three, maybe four quick rounds before they fire back. And I guarantee you, they are a better shot than us."

"Where is a good vantage point for something like this?"

"Ideal scenario? Pylon, long-range rifle, moving tram."

A shot far beyond you, or any of your known and revealed Crew.

"They are almost certain to use trams while in the city. If you can anticipate which and wait for them atop a pylon, there's a chance you might be able to get a clean shot off before it moves and cuts off their chance for a response."

"That's your best bet." He says conclusively. "As long as you've got someone who can shoot with you."

HOLOCENE thinks, and the fog of war dissipates before the both of you. The landscape does not look inviting, but at least it is visible.

"I only need one shot."

"Every assassin in history has only needed 'one shot'. Very few of them get it."

"Still sounds better than some of the other scenarios."

"As I said -- a fine plan if surviving isn't a priority. Other than that... that plan is doom-sealed."

"What about several gunmen, an ambush?"

He closes his eyes for a moment and watches the scenarios play out.

The bump of his pupils moves rapidly under the convex domes of his eyelids, as though he were dreaming.

"Too many variables to properly account for, CASCADE, location being prime among them." He pauses. "Which is not to say a single pistol can't ignite a global war."

"Ultimately, the ambush scenario is one that comes down to an invisible game of nerve, with you and the Luzians making the same calculation -- how public is each of you willing to go?"

"What do you mean?"

"The more public they are, the safer they are from potential attackers, but at the same time, the less controlled the environment."

"An analogous consideration applies to our side. The more publicly we're willing to ambush them, the more dangerous the scenario for us -- but the more likely to succeed."

For a moment, you catch a glimpse of HOLOCENE's schematics, a machine of moving parts where the alteration of any single piece sends reverberations through the entire structure...

"Full public, I don't give a fuck."

"Then you're just inviting high entropy into the equation."

"It's not just the Weeping Eye that you have to factor in. The police will get involved, either on time or too late. If there are civilians around, hostages are on the board..."

"How much gunpowder are you willing to stain your hands with, CASCADE?"

"Private. A secluded spot where we can catch them pants down."

"It would depend on where you manage to catch them, and how you anticipated their being in such a place...the Pitol Tract, for instance, or the Shrine to the Deathless Heroes of Techno-fascism."

"Assuming you found a location with no passersby or cape narcs, my estimation is that it turns into a 'pick-who-lives' situation. Gun on gun... one to one."

'Muerte cruzada'. A firing squad arranged in a circle.

"Meaning we all get the chance to kill each other."

"Precisely."

"The way I see it, CASCADE, this scenario ends with you deciding what's more important to you -- the assignment, or your Crew." He gives you a sharp glance.

You've done it before. You could do it again. Couldn't you?

"Meaning we all get the chance to wang each other."

"So 50/50 odds. Not bad."

"Take a little off because you're unfortunately aligned with the Operant Bureau. 60/40 against."

"Sabotage. We engineer an accident on their boat or their tram."

"Risky business, CASCADE... the same problem with suicide methods applies to assassination techniques. The more overt methods are more likely to succeed. Deniable, made-to-look-like-accidental methods tend to be gruesome and end in injury rather than death."

"Supposing you manage to learn with some degree of certainty which tram they will be riding, and you arrange for someone to blow out the wires at the nearest pylon."

"Accident ensues. Horrific? Undoubtedly. Lethal? Not necessarily."

The freckles and splatter patterns of blood droplets are indistinguishable from one another on the face of a tram driver pinned under rubble. The steel beams that have crushed her legs are the only thing keeping her blood inside her body. Even an inch of motion, and the arteries gush...

"Sounds messy."

"Accidents are almost always uglier than assassinations, CASCADE. No consideration for efficacy, people left half-alive..."

"Don't get me wrong: there is something to be said for a sabotage plot, but you need a clean-up crew. Someone to go in to the wreckage and be ready to put a bullet in the head of any survivors, at which point you're almost as exposed as if you'd just gone with the standard-issue gun option."

He plays with your potential future selves like a child with soldier toys.

The toys always seem to die horribly.

"Not ideal... but there are worse scenarios you could put across the table."

"You're saying a bomb is safer."

"Explosives, by definition, are unsafe, CASCADE."

"What would you suggest?"

"Actually, maybe another time." (Go back.)

"Your time is yours, as mine is my own. Unless you subscribe to a different theory of time."

"Let's do the permutations thing again, HOLOCENE."

"The time for experimental thinking is over, CASCADE. We must avoid blurring realities so far that, when we come to the execution itself, we are not thwarted by illusions."

"If this is how you'd like to spend your director's stand-up, CASCADE, I'm happy to oblige. Sing to me a scenario."

"My mind's burnt out from last time, CASCADE. Give it a bit more time."

"How about this: M.I.H.O. and the Opera team up. Take on a new assignment together."

"Excellent idea, CASCADE. M.I.H.O. would assist you in completing 'the assignment', while you would join M.I.H.O. as the agency's first special asset, liminal class."

A shocking demotion. Rung number one on the ladder of being.

"I would act as assignment lead for M.I.H.O., you would act as assignment lead for the Opera, and therefore assignment lead for 'the assignment'. We will never once speak of our collaboration."

"And then you'll tell me what you've discovered about the Crew."

"Of course. Then our two agencies can freely share any SELF-HOLD information."

"But you don't even know what 'the assignment' is."

Your former double looks beyond you and goes completely still for a long moment.

A familiar tick. Like he's caught a glimpse of an alternate future and can't look back.

"Likely the assassination of a major political figure. Luzian, I would venture, one of their photocopied Ministers." He waves a quick hand.

"But I've already said too much."

Is he engaging in Advanced Cognitive Manoeuvres... right now?

"Dead right. We're playing Luz at the Big Table. Long-awaited rematch."

"Good thing I brought all my chips."

"There is my proposition -- an inter-departmental collaboration. You join M.I.H.O. as a temporary asset, M.I.H.O. lends its full force to the Opera."

Read between the logistical acrobatics -- he just really wants to work with you again.

So what... go along with it?

Don't you also want to work with him?

"Thank you for the opportunity. I'd be honoured to work with M.I.H.O."

"For M.I.H.O. But thank you, CASCADE, this makes me a very excited piece of protoplasm."

"We're almost set. Of course, we can't kick off collaboration with our base of operations in such a state." He gestures around the room.

It seems... largely fine...

"So here's my first directive, special asset: get cleaning."

"Hold on, you want me to tidy up your bedroom?"

"I did not create the tyranny of hierarchy, CASCADE, but I remain oppressed by it."

It's not even that messy!

"The room's fine. Tell me about the Crew. Now."

"I can barely hear you above all this mess, CASCADE."

"As I said: impossible to commence operations within the current state of affairs."

"So I clean your room while you just... watch."

"Oversee." He nods twice then looks elsewhere.

"This doesn't seem like that big a deal, relative to your critical information."

"On the contrary -- the stakes are sky high, CASCADE. And as usual, we find ourselves parachute-in-absentia."

"This shit is fathoms beneath me. Do it yourself."

"Poor attitude. M.I.H.O. requires a show of commitment from all potential assets... including and especially you, CASCADE."

"What's the Opera done for me lately? Let's go, Me-ho and you-ho."

"Okay, glad you're onboard, CASCADE, but what you just said there, that series of words can never be uttered again. Never again."

"Melita won't like this..."

"All work and no play makes Melita see phallic objects everywhere."

"I'm not comfortable with my proposed title at M.I.H.O."

"I see." He runs a hand across his chin. "I could maybe stretch to 'lead asset', if that would be acceptable."

"'Lead'? Now we're talking."

"Ceremonial, for the moment, of course. As there is no one to lead. But still, it seems terms have been agreed upon."

"To be honest, it's more the 'asset' part..."

"That can't be modified, I'm afraid. Red line issue for the directorial board."

"Let me think about it."

"I suggest you think about it while you're down here, given the stair situation."

He missed me! One of them missed me!

Not only that... he's gunning for another ride on Hersh's painted ponies.

'TEMPORARY ASSET'? HE HAS LOST HIS MIND. THERE IS NOTHING 'TEMPORARY' ABOUT OPERANT CASCADE.

"Pretty much that, yeah. My bad."

"Please don't be impressed. It's effortless."

"Wrong. Laughable." (Lie.)

"I'm not laughing, CASCADE, and I haven't in some time."

"So you don't even know which political figure? You're slipping, HOLOCENE."

"Of course, I have my almost-certainly-accurate suspicions. Best for both of us if I withhold."

"I thought you didn't trust the Opera?"

"I don't."

"And you have no idea what we're even going to be doing together."

"Cool, so it's a you-me thing."

"Sure, CASCADE. Me-you thing."

"But you don't know what the 'thing' is yet."

"You been down here a while, or..."

"A while." He winces with the right side of his face.

There is a new mutedness to him, and new shadows too.

"It's just a short term arrangement." He waves a hand.

A hollowness to him -- a ghost whose ectoplasm has run out.

Something's off -- soundtrack not quite syncing with picture.

"How are you surviving?"

"Joylessly."

"A silo seems like an extreme choice."

"I also considered suicide. But, you know. The sixth type of ambiguity is my least favourite."

When a statement says nothing, readers are forced to invent a statement of their own, most likely in conflict with that of the author.

"People might get the wrong idea."

"As 'people', they're sure to. Death rarely resolves tension, also. Usually compounds it."

"It is very good to see you, CASCADE." He switches on a smile.

"Ambiguity's just kind of everywhere you look, isn't it? So confusing."