One more phone, one more voice.

One more phone, one more voice.

"Please, tell me you have good news."

"I'm alive. Does that count?"

"Maybe. It's a start."

"The first reports made it to Novessa 20 minutes ago -- some very... spooky stuff appears to be going down in Portofiro."

"I'm getting descriptions of an aero-tram full of insensate husks, neither alive nor dead, their minds obliterated by some unknown phenomena, among them the Hundred Eyed Golem himself -- what is going on?"

"Espionage, Mel."

"That's what you call it? Because everyone else is saying it looks like 'typical Opera gimpery'. Must be the whiff of amateurism."

Alternative wording

"That's what you call it? For me the words that come to mind are 'psycho-spiritual atrocity'."

Alternative wording

"So far the reports are calling it a 'terrorist plot' by Portofiran nationalists. We'll see how long that story holds."

"Hold on, how could they know it was us?"

"One of the civilians on the tram you shot up, a young boy. He gave the carabineros a highly vivid description of you and your squad."

Right. The young watcher.

"Foreign woman. Mircean accent. Paper bag covering her face. Sound familiar?"

"Doesn't ring any bells."

"Perhaps the boy is simply delirious. His mother was wounded in the shooting."

"Maybe. A little."

"His mother was wounded in the shooting. I understand he's quite traumatised."

"The kid's good. We should recruit him."

"I would love to, but it sounds like he might be overqualified for the Operant Bureau."

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Dressed like she's a hazardous waste handler. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman. Mircean accent. Impersonating a carabinero herself. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman. Mircean accent. High-end 'power' suit. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman. Mircean accent. Dressed like some kind of insurance scammer. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Wearing some kind of freakish mascot head. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Dressed like a local pelota fanatic. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Attempting to disguise herself with male facial hair. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Dressed like some kind of leather mother. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman, Mircean accent. Dressed like some kind of leather mother. Sound familiar?"

"Foreign woman. Mircean accent. Highly unique sense of fashion. Sound familiar?"

Something you missed.

"I messed up, Mel. The Weeping Eye were waiting for us. It was my fault."

"So you had to blast your way out. I see."

Alternative wording

"So you turned the Luzians' own weapon against them. Clever."

"But that still leaves the object of your assignment: The Grand Lich. Did we pull it off?"

"We're good. The Grand Lich is at the bottom of the Noscorrentes."

"Good." She sighs, relieved. "That's good news for the big board."

You can feel the tension going out of her shoulders, her diaphragm slackening as she straightens in her chair.

"And what of your squad -- how did they carry themselves?"

"They're gone, Mel. Everyone."

"Fucking hell. Because you played that disc, I suppose."

Tk-tk-tk. The sound of a pen marking three boxes in short succession.

At the Greater Quisach Gymnasium, the bell rings three times: Recreation Period is over. The children file back into the building covered in peeling plaster. The grey play-yard is empty.

"I don't think I've ever told this story, but when I was just starting with the Opera, there was another controller. An Old One, somewhat deranged. I liked to keep my distance from him."

"One day he accosted me in the stairwell. Highly disturbing. He had something he wanted to tell me, he said it was very important. Do you know what it was?"

"What was it?"

"He said, 'Don't neglect the human element' ." It sounded deluded to me, an old man's sentiment, in conflict with the very nature of our role."

"But now I think I understand what he was getting at."

"I wish we'd gotten it sooner."

"An easy sentiment, and understandable. But of course that's the nature of self-knowledge. It only comes at great cost."

"At least we completed the assignment."

"Feels almost pointless to even include that on the form, though in another sense, it's the entire point. Strange, the work we've committed ourselves to..."

"I suppose that just leaves the final ranking."

"Hold on, what's this final... ranking?"

"Yes. There's a new system we're supposed to use -- the 'Z' scale."

"Why am I only now hearing about this?"

"It's a new initiative. Supposedly a more 'objective' way to rate operants' performance in-theatre."

Ice crystals fractal in your veins.

What she means is the real account will be buried in a centre-held file for 30 years. You will never so much as glimpse the outside of its folder.

There's nothing to consider. We're locked in to Dissociation Nation. Nothing can possibly hurt us now.

"Rankings, I don't know. Sounds 'official'."

"'Objective' and 'accountable' are the words you hear batted about. You know how they get with these new initiatives."

"My espionage is highly subjective and experimental: No scale can capture its dimensions."

"Naturally. Do you want to find out what letter you get, or no?"

"Okay, Mel. Let's do the final ranking."

Your controller mumbles something to herself as she dutifully prepares the assessment form.

"Our techno-fascist rivals appear to be undone, for now. Any talk of 'secret treaties' with EMTERR is surely scuttled. Instead of an end to the Culture Blockade they've gotten a howling vacuum at the top of their hierarchy."

"Sounds like we won. Does that mean we won?"

"I think it's safe to say we're not wearing the rubber gimp suit today."

"I suspect playing that red disc will also make the Luzians question if this wasn't simply the result of their own psychodramatic machinations. From Novessa's vantage, this is a very satisfying outcome."

"It was all the radical statements I made, they put us over the top."

"Really? I'd say it was the gun, mostly."

Alternative wording

"Really? I'd say it was the bomb and the gun, mostly."

Alternative wording

"Really? I'd say it was that metaphysical atrocity you committed."

"At least it looks like we've come out on the top of the heap for today -- most would call that a good outcome."

Alternative wording

"Still, no question who comes out on the top of the heap for today -- Operant PROBABLE himself would be forced to commend such a performance."

"Not you though."

"Don't mind me. Sometimes I voice feelings that aren't necessarily my own, just so someone will. The psychomancers call it a personality flaw."

"There's just one thing I've been wondering... did you know you were going to play the red disc when you went to such effort to reconstruct it?"

There is a correct answer, but neither of you know what it is.

"Yes."

"Right. Okay."

"Well, after all that, I suppose the only appropriate rank is 'Z'."

It's like she's handing you a trophy cup with the corpse of a small animal in it.

"Why doesn't this feel good?"

"They say it's normal to have mixed feelings after a difficult assignment…"

But not like this. These feelings aren't mixed. They're on entirely different planes from one another.

"I thought I'd be happier."

"You got your 'Z', operant. Brilliant work. If it doesn't feel the way you expect, that's your matter to sort."

"But for now you should get going. If you depart now, you'll make the Eastern Republics by nightfall."

"What will happen to Constanz?"

"Right. It seems someone tipped off the Guardia Municipal that your special asset has been 'aiding and abetting communism... also racial profiling'."

"Neither of which are crimes, even in Portofiro. Still, best for her to recede into the background."

"Probably better that we part ways now."

"It's a kindness, really."

One more relationship smothered with a pillow and buried in the courtyard.

"She was good. I hope we can work with her again."

Alternative wording

"She was a gossip and an ether addict. We should work with her again."

"I'll make a note of that in the margin here... we'll drop her a line once things have settled."

"I left some posters up at Foto 24. How do we get those rolled up and forwarded to Novessa?"

"We don't. Anything else?"

"She'll do exactly as a 'liminal class' asset is meant to: Erase all trace of the Opera from your safehouse, and then recede into the background."

"By the way, I may have left a metaphysical superweapon in the hands of an insane TV presenter."

"You've... what was that?"

"His name is Subcomandante Bagman. He has some unusual theories about the nature of reality that he seems keen to test out."

"And this TV program... is it widely syndicated?"

"Not yet."

"Ah, good. Sounds like a local matter. Not our concern."

"I think it's just a Portofiro thing."

"The Opera should sponsor him, take the partisan offensive worldwide."

"I'll put that in the suggestion pile. Thanks, operant."

Into the dustbin it goes.

"I would stay away from 'The Reality Situation' for a few weeks if I were you."

"What do you think the Vana Kohila is for?"

"I mean, it probably doesn't even do anything. So don't worry about it."

"That's good. We've got enough on our plate as it is."

"Any news from the heartless old spy?"

Alternative wording

"Any news from Hauzmann?"

"Naturally, that description continues not to ring any bells."

Alternative wording

"Naturally, I continue not to know who you're talking about."

"Although... I did see a strange report from Capoblanco: Seems a number of their low-orbit satellites have gone dark rather suddenly. You wouldn't know anything about that, operant?"

"No idea. Sounds glue-related."

"Never understood the appeal of solvents. Nasty stuff."

"We might want to keep an eye on anything satellite-related."

"Right. I'll add something in the 'Additional Comments' box. Sounds like something for the remembrancers."

"'Space lore, who gives a shit?'"

"Right. I suppose not us."

"I wouldn't concern myself too much about the comings and goings of non-existent figures. Better to focus on what's real."

"Could you send someone to check on Ignatz?"

"I've never heard of this individual before. Who is it?"

"He's a local weirdo. I left him in a bad way at the Fogged Mirror."

"This is a spy service, not the social welfare office."

"Anything else?"

"It's really his cat I want you to check on. It's purebred, we think."

"This is a spy service, not animal control."

"He was unreliable and a creep, but I was fond of him for some reason."

"Yes... this discipline of ours attracts all sorts."

"We need one more unmarked star -- for Ignatz."

"Who is 'Ignatz'?"

"Quasi-asset, practically part of the old crew."

"Strange. This is the first I'm hearing of him."

"He delivered crucial information about the Hundred Eyed Golem and was zeroed out by the Weeping Eye. He deserves an unmarked star."

"Right. Let me see what I can do. Does he have a full name, or a cryptonym?"

"He never got a cryptonym. Oversight on my part."

Alternative wording

"Cryptonym 'IGNUTZ'."

Alternative wording

"Cryptonym 'INTERVAL'."

Alternative wording

"Cryptonym 'IDEALIST'."

Alternative wording

"Cryptonym 'IDOL'."

"Too bad. I'll just put him down as 'Ignatz' then."

Alternative wording

"Some kind of morbid joke, I'm assuming." A pause. "I'm going to put him down as 'Ignatz'."

Alternative wording

"INTERVAL. Got it."

Alternative wording

"IDEALIST. Got it."

Alternative wording

"IDOL. Got it."

"I think just 'Ignatz' is best."

"'Ignatz' it is."

"What about V, what's going to become of her?"

"V?"

"Ultra Violeta."

"Oh yes, her. I suppose she's doomed to an ordinarily extraordinary life."

"Better than being turned into a metaphysical superweapon."

"Depends on your perspective, I think."

"Anyway, she's on the Party's censor list -- quite near the top, in fact. So if you never hear her music, it'll be like she doesn't exist."

"She's still one of the most talented individuals on the planet. She'll be alright."

"She will be pristine. They'll never let her out of their sight again."

"She'll really hate that."

"Then maybe she shouldn't have acted upon her childhood dreams."

"I wonder if they'll still send her to space..."

"Probably. Sounds like typical techno-fascist derangement. Lonely up there, I hear."

"My popstar friend you made me betray."

"CASCADE... I didn't make you do anything. It was your call and it was a good one." A breath of static. "As for your friend, I suppose she's doomed to an ordinarily extraordinary life."

"So that's it?" (Conclude.)

"Hardly. Once you get back to Novessa we'll have the standard quarantine, battery of debriefings, physical examinations, ideological decontamination, and so on..."

BURNED OUT IN THE HAZE OF IT ALL LONG DISTANCE CALLS

"Oh, and a special request from the semioticians: they want to talk about your wolf cups. Seems they may be in the grips of a set collecting compulsion themselves."

"For now, best to lay low... back to Novessa as soon... possible."

"Hold on, before I lose you -- is all forgiven?"

"... strange with the connection. The Opera... forgives..."

COME ON, HONEY, WE'LL TAKE OFF RUNNING IN OUR PARTY SHOES

The digital birdsong of a signal jammer. When you want your target to know they're being disrupted.

The Illuminated Empire awakens.

From the other side of the boat, KALEIDOSCOPE is nodding his head as though to say 'time to go'.

Like a rabbit. Scenting danger.

"I didn't quite hear you, Mel. The Opera... what was it?"

"Strange... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

The receiver buzzes warmly in your hand. In the wiry nerves of the city you just left, ideologies crash against one another like waves. Across the Developed World and beyond, telephones begin to ring...

In an underground office in Novessa, in a secret recording studio on the far side of the moon, in a glass-and-steel fortress in the most expensive part of the most expensive city in the world.

Increasing chance of precipitation as a front of high pressure moves across the Noscorrentes Sea. The temperature is 16 and falling.

"Luck... skill, CASCADE. Now..."

In an underground office in Novessa, on the bridge of an aircraft carrier floating in the middle of the Noscorrentes Sea, in a glass-and-steel fortress in the most expensive part of the most expensive city in the world.

The flight path from Luz's costal airfields to Portofiro is approximately 60 kilometres, or 3 minutes at supersonic speed.

Under your feet, the buoy and the boat jostling in the sea swell. You keep your balance, just barely.

"Great. The Opera forgives. Make sure that gets in the report."

"We... bigger concerns... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

"It's the Luzians. They're messing with the signal."

"Venting displeasure... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

"It sounds like Ultra Violeta."

"Strange... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

"It sounds like a mill turning."

"Don't hear... mill. More like... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

"Something's going on with the phone."

"Not... good sign... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

"I'm going. See you soon, Mel."

"... know I can't... jamming... probably. Expect reprisals... beginning shortly. Best to... while you can."

On the other side of the boat, Yana is making a 'wrap it up' gesture with her hand.

Must be the buoy. Salt in the wires.

THE PARADE. FLOATS AND CONFETTI. DON'T FORGET.

"Mel, what's that sound?"

"... strange with the connection. What... sound like?"

"I thought you'd be happier."

"I no longer expect to find happiness from my work, operant. That isn't what this is about."

"Wait, what's it about then?"

"You've had this entire assignment to answer that question for yourself. If you don't know by now… forget it."

"Ah. Right. Cool."

"It's a long way back to the Superbloc. You'll have plenty of time to reflect on all this en route."

"This was a team effort. This is your 'Z' too."

"I suppose it is. We're both responsible for what you've done here."

"What would you have done differently?"

"I don't know. It's possible that if our roles were reversed I would've made exactly the same choices that you have."

False.

"But then, I don't know, I don't think I'm that imaginative."

"You're really diminishing my 'Z' here."

"Sorry, here I am shitting on your moment of triumph. Probably a personality flaw on my part. I'll make sure your 'Z' gets entered into your personnel file."

"Can you just leave off the final ranking? I'm not sure I want the 'Z' now."

"Too late for that. This 'Z' is going in your personnel file."

"I accept my 'Z'."

"Right, I'll make sure your 'Z' gets entered into your personnel file."

"No."

"I see. Okay then."

"I made it up as I went along."

"Right. Of course. Like we always say."

"Overall, I'd rank your performance a very solid 'Y'."

An outrageous call after what you pulled off. Time to abuse the refs.

"'Y'? Are you serious?"

"What's the matter?"

"I pulled off an impossible task and kept most of my squad alive. The only 'Y' I see is 'Why are you fucking me, Melita'?"

"Your task wasn't impossible, as evidenced by the fact that you completed it. It was just very difficult."

"I'm feeling deeply unacknowledged by the Opera."

"Do you know what? You're right. A simple 'Y' doesn't even begin to capture the depth of your achievement. I'm going to give you a 'Y+' instead."

"I didn't know there was a 'Y+'."

"That's because I made it up just now. I'm going to draw a little '+' in pencil next to the 'Y'. It won't mean anything at all, but it will be there, in the assignment file."

Pencil sounds disconcertingly impermanent.

"Hold on, why pencil?"

"So that some less accommodating remembrancer can erase it whenever they feel like it. But you know how shit our erasers are -- you'll always be able to see a faint smudge, so no one will ever truly take it away from you."

"That's very stupid."

"I agree. We've taken this formal assessment to a deeply stupid place."

"You invented a special rank, just for me. Mel..."

"Please, sentimentality makes me deeply uncomfortable."

"That's more like it."

"Just to be absolutely clear, this is something I made up just now. I'm going to draw a little '+' in pencil next to the 'Y'. It won't mean anything at all, but it will be there, in the assignment file."

"Okay, fine. Thanks for the 'Y'."

"I don't understand what you're being glum about, it's a very good rank. In any event it's the one being entered into the assignment file. You should be on your way."

"Fine, I shouldn't complain about 'very solid'."

"Don't be glum. It's a very good outcome, in any event it's the one being entered into the assignment file."

"Regrettable losses notwithstanding, I'd call that a pretty solid performance. The grade is 'Y'."

Alternative wording

"Lacklustre stagecraft aside, I'd call that a pretty solid performance. The grade is 'Y'."

Alternative wording

"Regrettable losses and lacklustre stagecraft aside, I'd call that a pretty solid performance. The grade is 'Y'."

"I thought it was better than just 'solid'."

"We're not supposed to just hand out 'Z's around the office. It's the difference between the brilliant and the merely great."

A distinction that will preoccupy you in the small hours for many years to come.

"Fine, guess I'm 'pretty solid'."

"What could I possibly have done better?!"

"Not for me to say, really. 'Z'-rank is supposed to be for 'inconspicuous brilliance' in-theatre. Your performance may've had elements of brilliance, but you can't really call it inconspicuous."

"Overall, a very mixed picture. 'X'."

Alternative wording

"Honestly, I throw my hands up. It's not clear who's the rubber gimp here, but it's probably not the Opera. I'd call that an 'X', just barely."

"X."

"'X'. That's your rank, since you asked."