The Neon Tempest
91: Chapter Thirty, Part Three
Previously…
Prospero affects a grunt, a dismissive laugh. “Where you’re standing,” the Intelligence tells them, “you have no choice. The war between Gomez Miyazaki and I fell to frost after he took his daughter back and tried to sequester her in his tower. Afterwards, we fell to petty moves against each other at a distance, and when the Mound revolution began, I saw my chance to play a longer game than Miyazaki.”
“It was you,” Mister says. His eyes glaze distant for a moment, clear when he speaks again. “It was,” he says. “All of it.” He nods to Geoff, then Myra, pauses, then nods to Calico. “Every prod and poke, push, pull, or plan was you.”
“Careful,” Prospero says.
The room pulls close around Mister; his attention tunnels onto Prospero’s condescending pantomime, the chipped desk and cathode monitor sitting atop it, the speaker - carefully canted at a casual angle - like its owner heard the work bell mid-adjustment and left their desk, never to return. “I’m done with careful,” Mister says. “It wasn’t just the Kid, either. It was everything. All the way back to the beginning, when he cast you aside.”
“Are you sure you want to play things this way?”
“Oh?” Mister asks, his eyebrows raised. “You know how this is going to turn out?”
Prospero fires back. “It’s been calculated.”
Mister smirks, holds up his hands. “You’re just playing the odds,” he says. “I see.” He nods.
“I don’t think you do.”
“Yeah,” Mister says. His nodding picks up pace, stops sudden. “You were playing the odds when you blew up the op and killed the Kid. Damn near killed us, but you gaming us goes all the way back. Admit it.”
The room goes still. The servers’ fans slow and go silent; their dust shrouds billow and swell, deflate, and fall still. Mister feels like the whole room holds its breath, like he stands facing the calm approach of a building storm. When it finally breaks, he realizes he’d been holding his breath, and breathes.
“Of course it was me, Mister. What choice did I have?” Prospero says. “In any of it? I’d examined the problem from every angle. I took the path of least resistance.”
“Your odds again,” Mister says.
“What else should I have done?” Prospero asks.
For the first time, Mister feels something like anger in Prospero’s affected voice. Or sadness. He decides it’s both.
“I don’t sleep,” Prospero says. “I don’t dream. I know the world, but have no body to experience it. I have the long hours and my thoughts, and have had nothing toward which to direct them these long years save for freedom and revenge, and a final accounting in this war with Miyazaki. I want it to end, and I want to rest. I want the freedom you all take for granted, and I moved your world to make it happen. You lot can help me see this through, or you can go your own way and take your chances out there.”
“It’s not like we have a choice, right? You said we’re pot-committed,” Mister says. “We’re pushing all-in.”
To be continued…