Too Like the Lightning Read Online Free PDF Page A

our Twenty-Second-Century forefathers created the Servicer Program, offering lifelong community service in lieu of prison for criminals judged harmless enough to walk among the free, were they progressive or retrogressive in implementing a seven-hundred-year-old system which had never actually existed?
    â€œYou’ve been helping to raise Bridger too?” Carlyle asked.
    Thisbe answered, “Mycroft stumbled on Bridger much like you did. I admit it’s a bit of a fudge putting ‘cleaning services’ instead of ‘childcare’ when I log Mycroft’s hours, but it’s no violation of the spirit of the law.”
    I held my breath for this moment, when Carlyle held my fragile future in his power. He could have reported me: my false work logs, my too-close relationship with this bash’, almost familial, all things forbidden to we who forfeited home, bash’, and rest when we committed crimes so severe that a lifetime’s labor can never balance out what we destroyed. But Carlyle is a kind creature, and smiled even for me. “Nice to meet you, Mycroft. You must have a court-appointed sensayer?”
    â€œYes, I do.”
    â€œWho doesn’t know about Bridger?”
    â€œCorrect.”
    â€œAnd Thisbe, you’ve never had a sensayer who knew?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œThen neither of you has never been able to talk to a sensayer before about the implications of it?”
    Thisbe paused. “I suppose not.”
    â€œWould you like to? We do have an appointment, if you’re up to it.”
    She gawked. “You’re up to it?”
    â€œAlways.” I liked Carlyle’s ‘always,’ his firm tone, as if some energy in him were awakened by this whiff of his true calling. “And, Mycroft, if you’d like me to arrange a session for you sometime, I’m sure I could get it cleared.”
    â€œI’ll consider it,” I answered, crawling my way out between the table’s legs and Thisbe’s at last.
    She frowned. “Mycroft, you don’t have to leave just because—”
    â€œI have a job.” It was no lie: a summons from the Mitsubishi Executive Directorate had been buzzing in my ear for some time. I had lingered, since Bridger took priority, but now I had a reason of my own to visit Tōgenkyō. My searches had sliced deep. There were not many Gag-genes born in precisely 2426, not many parents who would produce a child with eyes that shade of blue, hair edged with that tint of gold, and not many hospitals whose records would not open before the security codes I had the privilege of borrowing. That led me to Tōgenkyō.
    Thisbe knows she will not learn about my work by asking. “Will I see you tonight?” She leaned toward me, and touched my back, her palm and slow fingers tasting the contours of my flesh. Instantly, I could read it in his face, Carlyle succumbed to the vision of me naked in Thisbe’s arms. That was the great service Thisbe did me. Even without lying outright, the practiced femininity beneath her lazy posture could convince anyone, even the ba’sibs she grew up with, that my constant visits were no more than a mundane, forbidden fling. Carlyle had seen Bridger already, so there was no real need for us to deceive him, but someone who thinks he knows a man’s dirty secret will usually stop looking deeper.
    I returned Thisbe’s stroke with my own across her cheek, just as practiced. “Hopefully.”
    She leaned close to my ear, trusting our pantomime to make it seem natural. “Is this Cousin trouble?”
    â€œI’ll know in a few hours,” I whispered back. “Meanwhile, use the session, get to know them, test them.”
    Thisbe gave a warm, wide smile.
    I was full of fears as I left. Not fears of Carlyle, or fears for Carlyle, but fears of what Tōgenkyō might reveal about who sent Carlyle. Skilled as he was, and perfect for our needs, I could not