Ao Aoen said in a voice like a hollow woodwind, “I see patterns within patterns here. Let our society step outside itself and let us watch ourselves with awe and curious fear, as if we were strangers. The first thing we see is that most of our population (population measured only as information use) are Sophotech machine-minds. The whole rest of our society, our empires and efforts, are like the Amish who refused Fourth Era assimilation, like an animal preserve to be sustained while the Sophotechs spend their efforts contemplating abstract mathematics.”
Orpheus said softly: “Distraction. Ao Aoen strays from the topic.”
Ao Aoen made an eye-dazzling wave with his meter-long finger-fans. “All parts reflect the whole, Peer Orpheus. And yet, bluntness is art also, therefore I will be blunt. Attempts to herd human destiny ofttimes produce stampedes, which trample would-be shepherds.
“My Peers, the Hortators are a private organization, whose sole power comes from the popular esteem and respect they have earned. They cannot dare to be seen arm-in-arm with us, the ill-famed plutocrats, not as long as we Peers are wealthy enough to defy tradition, to ignore popular sentiment, and, yes, wealthy enough to suborn the Hortators.”
Helion said coldly: “Recent events have proven that even the wealthiest and bravest of the manor-born are not beyond their reach. The best of us must bow to public opinion; no one can afford to offend the Hortators, not anymore.”
3.
In the garden, Phaethon felt offended.
A soldier? It was preposterous. There still were some crimes these days; computer frauds, time thefts. Usually by very young rogues, not yet octogenarians. They were always eventually caught, and public outrage was always severe. Such matters were handled by the Hortators, or, in rare occasions when no one answered the call to give themselves up, by the Subscription Constabulary.
But Constables were always unfailingly polite and deferential. Phaethon had not been aware that it was even possible for someone to read one of Phaethon’s masked files (and the name file had, in fact, been masked) without permission. Perhaps a Constable had that right, but only after due notice and service of a warrant. This man he was certainly not a Constable!
Phaethon said as much. “You may ask, Mister Whatever-you-are, but I need not answer. You have no right. And, dammit! Could you at least have the decency to manifest your image properly, without jarring my scene to bits!”
The floating window blinked out, and the armored shape appeared next to Phaethon. The grass blades did seem to bend under the black metal boots, and a moon shadow did fall, in proper perspective, across the lawn; but that was about the only concession to manorial notions of propriety this man gave. The highlights and reflections within the armored breastplate were all wrong, and the vision tracking and correction was crude, since the image wavered if Phaethon turned his head too quickly.
The helmet disassembled into a cloud of fingernail-sized scales, which spread and opened, and hovered motionless around the man’s head like a black halo. The face underneath was unremarkable, except in its uncomeliness. Phaethon couldn’t remember in face symbology what lines around thin lips, or crow’s-feet at the corners of the eyes were supposed to represent. Wisdom? Grimness? Determination? But he had a crew cut, and an even, unblinking gaze that spoke of ten millennia of military tradition. The face looked much like old archive pictures of Atkins.
One of the black spheres not far from Phaethon sent a signal: “Subject Phaethon shows no present contamination. Examination of communication logs and thought-buffers fails to show any data packages received, except for low-level, speech-linear communication. Insufficient to hide any organism construction or self-aware memory data systems.”
“What?!!” exclaimed Phaethon. “Have you been going through my files and logs without a warrant? Without a word? You didn’t even ask—!”
The man in black armor spoke to Phaethon. His tone was serious and brisk: “Sir, we didn’t know whether you had been compromised or not. But you’re clean. I’d like you to keep this quiet. The opposition may have constructions, by now, in all our public channels, and I don’t want to give him—or them—any hints about where the investigation is. But don’t worry. This is probably just another false alarm, or a drill. That’s all I ever do nowadays anyway. So there’s really no need for concern. You are free to go.” And he turned to look toward where the black spheres where congregating.
Phaethon stared at him blankly. Were these lines from a play or something? “I think this really has gone on far enough. Tell me what’s going on.”
The man spoke without turning around. “Sir, that’s no concern of yours right now. If I need more cooperation from you, of if we need to do some follow-up examination, you’ll be contacted. Thank you for your cooperation.”
“What is all this?!! You can’t talk to me that way! Do you know who I am?!”
The man turned. There was a slight twitch in the tense lines around the soldier’s mouth. It looked as if he were trying not to smile. “Ah—sir, the Service doesn’t allow me to play tricks with my memory. I just don’t have that luxury, I guess, sir. I’m, ah, sure at least one of us remembers who you are, there, sir. Ahem. But for now …” And the trace of humor vanished as if it had never been. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I’m required to secure the area.”
“I beg your pardon—!” Phaethon spoke in an outraged tone.
They were interrupted by a fanfare of silver-voiced trumpets.
4.
In the palace:
Vafnir, the energy magnate, like Gannis, was also physically present, but, in order to demonstrate the vast wealth of his holdings, he had had his mind recorded into a high-speed energy matrix, which hung above the table and burned like a pillar of fire. The amount of computer time spent recalculating his nerve paths and magnetic envelope shape every time the slightest energy change occurred in the room was tremendous. The pillar of flame was burning hundreds of seconds a second.
(An aspect of Helion’s mind watched Vafnir’s view of the scene. Vafnir held to an utterly nonstandard aesthetic. Words and thoughts seemed to him like notes or crescendos of light; sound was force, puncturing, trembling; emotions or innuendoes appeared as smells or vibrations in sixteen radiant hues. To him the Peers were like seven balls of music hanging in space, issuing voices of fire; Helion an eager yellow-white, Gannis a pinching and sarcastic green, Orpheus a cold, drear fugue.)
Vafnir spoke: “My Peers, Helion does not propose an alliance to support the Hortators. He proposes that we appease them. He is telling us we have been forced to this extreme.”
Helion said, “What is your objection? We represent the eldest generation. The invention of safe and repeatable personal immortality ensures that no generation after us will necessarily supplant us. We have given mankind endless life—is it not our due to ask, in return, that our lives be allowed to continue in the forms to which we are accustomed, surrounded by the institutions and society we prefer?”
Vafnir replied, “I do not object. I merely wish things stated clearly, without dazzle or smoke. I’m one of the richest men in the Oecumene, well-respected, influential. A million, a billion, and a trillion years from now, barring mishaps, I should still be here. And, long after Earth is gone, when the universal night has extinguished all the stars, and all the cosmos dies of final entropy, the entities with the most wealth and stored-up energy shall be the very last to go. I hope to be among them. If the cost of that is that we must tame society, make it predictable, break its spirit, and kills its dreams, aha! So be it! I only spoke to let us all be aware that we are doing this for self-centered and ignoble reasons.”
Orpheus spoke softly, “Pointless to debate the matter of morality, my Peers. There is no right, no wrong, in this world, not any longer. The machine-minds watch us, and they take care that we do not harm each other. Morality means nothing, now.”
“Just so,” said Gannis. “The machine-minds watch us, and they are watched by the Earthmind, no? They only thing
we need fear is loss of our positions, eh?”
When no one was looking, Gannis sent his she-eagle out the window, scattering Wheel-of-Life’s flocks, and catching a pigeon in her talons.
5.
Down the slope and across the moonlit lawn approached a stately figure surrounded by nine floating luminaries. She was garbed in a gown of flowing emerald green, and her golden braids were twined to hold an emerald crown in place. Hers was a face of regal beauty, kindly, dignified, smiling with sad wisdom. In one hand she held a wand of living apple-wood, adorned with apple blossoms and fruit.
Her body shape was like that of an ancient lunarian; very tall and slender, graceful with unearthly grace, and with a magnificent sweep of condor wings folded across her shoulders and down her back.
The man who looked like Atkins then did a very Atkins-like thing. He drew his ceremonial katana and saluted, holding the blade point-upright, guard level with his eyes.
Not to be outdone, Phaethon performed an elegant courtly bow, crooking his back leg and sweeping out his hands in flourishes just as Harlequin himself might have done for the queen of France.
“Hail to thee!” cried Phaethon. “If you are She, an Avatar of the Earthmind, whose unlimited omniscience sustains us all, then, for the sake of all the blessings with which infinite intelligence has showered the earth, I greet you and give you praise; or if you merely are one who honors Her by presenting yourself adorned with Her symbols, hail nonetheless! And I bow to honor the visible signs of the One thus represented.”
“I am not wholly She; only the smallest fraction of Her mind is bonded with me. For now, I am merely your fellow guest at this Celebration.” She smiled warmly, eyes twinkling, and nodded, saying: “You are true to the comic-opera character you seem, and you amuse me with your comic-opera greeting. Dear Phaethon! Earthmind has thought much on you of late, and She trusts you will be as true to your own character as you have been to the characters you have assumed.”
Phaethon signaled for identification, and then was shocked to understand that this was an Avatar of the Earthmind indeed, an emanation from the Ennead.
He had never in all his life spoken to one of the Nine Intelligences, who were the highest of the Sophotech machine-minds; but this was a representative of a Mind even more exalted, the One whom the Nine combined their mental power to sustain.
To Atkins, the Avatar said, “Please do not salute me, Mr. Atkins. I am not your superior officer. We are fellow servants in the same cause.”
The man’s left gauntlet folded back. In one perfect, well-practiced motion, he cut a painful line across his palm, bloodied the sword and sheathed the blade. He squinted, folding his left hand into a fist to prevent the little cut from seeping.
Phaethon realized that this must indeed be Atkins.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Atkins said. “Can you help me out, here? If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
She smiled sadly. “There’s not much I can do, Mr. Atkins. Even a very quick intelligence is helpless without information to manipulate. So I shall leave you in peace to do your work. Ah! But I do have an idea for a new science of analysis and forensics which, with your permission, I can load into your system. I have a clearance from the Parliament scenario.”
“Be my guest, ma’am.” And the black spheres began sprouting fantastic spiral shells, nautiluslike, and spinning strands of thread across the grass. The luminaries circling the Avatar now left their orbits and went to go help the black spheres at their task.
The Avatar turned to Phaethon.
“Dear son, as a courtesy to Atkins, I ask you to leave as well. You are under no legal obligation to keep quiet about what you have seen, but there is a moral obligation even deeper and more compelling. Our laws and our institutions have grown accustomed to centuries of peace and pleasure; and our civilization can sustain herself through danger only by the voluntary devotion of her citizens.”
Phaethon spoke: “I love the Golden Oecumene, and would never do anything to cause her harm!”
Atkins looked skeptical when he said that, snorted, and turned away. The Avatar said, “Do not compromise your principles, Phaethon, lest you do yourself and your world an ill.”
“What ill? Madame—please tell me what is going on—”
“Your old memories are in storage, but not destroyed. Whether you take their burden once more on yourself, I cannot advise. I may be wise, but I am not Phaethon.” The Avatar stepped forward, put her soft hands on Phaethon’s shoulders, stooped (Phaethon had not realized how tall the lunar body shape was till she stood over him), and she kissed him on the forehead.
“Will you receive this gift from me? I grant you flight. I mean this as an honor to display that the Machine Intelligences do not regard you, Phaethon, with any unkindliness. It also may remind you of old dreams you have put aside.”
“Madame—this mannequin I am in is much too heavy to fly—I would need a different …” But a buoyancy suddenly tingled in him, starting with his head where he’d been kissed, and spreading, like warm wine, into his trunk and limbs. Surprised, blinking, Phaethon thrust with a toe. Weightlessly the grass fell away from him.
He shouted in fear, but then smiled, and tried to pretend he was shouting for joy. A moment later, a freak wind blew him head over heels like a balloon. Phaethon grabbed a passing tree branch, and he was tangled in the silvery leaves, laughing.
“Quite extraordinary, Madame!” he gasped. “But—excuse me, there are several important questions about what’s happened tonight, which I—”
But when he looked over his shoulder, down at the ground, the Avatar was gone. There was only Atkins, face grim, still in his armor, pacing slowly across the grass with his black machines.
There was nothing for him here. Atkins was not going to answer any questions. And he had sneered at Phaethon’s expression of loyalty to the Golden Oecumene; whatever Phaethon’s forgotten crime had been, it had been enough to make honest men regard him as a traitor.
Phaethon let go of the branch and floated up into the night sky. The silvery Saturn-trees shimmered mirrorlike underfoot, and then were lost, one grove among the garden tapestries of shades and shadows below.
6.
Kes Sennec the Logician spoke in even and uninflected tones. “Peer Vafnirs’s comment, spoken just now, calling all of our actions ‘ignoble’ and ‘self-centered’ contains inaccuracies and semantic nonentities. Assuming that I do not presently misunderstand his intent, I presently disagree, on the grounds that the statement is overbroad, stereotypical, and inaccurate.”
Kes Sennec was also actually present, a bald, large-headed man in a gray single-suit. A row of control points ran along the left closure of the tunic; he wore no other ornamentation. His skin color was gray, adjusted to local light-radiant levels, as were his eyes. His body shape was unremarkably standardized, with special organs and adaptations for zerogravity environment, and his nervous system was highly modified with monitors, correctives, and gland overrides to ensure emotional stability and sanity.
“If a critical number of the individuals in society cooperate in actions which lead, deliberately or as a side effect, to conditions which, to an effective number of individuals, appear to favor the use of aggression and deception (as opposed to peaceful strategies of social cooperation) for the achievement of what they at that time perceive to be their goals, then every necessary and sufficient condition for the breakdown of the social order is present, and the pressure favoring the breakdown grows in rough proportion as the effective number of individuals grows. By ‘breakdown’ I mean both that individuals resort to violence and that they believe they must do so for fear that other individuals will do so.
“Logically, to avoid this, a sufficient uniformity of operative decision-making mores and values above a threshold level of participants must obtain; these decision values must include, at least, a priority placed on the preservation of the peaceful resolution of perceived and real conflicts. The term ‘confor
mity’ is not necessarily inappropriate to depict this uniform decision structure.”
Kes Sennec was of the Invariant neuroform, a highly integrated unicameral nervous system. His brain had accessible subroutines, habits, and reflexes, but no subconsciousness properly so called. The Invariant neuroform was the second least popular among the Golden Oecumene, since all people with such uniform brains tended to think and act with startling uniformity. The Invariants had no emotional difficulties or internal conflicts.
(Kes Sennec’s view of the room was entirely stark and real, with no filter, no editing. He saw Helion’s body as a humanoid mannequin; he saw the tiny dull-colored plugs and antennae along Gannis’s neck that connected with the Gannis Over-mind; he saw the electronic activity surrounding all Wheel-of-Life’s pets and pseudo-plants. He could see the wires and nodes swirling among Vafnir’s column of flame, and the mechanism producing the field effects where Vafnir’s consciousness was actually stored. To Kes Sennec, Orpheus was merely a remote on treads, skeletal, equipped with waldo-hands, lenses, and speakers. It all was unappealing, plain, colorless.
(Also, the outside noise, distant music, yells, and odors coming in through the window, were part of Kes Sennec’s all-embracing attention. Once again, Helion could not tolerate the other’s scene. Helion’s brain structure required him to rate sense impressions by priority, and to ignore sensations of low importance. Kes Sennec’s Invariant brain saw everything, paid attention to everything, judged everything with inhuman, unemotional precision.)
Kes Sennec concluded: “Those who act to prevent war and violence from occurring cannot properly be called ‘selfish’ and ‘ignoble’ even if they act in a way which benefits their self-interest.”
Ao Aoen said, “As always, Peer Kes Sennec’s comments daze me with their precision, and I cannot follow them. Unselfish? Why have none of us said aloud what secretly motivated Peer Helion’s proposal? Is it a dream we seek to kill, perhaps the greatest of dreams ever? What is this dream? Can any tell me? Do any outside this chamber yet recall?”