“Not all of it, though,” Thalia said.
“Right?”
“We vote,” Thory said.
“So does everyone,” Thalia replied.
“Except for Panoply.”
“Not everyone votes the way we do. That’s the big difference. There are eight hundred thousand people in this habitat, and each and every one of us takes our voting rights very seriously indeed.”
“Still won’t put food on your plates.”
“It will if you vote often enough, and intelligently enough.” Thory was looking at Thalia quite intently now, as the train whisked through a campus of low-lying buildings, all of which had the softened outlines and pastel coloration of candied marshmallows.
“You’re Panoply. I presume you’re adequately familiar with the concept of vote weighting?”
“I recall that the mechanism allows it, under certain circumstances.” Thory looked surprised.
“You ’recall’. Aren’t you supposed to be the expert here, Prefect?”
“Ask me about security, or about polling core software, and I’ll keep you enthralled for hours. Vote processing is a different area. That’s not my remit.” Thalia had her hands laced in her lap, with the cylinder between her knees.
“So tell me how it works for Aubusson.”
“It’s common knowledge that the apparatus logs every vote ever entered, across the entire Glitter Band,”. Thory said.
“That’s at least a million transactions every second, going back two hundred years. What people don’t generally realise is that the system occasionally peers back into its own records and looks at voting patterns that shaped a particular outcome. Suppose, for instance, that a critical vote was put to the population of the entire Band, all hundred million of us. A hypothetical threat had been identified, one that could be met with a variety of responses ranging from a pre-emptive attack to the simple decision to do nothing at all. Suppose furthermore that the majority voted for one particular response out of the options available. Suppose also that action was taken based on that vote, and that with hindsight that action turned out to have been the wrong thing to do. The apparatus is intelligent enough to recognise
democratic mistakes like that. It’s also intelligent enough to look back into the records and see who voted otherwise. Who, in other words, could be said to have been right, while the majority were wrong.”
Thalia nodded, recalling details she had once learned and then buried under more immediately relevant knowledge.
“And then, having identified those voters as being of shrewd judgement, it attaches a weighting bias to any future votes they might cast.”
“In essence, that’s how it works. In practice, it’s infinitely more subtle. The system keeps monitoring those individuals, constantly tuning the appropriate weighting factor. If they keep on voting shrewdly, then their weighting remains, or even increases. If they show a sustained streak of bad judgement, the system weights them back down to the default value.”
“Why not just remove their voting rights entirely, if they’re that bad?”
“Because then we wouldn’t be a democracy,” Thory replied.
“Everyone deserves a chance to mend their ways.”
“And how does this work for Aubusson?”
“It’s how we make our living. The citizenry here possesses a very high number of weighted votes, well above the Glitter Band mean. We’ve all worked hard for that, of course: it isn’t just a statistical fluctuation. I have a weighting index of one point nine, which means that every vote I cast has nearly double its normal efficacy. I’m almost equivalent to two people voting in lockstep on any issue. One point nine is high, but there are fifty-four people out there who have indices nudging three. These are people whom the system has identified as possessing an almost superhuman acumen. Most of us see the landscape of future events as a bewilderingly jumbled terrain, cloaked in a mist of ever-shifting possibilities. The Triples see a shining road, its junctions marked in blazing neon.” Thory’s voice became reverential.
“Somewhere out there, Prefect, is a being we call the Quadruple. We know he walks amongst us because the system says he is a citizen of House Aubusson. But the Quad has never revealed himself to any other citizen. Perhaps he fears a public stoning. His own wisdom must be a wonderful and terrifying gift, like the curse of Cassandra. Yet he still only carries four votes, in a population of a hundred million. Pebbles on an infinite beach.”
“Tell me how you stay ahead of the curve,” Thalia said.
“With blood, sweat and toil. All of us take our issues seriously. That’s what citizenship in Aubusson entails. You don’t get to live here unless you can hold a weighted voting average above one point two five. That means we’re all required to think very seriously about the issues we vote on. Not just from a personal perspective, not just from the perspective of House Aubusson, but from the standpoint of the greater good of the entire Glitter Band. And it pays off for us, of course. It’s how we make our living—by trading on our prior shrewdness. Because our votes are disproportionately effective, we are very attractive to lobbyists from other communities. On marginal issues, they pay us to listen to what they have to say, knowing that a block vote from Aubusson may swing the result by a critical factor. That’s where the money comes from.”
“Political bribes?”
“Hardly. They buy our attention, our willingness to listen. That doesn’t guarantee that we will vote according to their wishes. If all we did was follow the money, our collective indices would ramp down to one before you could blink. Then we’d be no use to anyone.”
“It’s a balancing act,” put in Caillebot.
“To remain useful to the lobbyists, we must maintain a degree of independence from them. This is the central paradox of our existence. But it is the paradox that allows
me to spend my time designing gardens, and Paula to breed her butterflies.”
Thory leaned forward.
“Since we’ve been on this train, I’ve already participated in two polling transactions. There’s a third coming up in two minutes. Minor issues, in the scheme of things—the kinds of things most citizens let their predictive routines take care of.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“You wouldn’t have. Most of us are so used to the process now that it’s almost autonomic, like blinking. But we take each and every vote as seriously as the last.” Thory must have seen something amiss in Thalia’s expression, for she leaned forward concernedly.
“Everything I’ve just described is completely legal, Prefect. Panoply wouldn’t allow it to happen otherwise.”
“I know it’s legal. I just didn’t think it had become systematized, made the basis for a whole community.”
“Does that distress you?”
“No,” Thalia answered truthfully.
“If the system allows it, it’s fine by me. But it just reminds me how many surprises the Glitter Band still has in store.”
“This is the most complex, variegated society in human history,” Thory said.
“It’s a machine for surprising people.”
Dreyfus studied the spectacle of the ship floating before him, pinned in the vivid blue lights at the core of the Nerval-Lermontov rock. It was a midnight-black form in a pitch-black cavern. He did not so much see the ship as detect the subtle gradation in darkness between its hull and the background surface of the rock’s hollowed-out heart. It was like an exercise in optical trickery, a perceptual mirage that kept slipping out of his cognitive grasp.
But he knew exactly what he was looking at. Though it was smaller than most, the vehicle was clearly a starship. It had the sleek, tapering hull of a lighthugger, and the two swept-back spars that held the complicated nacelles of its twin drives. He remembered the burning wreck of the Accompaniment of Shadows, its own engines snipped off to become prizes for other Ultras. But as soon as its shape stabilised in his imagination, he knew that
