discomfort. We offer for your use a number of memory and thought alterations, to make the process pleasant, even ecstatic, and to replace your values with a philosophy that not only does not object to the self-destruction but actively approves of it. We can then redact you from the memories of all people whom we can influence or intimidate; your existence would sink into myth and be forgotten.'
'Why in the world would I acceded to so foolish and wicked a request?'
'The good of society requires it.'
The perfect shamelessness and impertinence of the comment left Phaethon speechless for a moment. Phaethon said curtly, 'Your good be damned, sir, if it requires the destruction of men like me.'
Neo-Orpheus looked nonplused, as if the answer meant nothing to him. He said, 'But it need not seem like destruction. The belief that you have accomplished your mission, complete with full memories and simulated sensations of many successful voyages in your starship, can be inserted into your brain before and during your death. You will be satisfied.'
Phaethon spoke ironically: 'I make this counteroffer: Let everyone else everywhere alter all of their brains to adopt the
belief and the knowledge that I am in the right. Let them admit their guilt and folly for daring to oppose the destiny I represent. Let them erase all knowledge and record that the College of Hortators have ever existed. Then I will be satisfied.'
Neo-Orpheas's eyes glittered. His voice was sharp: 'Suicide would have been less painful for you. While the Sopho-techs forbid us from acting directly against you, we can still encompass your death.'
Phaethon stared at the cold pale face without fear. He raised a fist: 'I most solemnly assure you, sir, that should the College of Hortators dare oppose me, or attempt to flee from the future I bring, it is they who shall be forgotten and destroyed?'
Too late, he remembered that making a fist was the signal, in this program, to resume the time count.
There was a stir and murmur from all around him, gasps of outrage, titters of laughter. The faces to either side of him were moving, staring, whispering. It looked to everyone watching as if that last sentence had been his response to Nebuchednezzar' s polite question earlier. Since the throne on the dais was behind and above Neo- Qrpheus, it seemed to everyone as if Phaethon's glare had been directed at Nebuchednezzar.
Helion was looking on with sad astonishment. The archons of the White Manorials glanced at each other and nodded, as if to confirm their private suspicion that Phaethon was an overly emotional fool. Mass-minds were well- known for their abhorrence for any hint of rudeness or conflict, and their members in the Composition gallery to Phaethon's right looked on him with embarrassment and pity. Only Asmodius Bohost whistled and clapped and shouted bravo.
Nebuchednezzar, at least, was not fooled. 'The College of Hortators does not wish to intrude upon your private conversations; but the College might ask, out of courtesy, that you attend to the matter at hand.'
This, if anything, was even more embarrassing. The Hor-tators exchanged glances and whispers of scoffing outrage;
the Red Queens smiled behind their fans. To shout defiance at the College was understandable, if uncouth; but to he conducting a private conversation on another channel in the middle of an inquest... ? Phaethon was sure the Hortators thought him half-mad.
It took a moment for the buzz and murmur in the chamber to fall silent.
Nebuchednezzar continued: 'Naturally, you are free to follow your own affairs; all citizens of our society are. But that same freedom allows the College, and all of those who follow ; her advice, to have nothing to do with you, to abjure you utterly, to boycott you and all your efforts. Such a decision is tantamount to exile and, since no isolated man can last for long by his own unsupported attempts, to slow death. You are offered this final opportunity to inform us of any facts, or to sway us with any pleas, which might ameliorate our de-cision.'
Tsychandri-Manyu Tawne stood and spoke: 'Good my fellow colleagues, associates, partials, and auditors: we are all painfully well aware of the issues in this case. Every argument and counterargument has been picked apart, thread by tiresome thread, over these past two hundred fifty years; every hair has been split. Our souls and our ears are weary of it. Why repeat the debates we heard at Lakshmi? The community of the Golden Oecumene will not upbraid us for moving quickly on this matter; no, indeed! If anything, the Golden Oecumene frets with impatience, and wonders at our lack of action. Therefore I move to call the question. Nebuchednezzar, predict for us the outcome of this hearing! None of us, I think, will be surprised to find that we will all favor a sentence of permanent exile!'
But Nebuchednezzar did not raise the mace from his lap. 'Slight variations in initial conditions lead to different out-comes in various extrapolations; an acceptable estimate cannot be made at this time.'
Phaethon felt again a pang of hope. Uncertainty?
One of the other Gold Manorials, Guttrick Seventh Glaine of Fulvous House, leaned from his seat: 'How can the outcome be in doubt? Fulvous Sophotech foretells an exile will be handed down in any case!'
Nebuchednezzar spoke, and his voice filled the hall: 'Phae-thon may have startling news concerning the motives which prompted him to violate the Lakshmi Agreement; representatives from the Warlock Iron Ghost School and the Warlock Seasonal Mind School may reassess their positions based on this new evidence; and Ynought Subwon Centurion of New Centurion House has a guest he wishes to invite to address
us.'
Tsychandri-Manyu was still standing: 'Oh, please! This is insufficient! How likely are we to be swayed by the opinions of two Warlocks and one Dark-Gray! Three voices out of one hundred three of us?! What single person here honestly supports Phaethon's cause?'
Asmodius Bohost of Clamour House stood, heaving his massive body upright on elephantine legs. 'Hoy!' he called, 'The Black Mansions say Phaethon should not be exiled, no! In fact, we think he should be crowned king, be given a pension, and have a palladium established in his honor in the acropolis!' He smiled impishy. 'Or, at least, that is what we will say we believe, until Tawne House sits down. Come now, Tsychandri! We all know how this is going to turn out, don't we? That doesn't mean we shouldn't enjoy the show. My colleagues and I want to give Phaethon a chance to beg and
squirm.'
