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, or 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.
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, sur-
rounded 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.
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 applewood, 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
