snapped shut; tubes and smart-wires that had been sheared off were still wiggling near his neckpiece. The other casket circuits were intact and seemed uncorrupted by the virus. A high-compression beam from his shoulderboard was able to join and interface with the telephone and telepresentation jacks in the casket wall.
In his mind, he touched the yellow disk with his disembodied glove.
'Rhadamanthus, are you injured?' The familiar voice?he thought of it as the penguin voice-sounded in his ears. 'Why, of course not, my dear boy. Why on earth should anything be the matter?'
Phaethon relaxed. The emergency was over after all. He put the emergency persona back to sleep, reentered his normal, slow-time brain, and felt the wash of rage and fear and anxiety rush over him.
'Someone's tried to kill me!'
'In this day and age, dear boy? That's simply not possible!'
'I'm coming home.' He opened more communication circuits in his armor, till the telepresentation arrangement was fully engaged. Then he stepped past the Middle Dreaming into the Deep Dreaming, and, in his mind, shoved open the door to Rhadamanthus Mansion, stepping onto the flagstones of the main hall, and looking around wildly.
Rhadamanthus, looking like an overweight butler, stood blinking in surprise. 'What in the world is wrong?!'
Phaethon pushed past him and ran through the door and up the stairs. Rhadamanthus, panting, breathless, jogged after him, gasping, 'What?! What is it?'
Phaethon paused at the threshold of the memory chamber to catch his breath. It was morning here, and sunlight yellow as gold came slanting from behind him in through windows still cold with dew. Open windows let in a morning chill. The silver and brass fittings of the cabinets to the left and right twinkled like ice. Phaethon saw his breath steaming.
There, on a low shelf near the window, in a pool of sunlight, was the casket.
Even from across the room he could see the words on the lid. Sorrow, great sorrow, and deeds of renown without peer, within me sleep; for truth is here.
Rhadamanthus touched his shoulder. 'Phaethon?please tell me what has happened.'
Phaethon took a step into the chamber, and looked at Rhadamanthus across his shoulder. The note to himself, written when he was only playing a partial personality, was still ring-
ing in his ears. (It is clear. I must do what is right, no matter what the cost to myself.)
'You have no recollection of having been attacked by a Neptunian virus-entity?' Phaethon asked Rhadamanthus.
'Anticipating your orders, sir, I have called the Constabulary, who have constructed a new type of Sophotech based on historic records, named Harrier. Harrier has conducted several investigations based on available information, but finds no probable cause to continue. I have downloaded a copy of myself to be examined by the Southwest Overmind, who is one of the Ennead; likewise, they have detected no evidence that I have been tampered with. Was I correct in assuming you believe yourself to be under an attack by a violent aggressor?'
'You think I'm suffering pseudomnesia? This is all delusion ... ?'
'That would be the logical implication. Otherwise we have to assume the existence either of a traitor Sophotech among the Earth mind community or of a highly industrialized technical civilization external to our own, aware of us and among us, familiar with our systems, and yet a civilization which, so far, has produced no sign detectable to us that it exists.'
'The other alternatives are equally unimaginable, Rhadamanthus. When is the last time you heard of a crime taking place in our society? Yet if someone has invaded my nervous system without my consent, we have a thought-rape, something the world has not seen since the nightmare days of the Fifth Era. On the other hand, if it was done with my consent, therefore I must have known then that I would open the casket now. Either way, I must carry through. And it won't just be me who remembers what I did; everyone else's casket locked by the Lakshmi Agreements will pop open. Even if I cannot unknot this mystery, someone should. And don't talk to me of penalties to myself! The whole Golden Oecumene could be at risk!'
In one step he was across the chamber. The casket was in
his hand.
'Daphne is on the line?she is asking you to stop. The young lady is quite frantic.'
Phaethon hesitated, his face eager for hope. 'My Daphne?' (Could it be?)
'No. Daphne Tercius Emancipated.' The doll-wife.
And one of the many people who lived with the Rhadamanthus system woven into their brains. If the system were corrupted...
Phaethon's face went cold again. 'Tell her she's one of the people I'm trying to save.'
He turned the key. Letters flamed blood red. 'WARNING: This contains mnemonic templates.. ..'
'Harrier Sophotech is also on-line. He wishes to conduct a Noetic examination of your brain for evidence of tampering, but only a narrow bandwidth of the circuits in the Hospice box you are in can reach your brain. Take off your armor.'
'I'm not doing that. You could be possessed by the enemy Sophotech for all I know.'
'Immortals should not make rash decisions. Take a century or two to think this over, young master...'
Xenophon's message was still in his mind. (You know your guilt; now fall.) Except that Phaethon knew nothing. Nothing made sense; nothing was clear. (It is clear. I must do what is right, no matter the cost to myself.)
He said, 'No one is immortal when someone is about to kill him. And we don't have time. I must act before evidence is erased. The Neptunian's real body cannot have traveled far from Eveningstar's mausoleum.'
