'Oh, come on. I am your wife, you know. I've communed with you. I've been you.'
'I would not go through your diary without asking!'
'Oh, really? What if the wake-up code for the old version of me was there? Or are you only willing to break into private mausoleums, batter constables, fight Atkins, and try to kidnap sleeping women?'
'I-well-you make a good point, I suppose. But still you should not-'
'What, are you afraid I'll come across your private sexual fantasies about making me dress up in a pony suit and horse-breaking me? I have to admit, I sort of like that one ...'
'You are changing the subject, miss!'
'Demoted back to 'miss,' eh? Well, don't worry, hero. If I die in exile, I wouldn't be telling anyone your secrets.' She tossed the slate back onto the cot with a negligent flick of her wrist. 'I suppose it doesn't matter whether you use that damn noetic reader or not. I can tell you what it will say.'
'What?'
'The false memories were imposed through the Middle Dreaming. You were standing near the courthouse, and a friend of Unmoiqhotep's, one of the Cacophiles, got you to accept some sort of quick-read file. You were on public courthouse ground. You must have been using public server support for your sense-filter, the same kind of low-budget public-works thing Atkins was complaining that Unmoiqhotep had cracked. Right?'
'Y-yes. But why do you conclude that...'
'Simple. You were brain-raped. It could not have happened when or at any time before you were sourced through Rhadamanthus, or the mansion-mind would have detected it, or before your trial, for then the Curia noetic reading would have detected it. And it didn't happen after you entered the Eleemosynary hospice box, because the concierge would have detected it. So whom did you meet after you left the trial and before you went to the hospice? The Cacophiles.'
She pointed at the slate glowing on the cot. 'And the self-consideration analysis even told you that something was making you not want to think about the Cacophiles. It told you. You ignored it. And don't give me this 'how can I know anything if my brain has been altered?' garbage! Look for the confirming evidence! Look at your own damn self-analysis! Look at basic Deception Theory you learned as an Apprentice, 'for every false-to-facts system there must be at least one self-inconsistency value' remember? It's all lies, and you should be able to see through them, Phaethon! There is no Silent Oecumene and no spies and no booby-trap! And there is Nothing! I mean there isn't a Nothing. No such thing as Nothing. Demons in Heaven! Boy, do I sound stupid even trying to say it!' And there were tears in her swollen eyes, and she began to laugh, and her face was flushed with anger, and Phaethon somehow thought she looked lovely anyway.
'Don't get upset. Remember your self-control.'
'Bugger that! I've left the Silver-Grey. Reds get hysterical. It's our privilege!'
'Be that as it may, your theory simply does not cover all the facts. Why did someone put a dream-block in my head to prevent me from thinking or dreaming about the Second Oecumene? If it wasn't the Silent Ones, then who?'
'Perhaps the block was merely intended that you should not dream about anything. Maybe they wanted you to die of dream deprivation before anyone examined you noetically and discovered the fraud. Why the Second Oecumene? I don't know. The subject matter may have been chosen at random, or they may have chosen the most upsetting image from your subconscious, or the thought-virus may have mutated in operation. Chaos happens, darling. Some things aren't planned.'
'Someone sent me a threatening message just earlier this evening, through Daughter-of-the-Sea.'
'Oh, that. That was me. Your Daughter-of-the-Sea bollixed the message.'
'What was all that about being chained on a foreign planet, then?'
'All I said was that we could have a fourth honeymoon on a real moon. You could make a little lovers' planetoid for us, just the two of us, and maybe you would not have to wander through the stars so far to find any happiness.'
'And-oh. You mean you-Are you volunteering to come with me?'
'Not while you have that stupid bucket on your head. But maybe I'll come. Maybe not. But you know neither of us are going anywhere until you use that noetic box. Are you really worried about it being booby-trapped? Use the damn thing on me. Read my mind. Find out if I work for the Silent Oecumene. Or for the Blue Fairy-babies, or for Father Christmas.'
'What if it's not safe ... ?'
She spread her arms. 'You'll only be hurting a Silent Oecumene spy.'
'Wouldn't it be wiser to take a precautionary ...'
'You are not putting a bucket on my head, Phaethon Prime Rhadamanth, and that's final. Come on! Get it over with.'
She walked over and put her hand on Phaethon's chest, she put her fingers in the chest pocket and touched the noetic unit's thought-ports. 'I'm not a spy, Phaethon.'
Phaethon was gripped by the fear that he was going to see his wife die right in front of his eyes. 'Wait!' But his clumsy hand, tangled with wire, could not move up quickly enough.
She said, 'I swear.'
The unit hummed. Daphne looked blank-eyed.
'No! Wait!'
But then Daphne smiled, and the unit said, 'Subject is telling the truth to the best of her knowledge, information, and belief. She has no private mental reservations. There is no sign of subconscious tampering. Her last mental redaction was a temporary memory loss performed, at her request, by the Red Eveningstar Sophotech on November 2nd.'
She smiled at him. 'And I swear I love you.'
The unit said, 'Partially accurate. She has a private mental reservation that you are behaving so erratically and peculiarly, that she is quite exasperated with you, and she finds that this, despite her best efforts, makes you harder to love.'
Daphne scowled and snatched her hand back. 'Oh, shut up, you!' Then she muttered: 'Blabbermouth.'
Phaethon drew a breath. 'Very well. I'm convinced it is worth the risk. Unit! Please examine me for signs of mental tampering.'
The unit hummed again, coughed. The humming dropped in pitch and fell silent.
Daphne said in a worried voice, 'Is something wrong?'
Phaethon said, 'Report progress.'
The unit said, 'Unable to comply. No valid parameters are present.'
Daphne flapped her hands. 'Try it again.'
The unit said, 'External energy source interrupting matrix memory ring. Unit disabled.'
Daphne gave off a little squeal of anger. 'Take the bucket off and try again!'
Phaethon reinserted his probe into the noetic-reader housing. 'I don't think it is any interference from me or my armor.'
The unit said, 'System must shut down and go through re-constitution process. Please stand by.'
'Damn it!' exclaimed Daphne. 'You plugged in one of those wires backward, or something. Just like the time you collapsed the east wing in Paris!'
'There was an electromagnetic pulse. It scrambled some of the outer circuits. That infinite self-sustaining ring I was telling you about just stumbled all over itself and got tangled. The information is still there, tangled in a Moebius knot, and without any addresses. But the inner neutronium or pseudo-neutronium, or whatever it is, is still fine. You would need a beam of antimatter even to scratch that stuff... Hm. The energy-wave is coming in at normal thought-port bandwidth. Could it be some sort of feedback or resonance from the armor?'
'Take off your armor and try it again.'
A thin and girlish voice spoke from the ring on Daphne's hand: 'Do not take off the armor! Daphne, move back! Phaethon is under attack!'
