implants, an hour to compose. But if, in that same one second of time, that Sophotech can produce something more valuable-exploring the depth of abstract mathematics, or inventing a new scientific miracle, anything at all (provided that it will earn more in that second than I earn in an hour)-then the competition is not making me redundant. The Sophotech still needs me and receives the benefit of my labor. Since I am going to get the benefit of every new invention and new miracle put out on the market, I want to free up as many of those seconds of Sophotech time as my humble labor can do.
'And I get the lion's share of the benefit from the swap. I only save him a second of time; he creates wonder upon wonder for me. No matter what my fear of or distaste for Sophotechs, the forces in the marketplace, our need for each other, draw us together.
'So you see why I say that not a thing the Silent One said about Sophotechs made sense. I do not understand how they could have afforded to hate each other. Machines don't make us redundant; they increase our efficiency in every way. And the bids of workers eager to compete for Sophotech time creates a market for merely human work, which it would not be efficient for Sophotechs to underbid.'
Diomedes spoke in a distant, haunted voice: 'But, friend, I have been inside the Silent One's mind, and you have not. You did not see his memories of luxury and splendor.... They were the Lords of the Second Oecumene, the masters of the singularity fountains! They did not work. They did not compete. They did not bid, or buy. They did not have markets, or money. The only thing of value to them was their reputation, their artistic verve, their wit, their whimsy, and the calm dignity with which they welcomed their inevitable fall in darkened coffins into the blood red supergravity well of their dark star.'
There was silence around the table for a time.
More sand fell through the glass.
Diomedes said, 'It's odd. Their society was not un-like our own. A peaceful Utopia, but, unlike ours, one without laws, or money. What strange, incomprehensible force of fate or chance or chaos ordained her downfall?'
Atkins snorted. 'It seems strange only if you believe that garbage Ao Varmatyr believed. His society was not set up the way he thought it was. No society could be.'
Diomedes looked surprised. 'And by what psychic intuition do you know this?'
'Its obvious. That society could not exist,' said Atkins.
'Nor will it ever,' added Phaethon.
The two men exchanged smiling glances.
'We are thinking of the same thing, aren't we?' said Atkins, nodding.
'Of course!' said Phaethon.
The two men spoke at once:
'They certainly had laws,' said Atkins.
They certainly had money,' said Phaethon.
The two men exchanged puzzled glances.
Atikins nodded. 'You first.'
Phaethon said, 'No civilization can exist without money. Even one in which energy is as cheap and free as air on Earth, would still have some needs and desires which some people can fulfill better than others. An entertainment industry, if nothing else. Whatever efforts-if any-these productive people make, above and beyond that which their own idle pastimes incline them to make, will be motivated by gifts or barter bestowed by others eager for their services. Whatever barter keeps its value best over time stays in demand, and is portable, recognizable, divisible, will become their money. No matter what they call it, no matter what form it takes, whether cowry shells or gold or grams of antimatter, it will be money. Even Sophotechs use standardized computer seconds to prioritize distributions of system resources among themselves. As long as men value each other, admire each other, need each other, there will be money.'
Diomedes said, 'And if all men live in isolation? Surrounded by nothing but computer-generated dreams, pleasant fictions, and flatteries? And their every desire is satisfied by electronic illusions which create in their brains the sensations of satisfaction without the substance? What need have men to value other men then?'
'Men who value their own lives would not live that way.'
Diomedes spread his hands and shrugged. He said softly: 'I don't believe the Silent Ones did either of those things....'
Atkins said, 'They certainly did not value each other's lives. Didn't you notice what kind of society Ao Var- matyr was describing? The clue was right there in everything he said. What was the one thing, over and over, Ao Varmatyr kept complaining about with the Sophotechs?'
Diomedes said, 'That the Sophotechs would not obey orders.'
Atkins nodded. 'Exactly.'
Diomedes looked back and forth between the two other men. 'I do not grasp your point.'
Atkins tapped his own chest with a thumb. 'You know me. What would I do, if a subordinate of mine disobeyed a direct order, and continued to disobey?' Diomedes said, 'Punish him.' Atkins said, 'Can you think of a circumstance under which I'd be authorized and allowed to kill him, or to order them to kill himself?'
Diomedes looked blankly at Phaethon. Phaethon said, 'The war mind not long ago said something of the sort. I don't know enough ancient history to know the details. Can't you court-martial a subordinate for cowardice in the face of the enemy, or high treason, or force him to commit ritual suicide for letting the flag touch the ground, or something like that... ?'
'Something like that,' said Atkins. 'But you, Phaethon. What is the worst you can do to a subordinate if he disobeys orders?' 'Discharge him from employment.' Atkins leaned back, looking grim and satisfied. 'You and I are from different cultures, Phaethon. You are an entrepreneur. I am a member of a military order. You make mutually agreed-upon exchanges with equals. I take orders from superiors and give orders to inferiors. Your culture is based on freedom. Mine is based on discipline. Keep that in mind when I ask the next question: Which kind of culture, one like yours or one like mine, do you suppose the Silent Oecumene was like? A Utopia without laws? Or a slave state run by a military dictator?'
Diomedes said, 'Toward the end, yes, they had degenerated to a slave state. That was the tragedy of their downfall, they who had once been so free, falling so low.'
Atkins shook^his head and snorted. 'Nope. They were corrupt from the start. If they were so free and Utopian, why didn't they just fire any Sophotechs who wouldn't obey orders, and hire a new one? Their Sophotechs weren't employees. They were serfs.'
He paused to let that sink in. Then he said, 'I wonder if they just kept intact the same discipline and hierarchy they had evolved with captain and crew over the generations of their migration aboard the Naglfar, and the descendants of the captains and officers kept control over the technology, the singularity fountains, which supplied everyone with power. Or maybe they had a monopoly over the information flows and educational software. Or just controlled the money supply. You don't need to control that much to control everyone's lives.'
Phaethon said in dark amazement, 'Why didn't they rebel against such control? Were they disarmed?'
Aktins shook his head, coldness in his eyes. 'Rebellion requires conviction. Once conviction is destroyed, slavery is welcomed and freedom is feared. To destroy conviction, all it takes is a philosophy like the one I heard Ao Varmatyr telling me. Everything else is just a matter of time.'
The sands in the glass ran out.
Phaethon's face took on that dream-ridden, distant look that people who forget to engage their face-saving routine were wont to take on, when their sense filters are turned to absent things. The overmind formation rods, which reached from deck to dome, showed furious activity as the ship mind divided or recombined itself into several different architectures, rapidly, one after another, attempting to solve the novel problem of detecting the unfamiliar ghost particles in flight. Energy mirrors to the left and right, shining from balconies or rising suddenly from the deck as additional circuits engaged, flowed with changing calculations, drew schematics and maps, argued with each other, compared information, performed rapid tests. Each mirror was filled with stars as different quadrants of the surrounding space were examined.
Then, silence fell. One energy mirror after another went dark. The various segments of the ship mind, operating independently, all arrived at the same conclusions. All the maps changed until they were iterations the same map; all the schematics vanished except for one; all the screens went dark except the one focused at the center of the Solar System, pointed at the sun.
