The Phoenix Exultant

AT DAWN

Phaethon turned his back to both of them, irked and angered, but unwilling to show his exasperation. He found a wall socket leading to the barge power-core, and pretended to busy himself programming an adapter out of his nanomaterial cloak, to recharge his drained armor batteries.

The other two said nothing. Despite all the unasked and unanswered questions, no one spoke.

Daphne stood leaning back against the rail, ankles crossed, hands near her hips grasping the rail to either side. A soft night wind tossed her mussed hair. Her face was still smudged, but she looked lovely nonetheless.

Daphne wore a slight, dreamy smile, and her eyes were on the distant horizon. She looked as if all were well with the world. But that slight supercilious arch to her eyebrow, that slight catlike smile, also made her look as if all were right with the world only because of some secret scheme of her own, a scheme which, under its own power, needing nothing more from her, moved to its long-foreseen conclusion.

Meanwhile Atkins stood still, patient as a stone, while his small black remotes, like little scampering seashells, combed back and forth across the burnt and flame-scarred area of the barge deck.

Phaethon thought, in a spasm of irritation, why shouldn't he be patient? Atkins was still immortal.

Some part of the anger in Phaethon's mind bubbled to the surface. He shut off the wall socket, and turned to glower at Atkins.

Phaethon pointed toward Daphne, and snapped at Atkins: "Before anything else happens, I want Daphne's noumenal immortality copies restored. They were taken from her wrongfully: Her exile is wrongful, since she was exiled only for helping me, and I should not have been, and would not have been, ostracized by the Hortators if you had had the decency to speak up at my inquest hearing, and tell the College of Hortators the truth!"

"Yes, sir," said Atkins in a polite tone. "I am sure you do want that. Was there something in particular you think I can do to help you out there, sir?"

Phaethon told himself that anger was both irrational and undignified. He was sure a self-consideration circuit would show him whatever subconscious associations or allusions were provoking his sense that he had been treated unfairly.

But the anger was there nonetheless. "Yes. You can issue an official apology. You can pay monetary damages to my wife for the period of time she was deprived of the use of her immortality circuit, a circuit she had every right to use and which, had it not been for the deception you practiced on the College of Horators, she would have been able to use. Her life was and still is in danger during every moment her immortality circuit is disengaged, because any fatal accident she suffers now will permanently destroy part of her thought-record, and, if she loses too much memory, that may prejudice her rights to her own identity!"

Atkins said curtly, "Not much I can do about that, sir. Was there anything else?"

"Yes! You can offer her a public apology and monetary damages for the amount of time she was impressed into involuntary servitude as an operative of the Oecumene Warmind Military Hierarchy. Or do you deny that the military was using her as bait to lure the Silent One agent out into the open? You were treating her as if she were one of your people, risking her life, putting her in a combat situation, but you did not give her the option to volunteer for that life-and-death mission. Nor did you give her the benefit of the training, arms, and equipment, which you have given the lowliest soldier in your ranks, in order to give him the chance, at least, to defend himself! A chance you did not give her!"

He looked aside and saw that Daphne was smiling. Phaethon felt a moment of confusion and hope. He said, "Unless ... did you volunteer for this, Daphne? Did Atkins explain the situation to you, and you came nonetheless? That was what was missing from the days after you left Atkins's house, in the record you showed me, wasn't it? Some period of training or preparation, when he readied you to face this danger ... ?"

And he could not help but smile in relief. For a moment, for just a moment, he had thought that the government and the society of the Golden Oecumene was capable of the type of mean, low, and deceptive practices which the barbarian governments of primitive and unenlightened ages had practiced throughout all time. A time now long past...

Daphne said, "Volunteer? To go into danger? Me? Of course not. Don't be silly. I thought you were deluded. I thought Gannis made up your enemy invaders just to trick you. I certainly would not have volunteered to get my poor Sunset killed! I loved that horse. Volunteer for that? What kind of monster do you think I am?"

"Then what happened during those missing days?"

"Mostly, I wandered around looking for you. And I wished I lived in the days when there were roads. So there I was on my horse, plodding through the green hills of India, where the Uncomposed Cerebellines live, separate from their gardens and rice-ponds. And I turned into something like the myth of the Asteroid Miner's Wife, moving from little community to little community, searching for her husband's misplaced mail-body-bag. Except in my case, instead of hunting down frightened Couriers of the Reunited Nations Extraterrestrial Postal Service, I was the one who had to flee and hide, so as not to come to the attention of the Hortators. And I didn't have a flame-cannon. But aside from that, I was just like her. You would have been surprised. The rumor got started that I was about to be exiled, so no one was willing to talk to me (you know how Uncomposed Cerebellines are) and everyone pretended they couldn't see me, (even when they could) and every time I rode into some small hamlet or real-market or construc-tionary, everyone seemed to know who I was, and they left out little gifts or food or trinkets on their watch-stoops, or hanging in slate-cases from their garden posts. Just like the Sandmen in the story leaving out flame-slugs and air-bottles for the Asteroid Miner's Wife, you see? And they pretended that animals or fairies were coming and taking the little gifts away. Actually, it was all rather sweet. A lot of people left me money, time coins, or antimatter grams. That part was really funny. Because we're rich. I told you that part already, didn't I?"

"Yes. I think you've told me everything," said Phaethon. Something in her voice, in her little story, was making his anger ebb. Was she doing that on purpose... ? But no. It could not be on purpose. No woman could be that calculating. Phaethon turned back toward Atkins, and was about to begin remonstrating with him again, when Daphne added: "Oh, no! I forgot to tell you the one important part! I met one of Aurelian Sophotech's projections in the Taj Mahal." "You were looking for me in the Taj Mahal... ?" "Oh, no. I was looking for you in India. But I went to see the Taj Mahal just because I was in India anyway, you know, and why miss the opportunity ... ? His image was dressed like Ganesha, wearing an elephant head, one broken tusk dipped in scrivener's ink, and riding on the back of a mouse. It was really cute-looking; I'll show you my memories after we get back home."

Phaethon darted a dark look at Atkins. "Yes. That's quite right. Our exile is going to be rescinded, correct? Atkins is a witness that all these events are real. Perhaps this time he will not hide the truth."

A twitch of annoyance touched the edge of Atkins' mouth. "Sir, you seem to think I set policy. I just obey orders. I can't even pass wind without the regulation book says so, OK? I didn't make the set-up you got yourself into."

"Very convenient to have someone else in charge of your conscience, then, is it?"

"You might know more about that than I would, sir. Ask your mansion that runs your life for you." Phaethon was outraged. "I beg your pardon ... ?!" Daphne said in a smooth and carefree voice, "Oh, darling! Did I tell you that Aurelian had a message for you ... ? It's the most important thing in your life, so if you two king stallions are done kicking at each other, maybe I can clue you in... ?"

Phaethon said to Atkins, "You, sir, are a jackass. I think you owe me some sort of apology. Otherwise..." But then he could think of no legitimate threat, so he stood there, grimacing and feeling foolish.

To his infinite surprise, Atkins stepped forward, extended his hand, and said, "I'm sorry."

"What?"

"I'm sorry. Shake. I didn't set the policy, and I did not know the extent of the Silent Oecumene penetration into our mentality, and so the Parliament couldn't make any of the knowledge public."

"Then it is the Silent Oecumene?"

"Their technology, without a doubt. Whether it is really them, I don't know. Unless they found some way of climbing up out of a black hole."

"How long have you known?"

"Known for sure? Not till the night they sent one of their agents, disguised as a Neptunian, to go talk to you. They were pretty desperate to get to you by that point, and so they took risks and got sloppy. The Neptunian left behind physical evidence, spores in the grass, nanomachines, and so on. Because of the way the data was encoded into the nanomachine fields, it seemed pretty clear they had a Sophotech. You overheard what my remotes found out about that. But as for how long it's been since I suspected? It was since the solar storm."

"The one that killed my father."

"Right. I saw an art performance some freak from the Irem school put up on the public channels that analyzed the movements and energy-levels involved in the solar flares. It reminded me of the attack fractile patterns some of my chaos-weapons use. I mean, I know what a barrage looks like when I see one. And, after I finally got the funds to do a statistical analysis run on the flare motions from that recording (and, boy, the Parliament really did not want to give the money for that!) I saw what the target was they were firing at. Your ship."

"They were manipulating Helion's array somehow to produce the effects?"

"I don't know how they did it. At that point, I did not even know if they had done it. No one else but me thought that the solar storm followed an attack pattern, or that it was deliberate."

"Why didn't you tell anyone your suspicions?" Atkins looked amused. "I told my superiors, the Parliamentary standing committee on Military Oversight. Are you asking why I didn't tell the press? I'm not allowed. And even if I were, I would hardly have told anyone. For all I knew then, the Silent Oecumene had corrupted Helion's Pyraeus and Flammifer Sophotechs. And, if they were into the Solar mentality, why not in the Terrestrial? The fact that your ship was a target led me to believe that you were also a target, and the Parliament agreed, and I was sent to watch you during the festival. You put on a disguise and slipped out one night, and I lost track of you, and by the time I found you again, you were already talking to the Neptunian." "Then-they killed my father-?"

"And I think they meant to kill you, too, as soon as they could get you into a private enough spot. But then something changed their minds."

"When my lawyer tricked Gannis into canceling my debt. They thought they could possess the ship rather than destroy it."

"Lucky thing, too. Otherwise, that black card which Scar-amouche handed you-the one they called 'Scary,' a polyp riding on Unmoiqhotep's back; that was Scaramouche-would have just brain-wiped you instead of giving you pseudomnesia. And, yes, I was not really the bailiff at the courthouse. Sending me to guard the justices would be like parking a battleship in the pond behind the parish courthouse in Dorking to protect the Judge of the Assize. Yes. I was there to watch you. I was ordered to keep an eye on you every time you logged off of Rhadamanthus. These Silent Ones are deadly afraid of Sophotechs, and I knew they would approach when and only when you were not hooked to Rhadamanthus."

"So you waited till Daphne was coming to look for me, knowing they would come out of hiding to follow her. And your plan was just to trace the link back to their superiors once they succeeded. And you were willing to let both of us be killed to allow that to happen, weren't you?"

Atkins nodded glumly. "You're right, I should have waited longer. I took a risk trying to protect the girl during the explosion, but I think that thing's senses were confused when you opened fire on it."

"Confused it, did I?" Phaethon's voice was flat.

"Oh, don't feel bad. It was a good try for an amateur. The target was stunned for almost a second. You made it use up a lot of its ablative shielding."

"Thanks," said Phaethon without enthusiasm.

"But you're right. I should have held my fire. Right now, all we have is one vector of one line of communication. We have no idea how far away the destination was, nor will we know until we get a second line. And if the thing was broadcasting to a relay, that line tells us nothing. So we don't have as many clues to go on as we would have, if it had taken your head and gone off. But it was one of those judgment calls, you know?" He smiled. "In any case, I can make out my after-action report now and still keep my zero civilian casualty rate."

"So you saved us to allow you to simplify your paperwork, is that it?"

"Got to keep your priorities straight, sir. But don't worry. We need at least a second line to trace back, in order to triangulate on where the Silent One agents are sending their messages. So we're going to have to find another Silent One agent, or wait here till another one comes by to murder or kidnap you."

"And I suppose you are going to tell me that I have to remain mortal until that happens, won't I? Because a Hortator reinstatement would be a public event that any remaining Silent One spies would notice, right? And so I am just supposed to wait here till I am killed just because you want me to, is that correct?"

"I've got nothing to do with it, sir," said Atkins, looking him straight in the eye. "It's only a question of courage. Would you risk your life to save the Golden Oecumene? Would you die?"

"Of course. That goes without saying." "It goes without saying these days, sir, because you and I are the only people I've ever heard say it. I'm asking you to join the service. The enemy must have a starship." "That is my conclusion as well. A Silent Phoenix." "No ship of ours would be able to catch the thing; only yours. Which means we need to get her away from the Neptunians without alerting the Silent Ones who have infiltrated the Neptunians. And, if that means letting yourself get dumped on by the College of Hortators, and staying in this immortality-less exile, then that's what you may be asked to do."

"Good grief, Marshal Atkins! Are you contemplating turning my Phoenix Exultant into a warship? A ship of peace, a ship meant for exploration, for the creation of new life? A horrid thought, sir! Unthinkable! Are you serious?!"

"Let me ask you. Do you think the enemy could possibly have any vessel that could outrun her?" "Unthinkable-ah. Hm. Did you say 'her'?" "Course. All ships are 'her.' Beautiful piece of machinery, that ship. You come up astern an enemy target at ninety-nine percent of the speed of light, target has got no time to react, won't even see you till you're right there. Then do a close pass, and use her drive like a stern-chaser, dose them with lethal radiation or dump some excess antimatter fuel off into their path. Or better yet, just ram her right through them. The amount of armor that beauty carries, no normal ship would even scratch her. She's a wonder."

"Well. Well, I'm glad we agree on something, Marshal. But nonetheless, while I'd be perfectly willing to cooperate for any just and good cause, there is simply no possibility that I will join your military hierarchy and place myself under your orders."

"I can't force you. I can't draft you. Wish I could. But I can't. But think about joining the service. It may be the only way to get your ship back. Not only do you get a chance to serve your Oecumene, there is a good benefits package, which I can explain, too, including free housing, medical programs, and benefits. I have my own immortality circuit, which no one controls but the Warmind Sophotech group." "You have your own circuit? Just for you? For one man?"

"Those Hortators don't tell the military what to do. Besides, our system is not a part of any public record the Silent Ones could see. Do you get what I am trying to tell you? You really do not have much choice about joining up, Phaethon."

Daphne said, "I've got something sort of really unbelievably important to say; can I interrupt at this point?"

Phaethon said, "Please excuse us for just a moment, my dear. There is just one more matter I need to settle with Marshal Atkins."

Daphne muttered, "Which one of you produces more testosterone ... ? Don't worry, lover, I think he's got you beat on that one..."

Phaethon, with dignity, pretended not to hear. He turned to Atkins. "Let us table this discussion of my future for the moment. I'm still curious about one thing in my past. When you were following me all this time, you were also Constable Pursuivant, weren't you? I should have realized that that must have been you. No Silent One spy would actually be trying to get me to log on to the mentality because there actually was no mind-virus waiting for me. In fact, if I had logged on just once during this whole episode, I would have found out when the false-memories were implanted. The real Silent Ones would have been trying to stop me from logging on, not encouraging me."

Atkins blinked in confusion. "Beg pardon? Who? Who is this Constable Pursuivant... ?"

Phaethon said, "You mean you don't know ... ?"

They both looked at Daphne, who looked confused, and shrugged. "I don't know who you're talking about."

But a little voice on her ring finger said, "I know! He says he wants to talk to you."

Phaethon looked left and right. "Ah... Atkins, do you, ahh..."

"Don't worry, sir," said Atkins. "I'm armed."

"There's an understatement if I ever heard one," muttered Daphne. Then she said, "OK, little one. Put him on."

A dot of light from the ring touched one of the unstained diamond parasols. A connection was made. An image formed.

Phaethon stared in surprise. "You. It was you. But why ... ?"

In the parasol, the very detailed image of Harrier Sophotech smiled and touched a finger to the bill of his deerstalker cap by way of salute. "My investigation was not yet complete. And I thought, to gather all the evidence, I would have to send a contingent out into space. And I knew that you could not pilot your fine ship without your armor, now could you?" His keen eyes swept back and forth across the group. "So then. Are we all ready to go..?"

"Go?" said Atkins in surprise. "Pardon me for seeming obtuse, but we don't know where to go yet. We only have one vector. We need a second vector to triangulate."

"That difficulty shall soon be adjusted. The particular nihilist psychology of the Silent One you just slew, Mr. Atkins, was, I calculate, a defense intended to prevent that poor creature from being, shall we say, 'corrupted' ... ? During its stay here on Earth. Or should I call it exposure to Earth? The other servants of the Silent Ones we have seen so far have not manifested that particular type of unreason. You understand my meaning."

"Forgive me for both seeming and for being obtuse," said Phaethon, "But... You? You?"

"I? I, what, Mr. Rhadamanth?" Harrier smiled.

"How could you be Pursuivant? I thought that Sophotechs may not and do not serve in any position of Parliament, government, or military, nor (or so I thought) in the constabulary. How could you be Constable Pursuivant?"

Harrier smiled. "But I never was. Pursuivant is a fictional character, a share-mind with a download of training and police experience, who, as a character, is in the public domain. It is no crime, during masquerade, to pretend to be a public-domain character."

"Certainly it is a crime!" said Phaethon. "It is the impersonation of a police officer!"

"No, sir," said Harrier. "To impersonate a police officer one must show a badge or blazon or display a uniform, or do some other definite act, which a reasonable person would take to be a warrant of authority."

"I saw you when you were a mannequin. "You held out hand and said your badge was in it," said Phaethon.

"I held out my hand, but there was nothing in it. No reasonable person would have been fooled. At that time, I was still expecting you to log on to the mentality. Once you engaged your sense-filter and saw who I really was, I thought you would submit to a noetic examination, and we could solve this matter. Surely you were expecting me to meet you in Talaimannar... ?

"In any case, when you did not log on, despite that I had provided you with every good reason to do so, I realized that your behavior differed so widely from what my anticipatory models had led me to believe, that someone must have interfered with your normal thought-process.

"Then I spent a considerable amount of time (about how long it took you to fall out the window twenty feet down into the water) checking the records, one at a time, of every citizen, neuroform, and self-aware entity in the Golden Oecumene, to see if anyone else had acted out of character, to the same degree or in the same way. (I was thinking the criminal might be using a standard mode of operation, you see.) Well, I can certainly tell that during a wild celebration has got to be the worst time to check to see if anyone is behaving oddly. Everyone behaves oddly during a party.

"After about one-half second of this, your time, or 789 billion seconds, computer time, I had narrowed the scope of my investigation down from around 300 million people, to only some 45 hundred. And guess who one of those mentally altered people turned out to be?"

Phaethon said, "Helion. They had to control him to use the Solar Array as a weapon."

Daphne said, "Diomedes. They have to control him to seize control of the ship!"

Atkins said, "Daphne Prime. They made her drown herself to stop Phaethon from launching."

"Hmm. Daphne Prime ... ? Interesting idea ..." muttered the image of Harrier.

The ring on Daphne's finger chirped: "Can I guess, too? It must be Neo-Orpheus. How else could the Silent Ones have ensured that Phaethon would suffer an exile?"

"Excellent guesses, all!" said Harrier expansively. "But no. The person I was thinking of was none other than Mr. Jason Sven Ten Shopworthy, base half-communal with projected avatar share-mind, Glass Onion School, who lives in Dead Horse, Alaska."

Dull silence followed that announcement.

Phaethon stirred and turned, and asked his companions, "Is there anyone here besides me who is just simply incredibly irritated?"

Atkins had a what-the-hell-is-the-point-of-this look on his face. He said, "Pardon me, sir, but who is this, um, what's his name ... ?"

Daphne said, "And what is so weird about this guy you had to pick him out of 45 hundred people?"

Harrier continued, "Mr. Shopworthy had made it his practice, every day, to put on his winter-body and to ski out to his local contemplationary for incremental vastenings of his special avatar personality he keeps in his supercortex. Normally, in the afternoon when he is done, he pauses for a sensory-overload type of refreshment/apotheosis at a small tea-and-wire cafe on the slope of New Idea Mountain-sculpture. I do not know if you are familiar with the Glass Onion habit of using sensory overloads to test what degree of mental capacity, recall, and detail-recognition they achieve after periodic vastenings ... ? But here is the strange behavior I noticed ..."

Phaethon, Atkins, and Daphne leaned toward the image slightly, small, unconscious movements.

"Mr. Shopworthy usually sits looking north, on a mat placed near the post's thermal-illusion window, with the balcony railing on his right. But recently he had started sitting facing the south, which is odd, because he had to prop his left elbow on the balcony to turn on the goblet for his overloader. But his control points for his hand extension are on his left elbow."

The three of them all leaned slightly back, exchanging puzzled glances.

And Daphne said brightly, "Yoo-hoo! Can I change my guess about who is acting weird ... ? I pick Harrier Sophotech."

Atkins said, "Sir, this really seems like a waste of everyone's time. Could you just get to the point without drawing it out... ?"

But it was Phaethon who suddenly spoke up.

"The main million-channel cable leading from North America to Northern Asia runs right under that area."

Daphne and Atkins turned and stared at Phaethon.

Daphne nudged Atkins in the ribs. "It's spreading. Now Phaethon's doing it."

Phaethon continued, "But the whole cable structure is surrounded by a polystructral alloy mesh, with informata placed at every mesh-point, programmed to redesign and reformat the cable housing to prevent any possible outside interference. There is simply no way anyone could break the mesh to tap into the cable. Except at a join-box, a big one, where a branch reaches up toward the surface." Phaethon turned, and said to Daphne: "I know all about these cable designs, because I had to study the effects of the tidal changes my Lunar Orbital corrections might cause on large-scale structures. A cable that long and that big is vulnerable to crustal tides."

Daphne said, "I really hope this is going to turn out to be important, or, at least, interesting, because I still haven't gotten my chance to tell you about what Aurelian Sophotech said to me in the Taj Mahal."

Atkins spoke up. "Contemplationaries situated near the Arctic Circle are usually large domes, but they can't use ring-city point-to-point systems because of their location so far from the equator, and because of the atmospheric conditions,"

Daphne looked at Atkins with dismay. "Now you're doing it!"

Atkins said, "All I mean is that I happen to know that arctic contemplation houses have deep-root cables to lead down underground and merge with any main cables in the area. Because contemplation houses in general have to be able to handle almost any level of thought exchange, there are usually no gateways or barriers securing their connecting link to the main cables. It's a weak spot."

Daphne blinked. "Weak spot?"

Atkins said, "In other words, if you were going to introduce a data convulsion, a death worm, or a virus, into a main cable, such as, for example, if you were going to sabotage the medical dream-coffin system and kill thousands of innocent and helpless people, you'd pick the area beneath a contemplation house for your insertion point."

Daphne demanded impatiently: "And why in the world would I want to kill thousands of innocent and helpless people?"

"I'm not saying you would, ma'am. But it's something to think about, and run scenarios on. Sort of interesting, actually, once you find a weak spot in a system, such as where a contemplation house feeds into a main cable, to figure out how many people you can off how quickly, and what their possible retaliations would be."

Daphne murmured to Phaethon, "You're right. No wonder people get nervous around him. He's weird."

The ring on her finger chirped in a cheerful voice: "Taking an overstimulation refreshment requires the user to superactivate his Middle Dreaming circuit, shut down his inhibitors, and open up all his sense-filter files to any and all sensations!"

Daphne said, "Oh no! Not you, too!"

Phaethon said, "The mannequin control lines are usually stored near the surface of the main-cable web, since the core axis is reserved for polyphotonic noumenal devoted lines, which need more insulation. And that's where the architect would usually place the interruption sensors. If you were tapping into the line, you could get into the shallower mannequin lines without triggering those sensors."

Atkins said, "When you make a drop onto a hostile planet, you land near the poles. Not only would the planetary magnetic fields tend to mask your vehicle signature during the drop, but the laws of orbital mechanics require that most of your target planet's launch traffic and orbital traffic is near the equator. Where most of the traffic is, is where more traffic-control radar is. No one watches the north pole."

Daphne said, "Athenian architects avoided the use of mortar. Instead, they trimmed their stones to an extremely accurate fit and bonded the marble blocks together with I-shaped clamps. Second-Era classical buildings have scars and pock-marks where men of later ages chiseled out these clamps to melt down and sell the metal."

Phaethon said, "I beg your pardon ... ?"

Atkins said, "Come again, ma'am ... ?"

They were both staring at her.

Daphne smiled a winning smile, and shrugged, and said, "I was beginning to feel left out, that's all."

The image of Harrier Sophotech turned keen eyes on her. "Actually, Miss Daphne, you disappoint me. You are the one here who is familiar with the intrigues from spy-romances. I thought the pattern of clues would make sense to you. Why, for example, would Mr. Shopworthy lean on his left elbow rather than his right?"

Daphne shrugged. "Well, he wouldn't. Not normally. It would be too awkward. The only reason why you would wear one of those clumsy hand-extension things is to let you manipulate controls which you can't manipulate by a thought-to-wire command. The contact points are at the elbow because the rest of the glove, from about here up, extends into dream-space. The only time you'd want to push it up against anything, would be if you were touching a contact-point and trying to bring in signals from somewhere else, and feed them through your glove into dreamspace. And ..."

Harrier prompted, "And why would any person relaxing under a sensory overload be acting in the mentality? Would he normally be afraid of accidentally sending out nonconfirmed thoughts, making wrong connections, or losing his reality level?"

"It would have to be another part of his mind, insulated from the first part." And then Daphne's face lit up: "I've got it now! In an episode I saw, Weng chi-Ang Moriarty, the hundredth lineal descendant of Fa So Loee and Professor Moriarty, and the last member of the Invisible Empire of the Si Fan, had set up this wild card from the Middle Dreaming on a hillside where he knew a bird-watcher was going to be looking with binoculars, so that, the moment the victim saw the card, a ghost would download into his personal thoughtspace. And then the ghost committed crimes while the bird-watcher was otherwise occupied. It was a pretty good story, because the bird-watcher was trying to find the criminals, and he never thought about himself as a suspect. He also did sensory overloads. The overload relaxation covered up the extra signaltraffic, because overloads flood all your personal channels anyway. And ..."

Harrier said, "I think the Silent Ones saw the same episode."

"Oh my heavens! You've got to be kidding! That was just a show! People don't really have things like that happen to them! I mean, not real people ..."

Harrier said: "The card the Neptunian spy dropped from the Cernous Roc used to introduce a ghost into Mr. Shopworthy only had to be somewhere, anywhere, on the north slope of the New Idea Mountain-sculpture. During his daily over-stimulation, his sense-filter is tuned to maximum, and set to accept all channels and all stimulations. And he simply looks out over the landscape. Under normal circumstances, it is a perfectly safe thing to do."

Phaethon said, "Am I right in guessing that the times Mr. Shopworthy was sitting and enjoying his overloads coincided with, first, just after my hearing before the Curia, and, second, just before the Deep Ones' performance at Lake Victoria?"

Daphne said, "We're talking about Scaramouche, aren't we? The guy running that mannequin doesn't know he's running it."

Atkins turned, looked up at the night sky, frowning. Then he raised his finger and pointed. "I can get a fix through some triangulation satellites. And the orbital weapons sniper platform can angle the beam somewhat, so I'll only have to cut through a small cord of planet to hit the target. Which is good, because most people who armor themselves against space attacks put their armor and deflection grids overhead. No one expects a beam weapon to drill through the Earth and shoot you up the tail. Also, nothing much in Alaska. Should minimize collateral damage."

Phaethon realized in horror that Atkins was about to kill a perfectly innocent man in Alaska, without any warning or mercy. He moved to grab Atkins' arm, shouting, "No! Stop!" Atkins swayed to one side, and kicked Phaethon's feet out from under him, so that he fell to his hands and knees.

"PHAETHON, STOP." One of the diamond parasols next to the image of Harrier Sophotech unfolded, blinked, and displayed an image of a tall figure, stern, kingly, and grim, dressed in Greek armor with breastplate, hoplon, and horse-plumed helm. On his shoulder was a vulture, and at his feet, a jackal. To either side of this kingly figure stood two winged beings, masked in brass hag-faces, with nests of snakes for hair.

Phaethon stared up at the apparition. "Diomedes ... ?"

The figure's armor was drenched in blood from crown to heel, old blood and new blood, brown and bright red, splashed together. In its hand was a spear of ashwood. The voice came out at a lower volume: "Not Diomedes. I represent the War-mind Sophotech Group. This image is, I trust, the correct mythic symbol to fit into your Silver-Grey aesthetic?"

Phaethon climbed to his feet. Atkins was still squinting at the sky. Phaethon took a half-step forward.

The blood-red armored figure said, "STOP! You have already attempted once to interfere with the military operations of the Golden Oecumene armed forces. You are liable for charges of treason, which carries the only death penalty recognized by Foederal Oecumenical Commonwealth law. Do not increase your offense."

Phaethon was startled, and froze in his steps. 'Treason? To stop him from murdering someone ... ?"

"Interference with the constabulary is merely obstruction of justice. Interference with the army during the course of an ongoing battle is giving aid and comfort to the enemy. This crime is the only one mentioned by name in our Constitutional Logic, and is the most ancient. The Warmind Group is unlike all other Sophotech constructions, and recognizes no priority above that of the salvation of the Commonwealth from external enemies. Do not deceive yourself. Merely because this law has not been enforced since the beginning of the Sixth Era has not caused this law to lapse or to lose its full force and effect. Your attempt to interfere means that you may yet be tried for treason and executed. This matter is quite serious."

Atkins addressed the red-armored figure. "Warmind Group!"

The Super-Sophotech saluted. "Sir!"

"The events happening here are classified as secret. You may not release the data concerning Phaethon's attempted interference to the Curia or to any other civilian body, except for the appropriate members of the Parliamentary Military Oversight Committee, until and unless I instruct you otherwise. Is that clear?" "Yes, sir!"

"Summarize report on last action-situation." "Entire action took place within 0.002 picoseconds. At that time, directed-energy weapon entered target skull at midbrain and cortex, disabling fast-reaction circuits, but leaving the target's implants, including noetic and noumenal broadcasters, intact. Beam exited skull through upper crania. Brain signal action was closely monitored during the next .04 seconds. Noetic information allowed sniper platform to track which neural pathways were being engaged for which thoughts. While the noumenal espionage delator was unable to break the Silent One encryption on the enemies' thoughts, it was nonetheless able to detect nerve-paths leading toward suspicious sectors or circuits embedded in the target's brain. Those sections were disabled with a secondary-beam targeting by a surgical program from the orbital sniper platform. The Estimator anticipates that this prevented even any thoughts of suspicion or inhibition from forming, because it believes that those secondary sections were where the suspicion reflexes of the brain were kept, and the energy weapon was able to reach and destroy the suspicion-reflex brain cells before the pain-signals from other parts of the nervous system, traveling at biochemical speed, were able to reach them.

"Hence the target was completely without suspicion or inhibition, and was unable to override its pre-established highspeed reflexes. Finding itself in a brain under fire, it activated noumenal recording circuits, and broadcast itself to a safe station. Harrier Sophotech's predictions in this regard seem to be have been confirmed. Signal was intercepted by cislunar sail and suppressed. Unfortunately, the enemy thought-encryption system, which is based on an infinite-infinitesimal number process we cannot decode, prevented the signal from being trapped or recorded property. Scaramouche is dead beyond recovery."

Phaethon turned to Harrier. "What is going on? What prediction did you make?"

Harrier smiled, and said, "The other odd thing that Mr. Jason Sven Ten Shopworthy did, aside from leaning on his left elbow at the teahouse, was that he sleepwalked on his way home last Tuesday. While his body was on autopilot, records indicate that his mind entered into the Orient Free Market Group Thought-shop Mall in the Deep-Dreaming Commercial Channel. He visited quite a number of shops and business, and ran many free samples, and, all in all, seemed quite impressed with the luxury and wealth of our commercial consumer markets."

Phaethon said, "I don't understand. How could our wealth impress him? He was from the Silent Oecumene, which, by all accounts, was much richer in energy than our Golden Oecumene by an almost infinite amount. What was our wealth to him?"

"But their technology was arrested at the Fifth-Era level of development. They have only those technical advances from the Sixth Era, the Era of the Sophotechs, that we broadcast to them. There is no evidence, however, that they had in place any of the social or marketplace structures necessary to take advantage of those developments. Furthermore, it is not clear what percentage of the population survived the events depicted in the famous Last Broadcast, nor what their level of civilization was thereafter. War can do terrible things."

"Are you suggesting that their technology level is less than ours? Less? I had been assuming all this time it was greater..."

"Mr. Rhadamanth," said Harrier, "if you came for the first time from a more primitive circumstance and entered into the Golden Oecumene, what is the first, the very first, technological advantage of which you would avail yourself... ?"

Phaethon looked at Daphne. Perhaps he was thinking about her past.

He said, "We did corrupt him. Scaramouche bought a Noumenal Immortality account, didn't he?"

Harrier said, "And suppose you were an alien spy. You could not send your brain-information into any Golden Oecumene Sophotech or any of our mind banks, could you? So where would you send it? To which Sophotech would you direct the broadcast?"

Phaethon looked back and forth. "There is really something horrible about you all, Warmind, Harrier, Atkins. You just shot an innocent man without warning."

Harrier said, "If a police officer must shoot through a hostage to strike a criminal hiding in his mind, who is to blame? The officer, or the criminal who deliberately put that hostage in danger?"

Atkins patted Phaeton on the shoulder. "I think you need to reload some intelligence enhancers or something, sir. Maybe you're tired. Warmind! Tell our newest recruit about Mr. Shopworthy."

"Mr. Shopworthy is unaware of what occurred. He is presently recuperating in the Orpheus Alaska branch of the Noumenal Immortality life bank."

Atkins turned and stared at the eastern horizon. There was no hint of light there yet, but a predawn smell was in the night and, on the shore and not far away, first one bird note, then another, rang out, and soon the air was filled with song.

"Dawn's coming," said Atkins.

"It's refreshing!" said Daphne. "I always have loved the dawn! A time of hope, isn't it... ? And we really are going to defeat these creatures, aren't we? These monsters?"

"Actually," said Atkins, "I was thinking we should get under cover. I don't think a purely passive spy satellite or remote sent out from the enemy starship could see us in the dark, not if it did not dare emit any sort of signal to bounce off of us. But once the sun is up, the enemy may have enough magnification and resolution to get a picture of us even from somewhere beyond Mars, if his collector is big enough and his resolution is fine enough."

Daphne glumly looked up at the night sky.

Atkins said, "As for our plan, I think Phaethon has to continue with the masquerade we started here. If he publicly approaches the Hortators and proves his innocence, that will warn the enemy. So, without any visible help from anyone, he has to make contact with the Neptunians, get them to hire him, and get back to his ship. Once Phaethon is aboard the ship, the enemy will have to come for him. Each time they have acted so far, they've tried to get the armor."

Phaethon said, "Without the armor to control the ship-mind hierarchies, near-light speed flight is dangerous or impossible. But why do they want my ship?"

"I'm not sure. But I intend to find out. We can then follow the two signal vectors we have to see where they intersect. If the enemy starship is just hanging there in space, only another starship is going to be fast enough to approach her, if she turns and runs. Warmind .. . ?"

A smaller menu appeared next to the image of the blood-red figure in armor, showing latitudes and right ascensions. "These are the two directions the two signals traveled."

"Calculate the intercept."

Phaethon's almanac was as quick and precise as money could buy, and the circuitry it used was not fundamentally different from that in which Sophotechs were embedded, not fundamentally slower. Therefore, it was Phaethon who answered first: "About sixty degrees trailing Jupiter, at about five AUs distance, since Jupiter is presently at apogee. That puts it right in the middle of the Jovian Trailing Trojan Point City-Swarm. So, unless they put an alien starship in the middle of a highly populated and well-traveled area, we've only caught a relay or a lieutenant."

"That's not good. It means we have to trace the line of command up to the next level, or take steps to ensure that the higher-ups come out of hiding," said Atkins. "The enemy is going to be suspicious when they do not hear back from their lieutenants. So we need some sort of lure or bait that we know for sure the enemy will not be able to resist."

Phaethon did not like the way Atkins was looking at him.

Phaethon said, "You have simply got to be kidding me."

"As soon as we can get you inducted, and download some Basic Training routines into you, we'll be ready to go."

"It will never happen," said Phaethon, drawing himself erect. "I may cooperate freely with you, as one free man with another, but I shall not place myself under the orders of any other man."

Harrier said, "Perhaps Marshal Atkins is too polite actually to remind you that he is blackmailing you. If you do not sign up, you get put on trial for treason. Jjf you do sign up, you have access to the Military Noumenal Immortality Circuit, which is not controlled by Orpheus or the Hortators."

Atkins looked askance at Harrier. "Actually, I was going to appeal to his sense of duty and patriotism, and point out what a bad idea a split command was."

Phaethon folded his arms over his chest, and sighed. All he was aware of was fatigue. He was tired in his body, tired in his mind, tired in his soul. He was tired of being manipulated, forced, or coerced. He thought there was some error, some obvious oversight in Atkins's blackmail scheme, but Phaethon 's tired brain could not bring it to the surface.

Phaethon turned a thoughtful glance upon Daphne, who was staring out at the horizon, smiling as if half in a dream.

His voice woke her. "Daphne!"

She stirred, and turned luminous eyes on him. "Mm? Yes? What do you need, lover?"

"I am really tired, and my brain is acting stupid, and I haven't got a microscopic fragment of an idea of what to do."

She looked mildly amused. "Was there something you wanted me to do about all that, lover?"

He spread his hands as if to show their emptiness. "You're here to rescue me. I've run out of ideas. So rescue me."

There was a note of irony in his voice, as if he were challenging her, testing her. Daphne smiled very broadly, as if she were very pleased.

To Phaethon she said, "Listen to your little wife now, darling, and take notes, because I may give you a quiz on this later. Ready? Atkins is trying to. drive his mule (that's you, darling) with a carrot and a lash. The lash is the charge of treason. The carrot is the noumenal immortality circuit. But his carrot is no good."

She leaned forward, eyes glittering with delight, and said, "If you had just listened to me before, you would have known that Aurelian Sophotech told me in the Taj Mahal that that noetic reader you are carrying can also be configured not just to read, but to record. It has nearly infinite storage capacity, remember? Noetic reading and noumenal storage are just two aspects of the same technology, remember? You would need a Sophotech actually to operate it during the storage-recording process, just like any other noumenal immortality circuit, and Aurelian says he can provide that service to you. All you have to do is log on to the mentality, call up the Aurelian Mansion as your sense-filter provider, and he can make you a back copy of yourself right now."

Phaethon said, "But Orpheus holds the patent on this technology! Aurelian cannot just steal it!"

"Orpheus did not design this machinery. It's not his design. It does the same thing, but so what? The guy with the patent on the steam engine for trains could not stop the guys who made the internal combustion engine for the motorcar."

"But Aurelian will be ostracized if he helps me!"

Daphne smiled even more broadly. "You know, I said the same thing to him at the Taj Mahal. You know what he said to me?"

"What?"

"He just smiled, and said, 'Let them try.' And you know what? He had that look you get on your face, that same look, when you say things like that."

He squinted at her sidelong, querulous. "What look do you mean?"

"You'll get it on your face in a moment. Because I've taken the carrot out of Atkins's hand, but you have to disarm him of his lash. Remember what you were told? You are supposed to remain true to your character at all times. And your character is a very, very pig-headed one. Do what you always do."

Phaethon looked blank.

Daphne rolled her eyes with impatience. "Oh, come on! Just tell the military to go jump on a pogo stick, just the same way you've told the Hortators, your father, Ao Aoen, Eleemosynary, the other Peers, Ironjoy, the Silent One monsters, and everyone else who has tried to impede you."

Then, with another smile, she added, "He cannot push you around, lover. Atkins may have more testosterone than you, but you've got more brains."

Phaethon nodded, looking thoughtful. "Or, at least, I have one skill he cannot do without. Nor can he arrest me in secret, because even he cannot break the laws; nor can he afford to have my arrest be made known."

With great dignity, Phaethon turned toward Atkins. "Marshal Atkins! In reference to your implication that the military powers, the Parliament, and the Courts of Oecumene law will punish me for treason and execute me should I not submit to your blackmail, I have but this to say: Let them try."

At that same moment, the quick equatorial dawn sent a ray of light from the east to touch upon Phaethon, glinting from his unbreakable armor, showing the unbreakable spirit in his expression.

Daphne nodded happily. "Yup. That look. Just like that." Daphne raised her hand quickly and recorded the image into her ring.