But Gannis (who was perhaps less alert a politician than Tsychandri-Manyu) leaned forward, squinting and peering across the chamber. “Is that Helion I see speaking? It looks like Agamemnon, but it sounds like someone else. We all hold Helion in the greatest respect, at the moment, and we hope, in the coming months, to honor him further. It would be a shame if the purity of his motives came into question!”
Helion did not rise from his seat, but spoke in ringing tones: “I make my fellow Peer the offer that, should he care to question my motives, I will be happy to put a copy of my mind on the public channels for anyone to inspect, provided his mind, and his motives are posted likewise. Then we can all decide who has the purer motive.”
A murmur of laughter came from the benches. Gannis subsided, a look of discomfort and worry on his face, muttering, “Eh… no, of course, I was merely speaking theoretically…”
Nebuchednezzar held up the mace and announced his voting results: “Notables and dignitaries of the College, my estimates show that the public would be outraged if Phaethon were punished for accessing his memories, if (note well), if he had been indeed attacked, and if he had reasonable cause to suspect that his memory would help him explain that attack, or to defend himself or others against future attacks. Several hundred thousand individuals would volunteer to help find and expose the criminal, and millions more would volunteer time and antigrams to the effort. Many of those who are watching these proceedings now have already made promises of contributions. On the other hand, the public fervor would turn with equal vehemence against Phaethon should this turn out to be a false alarm. The same strength of character which makes the Golden Oecumene utterly intolerant of violence makes Her equally harsh against those who attempt to manipulate that righteousness to their own ends.”
Emphyrio said, “If Phaethon suffered senseless attack by a criminal, ordinary prudence would require that he examine all his memories, sealed or unsealed, to discover the cause of the attack. We cannot condemn him for this.”
Socrates said, “Which is more important, to be just, or to appear just? Keeping the memories sealed, as he promised to do, would have maintained Phaethon’s appearance of justice. But the criminal who threatened him could threaten others, and therefore it would not have been just to attempt to remain in ignorance about so important a matter.”
Viridimagus Solitarie of the Green Mansion School offered: “But the very idea of a murder in a society with our traditions and our way of life—the notion is inconceivable!” Ullr Selfson-First Lifrathsir of the Nordic Pagan School was an ex-Warlock basic who made his fortune arranging alternate-history scenarios for parahistorians, including the rather gruesome and hideous Dark Tyrant Earthmind World. He, more than anyone, knew how fragile the peace and prosperity of the Golden Oecumene were; his nightmare scenario had been extrapolated from very few historical changes. “It is not inconceivable. If the Neptunians are willing to send Diomedes Partial on the mission which—but for our charity—would have been suicidal, then they may be willing to risk, or threaten, other lives. Perhaps the attack was merely meant to shock Phaethon into opening his buried memories. Frankly, I would have done the same if I were Phaethon. I would like to ask Phaethon if his memories gave him any clue as to the identity and nature of the attacker?”
Nausicaa of Aeceus Mansion spoke: “At Lakshmi, the College examined what would and would not be subject to amnesia. I recall that nothing but information about the proposed starship was covered. This may be another clue pointing to the Neptunians; we all know their great interest in the Phoenix Exultant.”
Casper Halfhuman Tinkersmith of the Parliament of Ghosts stood. He was a writer of educational matrixes famous for his cool logic when he was in his human body, and for his unusually vivid passion and drive when he was downloaded into an electrophotonic matrix. He was dressed now like a planter from the Carolinas, in a white coat and straw skimmer. “Brethren! Must we circle these issues endlessly before someone asks the core question? If Phaethon suffered such an outrage, why wasn’t that the first thing from his lips when this meeting opened? It is not Phaethon but Harrier, yes, Harrier, who says Phaethon was attacked. Why is Phaethon mute?”
Phaethon, ever since Harrier had entered the room, had been listening with a sinking heart. Sinking, because he knew he should not tell anything to the Hortators that might be overheard by the enemy—Scaramouche or whomever it was that Atkins was investigating. On the other hand, Rhadamanthus (whose intelligence Phaethon acknowledged as exceeding his own by four orders of magnitude) had expressly advised Phaethon to go ahead and reveal the information. The enemy, after all, surely knew that Phaethon knew of the attack. And revealing the details of that attack would not necessarily reveal anything about Phaethon’s earlier meeting with Atkins.
Yet Rhadamanthus himself may have been corrupted by the attacking virus civilization when he gave that advice…
If so, then would testifying that he suffered an attack somehow benefit, or be part of the plan of, the enemy? And, if so, what was the enemy’s plan? Such a plan must have something to do with the Phoenix Exultant. Something… but what?
Phaethon grimaced in bitter humor. Perhaps he had been raised too closely to machine-minds for his own good. He had relied so often on minds swifter than his own to solve all puzzles and conundrums; and his mind perhaps was not swift enough to unravel this convoluted enigma, not while he stood here on trial.
And then there was a question of due proportion and degree. Suppose he were willing to sacrifice his career or his life to protect the Golden Oecumene from disaster; every man of ordinary decency, throughout the ages, made such sacrifices for their homelands and their ideals. But did warning the enemy of Atkins’s investigation—did that constitute a disaster for the Oecumene or only an inconvenience for Atkins? Suffering exile and death for one’s homeland was one thing; suffering exile and death for Atkins’s convenience was another.
What finally decided him was this: Phaethon did not know how important secrecy was. But he knew how important the Phoenix Exultant was. Phaethon spoke:
“I did not speak before because Atkins asked me not to. But now that Harrier has spoken, no good is served by me any longer keeping silent. There is an enemy among us, perhaps watching us this very moment. I suspect it is an enemy from another star.”
Phaethon in a few brief words, told about the attack by Scaramouche on the steps of the Eveningstar Mausoleum, about how an unmaker virus had been introduced into his surrounding thoughtspace, overwhelming Eleemosynary defenses, and attempting to spread throughout the Mentality.
Deep silence hung in the chamber. Phaethon could see the looks of skepticism and disbelief growing on the faces around him as he spoke. A look of hope was dying in Helion’s eyes; Gannis was smiling openly.
Messilina Secondus Eveningstar of Eveningstar Mansion offered: “We have many monitors and nanomachines throughout the area, ecochemical watch circuits in the air and soil, including monitors watching the horses near our mausoleum. There was no Neptunian; there was no second mannequin brought out of our waiting room; Phaethon was alone.”
A high-level information supervisor from the Eleemosynary Composition stood. “Service to all requires a deep sharing of information. We have examined the logs and records surrounding the moments Phaethon describes. He did snap his helmet shut inside one of our public boxes, breaking the connections and doing minor damage to our jacks and lines. Nothing else of his testimony is reflected in our memories or records.”
The Eleemosynary supervisor paused to let his comment sink in. He continued: “Gentlemen of the College. There was no attack. We were there; we would have seen it.”
Phaethon said, “The attacking virus was successful, and may have edited your memories.”
Some of the looks of impatience were hardening into expressions of boredom and contempt.
“With all due respect,” said the Eleemosynary supervisor, “such a redaction would require this virus to bypass sixty-four information security checkpoints in our mind-group, and alter four sets of records: the original, the backup, the conscience ordinators, and the data traffic control monitor. Since our records are kept in associative analogue pathways rather than by a linear system, the virus would have had to examine each record, or even each thought, and do all this while suppressing the awareness-flow telltales of each and every member of our mass-mind’s local interest group. Assuming it take two units of information to alter one unit (one to identify and one to falsify), we are estimating a volume of some eight hundred sixty-three billion seconds of intelligence. Only Sophotechs are capable of such feats.”
“The attacking virus was constructed and guided by a Sophotech,” said Phaethon.
There was a titter of embarrassed laughter around the chamber. A Sophotech attempting a murder?
Phaethon said, “I know it sounds absurd; don’t you think I know how absurd it sounds? But it—I think it is called Nothing—it was not one of our Sophotechs, not part of the Earthmind community! It is a mind from outer space, it must be!”
A dull silence filled the room.
The looks of contempt had changed. Contempt was a look one gave to equals, men whom one scorned but who were nonetheless sane men. Now the expressions become looks of pity.
Tsychandri-Manyu needed no honed instinct to tell him the mood in the chamber had changed again; it was obvious. “Gentlemen, we are all familiar with the erratic and frantic behavior of those who face exile. They calculate that it will do no harm for them to attempt anything—anything at all—which might avert their fate. After all, what do they care if they lie or cheat or falsify, when they will not be alive long enough to suffer the consequences of their deceits? Gentlemen! Why are we wasting our time with this? I would like to move, yet again, on the matter of Phaethon’s term of exile. I move that it be permanent and absolute, so that not even food, basic services, shelter, or computer time will ever be sold to him.” There was a loud noise of assent, many voices calling for the final vote.
Nebuchednezzar said, “The motion to end debate and to call the question has been moved and seconded.”
Helion rose to his feet: “My son is not a liar!” he spoke in a voice like thunder.
Whispers died.
Nebuchednezzar said, “Helion, your comment is not in order at this time.”
Helion said, “Phaethon is telling the truth. We are Silver-Grays. We do not and cannot lie. And of all Silver-Grays, he is the most truthful.”
Nebuchednezzar said: “I will interpret this comment as a motion to open debate on the issue of whether or not to call the question. Is there a second?”
Gan-Seven Far-Gannis of Jupiter stood up: “I will second the motion. Rhadamanthus is at hand; Phaethon is, after all, a Silver-Gray, and has deep-memory reading circuits. Would not a Noetic examination instantly reveal the truth of the matter? This is the standard procedure in such cases. We need not be impatient.”
Helion’s voice came softly into Phaethon’s ear. This was yet another violation of the protocols binding everyone else in the scene. His father’s voice said: “Just say the words, ‘I swear,’ and we shall have the truth.” But Phaethon stood silent.
Nebuchednezzar said, “Is something the matter, Phaethon? Is there a reason why you are reluctant to permit a Noetic examination? If you wish us to examine your thoughts, please open a Noetic deep channel.”
Phaethon was suspicious. Gan-Seven Far-Gannis was that part of the Gannis Hundred-mind that traveled between Jupiter and Neptune as a trade factotum. Why would he be eager for Phaethon to be vindicated? The fact that Far-Gannis had close ties with Neptunians was, perhaps, no grounds for suspicion. But what if he had ties with Xenophon?
And the enemy virus in the Mentality, hunting for Phaethon’s mind, as far as Phaethon knew, was still out there. Phaethon had opened sensory, kinesthetic, and somatic channels between his brain and the Mentality in order to project a self-image into the fictional chamber Helion had created here. There was no direct access at the moment to his memories, deep structures, or thoughts. Opening a Noetic channel, however, would render him vulnerable to that virus.
Phaethon wondered if the attacker’s technology would allow him to kill Phaethon, and replace him with a partial-mind of something that thought it was Phaethon but was loyal to whatever goals or desires the enemy preferred. It was a chilling thought.
Perhaps it had been done already. How many of the Hortators around him had been replaced by puppet creatures of the enemy…?
Phaethon said, “The Nothing Sophotech may still have some sort of unmaker virus free in the Noumenal Mentality. If the design is advanced enough to defeat all your wards and guards without being detected, I would fear opening my unshielded brain up to any deep-structure Mentality channels.”
Several of the Hortators laughed out loud. Others smirked. Epiraes Septarch Fulvous of Fulvous House, one of Tsychandri-Manyu’s minions, called out, “If the honorable Phaethon must invent the flimsiest of excuses, could he at least make it entertaining, please? I am having trouble with my suspension of disbelief.”
Harrier Sophotech raised his hand, “I realize that I am not a member of the College, but could I make a simple suggestion? Have Phaethon broadcast a copy of his mind-information onto a public channel; broadcast only, not receive; no external impulse can reach him, and this virus he fears, whether it exists or not, will not affect him. Meanwhile, you gentlemen may examine the public copy to your heart’s content. What do you say?”
A sensation of warmth and pleasure filled Phaethon, straightening his back. A knot of acidic tension of which he had not even been aware suddenly relaxed in his stomach and released him. Harrier’s suggestion made perfect common sense. In a moment, the College would see that he was telling the truth; the existence of the interstellar menace would be confirmed. The College had already taken a vote: if Phaethon were telling the truth, he would be cleared. He would he free to return to his life and his dream. The Phoenix Exultant was waiting for him, the stars were waiting for him, and, this time, nothing would be standing in his way.