John Wright - The Golden Age

Phaethon deactivated his sense-filter and saw a man dressed as an Astronomer from First-Century Porphyrogen Cosmic Observatory at 500 AUs, of the Undeterred Observationer School, a Scholum now defunct. It had been a period of hardship, before the construction of the artificial ice-planetoid, and

the costume reflected the hardness of those times. He had thick radiation-proof skin, with the internal recyclers and extra layers of fat that allowed him to stand long watches without taking air or water from the common stores. His face was disfigured with multiple eye-jacks, plugs, and extensions, as the Observationers of that period could not afford to abide by the Consensus Aesthetic.

The waitress must have paused to hand a libretto to the Observationer, a man Phaethon's sense-filter had censored from view. The filter could not let him see her hand the card to nobody, and so had invented an action for her to do. Her dropping and stooping and picking up was mere waste motion to account for the missing time.

Phaethon recalled that his sense-filter had been programmed to keep hidden from him a certain disaster in near-Mercury space, brought on solar storms. If the man costumed as an ancient astronomer were an astronomer in truth, he may have ready access to a channel or an index containing information.

Phaethon took the libretto but only pretended to study it as he stepped toward the man. The astronomer was watching the burning collapse of the supertree with several eyes.

Phaethon said, "The life-artist creates a scene of grim disaster."

Phaethon detected signal actions on Channel 760, the translation matrix. There was a moment while the man adjusted to Phaethon's language forms, downloading grammars and vocabularies into himself.

"Truly said," the man replied with a smile. "Though not so grim, I think, as Demontdelune's final hours on the Moon's far side."

Phaethon did not bother to explain he was dressed as Hamlet. He said, "Life can be grim, even these days. Consider the disaster near Mercury."

"The solar storm? A moral lesson for all of us."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, we'd like to think the Sophotechs can predict all coming disasters, warn, and protect us. But in this case, very

minor, perhaps subatomic, variations in the solar core conditions caused the forces to escape Helion's control during one of his agitation runs. Very minor differences between the initial conditions and the predictive model led to disproportionate results; sunspots and solar prominences of truly unusual size and violence erupted all across the affected fields. Joachim Dekasepton Irem has made a rather nice study of the irregular flare patterns, and set the effect to music on channel 880. Have you seen it?"

"I have not," said Phaethon. He did not explain that his sense-filter, on its present setting, would prevent him from viewing any such thing. "But I am given to understand that he ... ah ... portrays certain of the details, ahh ..."

"Inaccurately?" asked the man.

"Perhaps that's the word I'm looking for, yes."

"Well, it's an understatement! Large segments of Helion's sun-taming array wrecked! Interplanetary communications disturbed by the sunspot bursts! And Helion, staying behind, still in the depth of the sun, to try to prevent worse disasters! Much of the collection equipment, orbital stations, and other materials near Mercury was saved only because of Helion's last-ditch effort to restore the magnetic curtains to operation, and to deflect some of the heavier high-speed particles erupting from the sun away from inhabited zones. Great Helion proved his worth a million times and more that hour, I tell you! And to make such a sacrifice for that worthless scion of his house! I wonder at the gall of the Curia! Is there no gratitude left at all in the courts of law? They should just leave Helion alone! But, at least, the Six Peers (well, I suppose they are the Seven Peers now) had the good sense to reward Helion's valor with a Peerage."

"His valor?..."

"Helion stayed when the others fled. The Sophotech's delicate on-board circuitry had broken down; the other members of the Solar crew transmitted their noumenal information, minds and souls and all, out to Mercury Polar Station. Helion did not; the signal time between Mercury and the sun was too far to allow him to guide matters by means of any remote

service. Helion rode the star-storm till he broke its back, then transmitted his brain information out at the last minute, despite the static and the garbled signal!

"Helion predicted that control of internal solar conditions would be an absolute necessity for an interplanetary society like ours. The Sophotechs, for all their wisdom, can't make a way to transmit information from world to world except by radio. They can't invent another electromagnetic spectrum, now, can they? And, for so long as the Golden Oecumene is connected by electromagnetic signals, we will need to moderate the solar output into a steady, even, and predictable background.

"Who listened to Helion when he first said this, so many thousands of years ago? They all mocked him then.

"Well, they won't mock now! Whatever happens during the Final Transcendence, I know my segment of the world-soul will pay close attention to what Helion envisions!"

"I feel much the same way," admitted Phaethon. "Though I have heard that, the same desire to control the uncontrollable which is so to be admired in an Engineer, in Helion's domestic life, makes him somewhat of a tyrant and a bully."

"Nonsense! Slander! Great men always have these envious flies and gnat bites to contend with."

"Even the greatest men can have flaws; even the worse villains can have small virtues. What do you think of Helion's scion, Phaethon?"

"Ah! You see how this performance is a criticism of his work and life."

Phaethon blinked toward the boiling lake, the flash and motion of lights beneath the waters. "Some parts of the analogy are more obscure than others. ..."

"Not so! Phaethon is madman who plans to destroy us all! Who could not be astonished by the bizarre selfishness of Phaethon's scheme? Does the Silence teach us nothing?"

Phaethon, utterly mystified, nonetheless nodded sagely. "An interesting point. But some people have said one thing

and some have said another. Which part of what he has done do you find to be the most reprehensible?"

"Well, now, I can't believe the boy really means to do evil—maybe what you say about villains having a good side has some merit here—but he really should not have—Ah! Wait! I think I see friends signaling to me. Yoo-hoo! Over here! Excuse me, it was a pleasure to talk to you, Demont-delune, or whoever you are. My friends and I are Orthom-nemocists, and our discipline requires that we neither edit nor replay old memories nor take on new ones; so if we miss the climax of the performance now, we will have no chance to see it. With your permission?"

"Of course. But perhaps you could reveal your true identity, so that we could find each other and talk later; I found your comments most stimulating. ..."

"Ah, but this is a masquerade! I might not have been so bold in my opinions if I knew who I was talking to, eh, what?"

The man was hinting that he wanted Phaethon to take off his mask first. Phaethon was loath to do so, for obvious reasons. So, with a sinking sensation in his stomach, Phaethon exchanged meaningless pleasantries with the man, and watched him walk away.

"Damn," he muttered, and looked down at the libretto card. He expected an explanation and commentary on the ecoper-formance. But the card was blank. He had to turn his sense-filter back on to see the symbols and events of Middle Dreaming. Now when he looked at the card it was the same as looking at the costumes of the guests, and an explanation flowed into his brain.