John Wright - The Golden Age

These acts of generosity and kindness made Phaethon wonder. Maybe Helion had been right after all. The Hortators were people of conscience and goodwill. Perhaps they could not let Phaethon off scot-free, not and save their reputations. But having heard Diomedes speak, surely they would impose only a light, symbolic sentence.

Gannis rose and spoke. "Members of the College. We now see the danger Phaethon poses is greater than we supposed. Not only is there threat of interstellar war but now there is unrest among the more distant parts of the Oecumene. We all know how difficult it is for Sophotechs to police these cold and far-off Neptunians. We all secretly suspect to what horrid uses, torture-dreams and child prostitution and worse, the

Cold Dukes put this so-called "privacy" they are so in love with. With the power to reshape thought and memory according to whatever perverted whim might strike one's fancy, only the grossest imagination can conceive what the Neptunian Eremites might do in the lonely darkness of their distant, icy fortresses. We must use all means at our disposal to ensure not only that Phaethon is cast out to starve and die, but that he also finds no way to communicate with these disgusting allies of his, these Neptunian people he has so stirred up and disturbed with his strange preachings!"

One of the Eleemosynary Composition spoke: "This would not be hard to arrange. Superlongrange orbital communication lasers are owned by only two or three efforts, and by some magnates in the ring-cities. Most have signed Hortation agreements."

Tsychandri-Manyu spoke: "Gannis of Jupiter is and are correct. We must do more than merely ostracize Phaethon; we must take steps to make sure he cannot find help from those who do not heed our wise advice; Neptunians, deviants, mind-drakes, and the like. I recommend a total ban on any form of communication or use of Mentality whatsoever, so that no one will be able to even send him a telephone call, unless they string up the wires themselves. No one shall write him a letter, unless they carry it themselves."

Asmodious Bohost said, "And grow the tree and pulp the paper and raise the goose to pluck the quill to sharpen for a pen!"

One of the Eleemosynary Composition stood: "Phaethon's body is stored aboard a segment of the ring-city we own. The water, and air, and the cubic space there belongs to us. He shall not be allowed to purchase any of this."

Neo-Orpheus observed: "With Sophotechs to advise us, we will be able to anticipate and outmaneuver any attempt Phaethon makes to circumvent our restrictions."

Tau Continuous Albion of the White Manorial School said: "The Phoenix Exultant is still in sub-Mercurial space; even if Phaethon, by some trick, should come to have legal ownership of it again, who will ferry him to it? Who will transmit

the signal for him to call it back to Earth? He cannot get to Mercury by flapping his arms."

Tsychandri-Manyu Tawne rose to his feet. "I once again will call the question. Is there anyone who sees further need for discussion?"

Helion rose to his feet.

"Wait."

The chamber fell silent.

THE EXILE

From the corner of his eye, Phaethon saw Gannis lean forward with great interest as Helion rose to speak. Members of the Eleemosynary Composition all wore the same expression of alert caution, staring at Helion. Ao Aoen, although he was not a member of the College, had been given a seat in the visitor's bench near the rear of the Warlock's section, and the light from the windows behind him glinted on the serpent scales of his cloak and threw his hooded face into shadow; but something in the set of his shoulders betrayed his tension.

Would Heiion speak to favor Phaethon? If so, the Peers might well exclude Helion from their number, and undo, at one stroke, all the work Helion, for uncounted years, had done to raise himself to that high eminence.

Phaethon thought: Please, don't do it, Father.

And then his own anxiety made him smile. Phaethon's own prospects seemed so very much dimmer than even the worst that could happen to Helion. It was ironic, to say the least, that he should worry for Helion at this point. Nonetheless he did.

But those worries were needless. Helion did not say anything controversial or extraordinary. He said merely, "Masters

and gentlemen of the College. I introduce a guest who has significant information to impart."

Footsteps were heard approaching the chamber doors. Phaethon cocked his ear. There was something strange about the sound, something he could not quite define. Perhaps it was that the echoes and acoustics surrounding the noise seemed particularly clear and distinct.

Then came a rattle of the latch, the noise of hinges, and the double doors behind Phaethon opened. The texture of the light on the polished wood floor around the doors changed as reflections from the antechamber fell into the hall. A man stood in the doorframe.

He had a narrow, ascetic face, and piercing gray eyes, which gave him a look of fiercely alert intelligence.

Every detail of the image was perfect. One could see the individual strands in his fabric of his Inverness cape; one could see the way each particular hair above his ears was disarrayed from the small weight of his deerstalker cap; one could see the freckles on the backs of his hands; the tiny flakes of dirt dotting the heel of his left boot. Sound and sight, texture, color, and presence, all were perfect.

As he stepped up to the table where Phaethon stood, Phaethon noticed more detail. A light odor of tobacco touched the tweed fabric of his cape. One of the threads on his coat buttons did not match the thread of the rest. The stubble on the left of his jaw was slightly rougher than on the right, as if he had shaved with a razor that morning, perhaps favoring the cheek that faced his window.

The amount of detail was remarkable. Phaethon saw the Hortators on their benches to either side whispering and staring, trying to guess who or what was represented by this enormously expensive and detailed self-image.

The gray-eyed man doffed his deerstalker cap and greeting the College with a curt nod. He spoke with a dry and slightly nasal accent: "Members of the College, greetings. My name

is Harrier Sophotech."

Of course. No human-run self-image could be so thorough

in its detail.

Harrier continued: "You may not have heard of me. I was created fifteen minutes ago, your time, to investigate some certain irregularities surrounding Phaethon's decision to open his memory casket. I should mention that this decision of Phaethon's was entirely unexpected, even by the Orient Sophotech Overmind-group, who was running a predictive model of Phaethon's behavior at the time."

Another rustle of wonder went through the chamber. Even Nebuchednezzar seemed surprised. The Orient Overmind was one of the Ennead, the nine community superintellects that the Sophotechs cooperated and melded themselves to create. Why would a mind placed so high in the Earthmind hierarchy be concerned?

Harrier said: "Only a tremendous shock, or some perceived threat to his life or the lives of his loved ones, could, in our opinion, have urged Phaethon to act so far out of character. We suspect foul play."

Again, there was a murmur and stir in the chamber, this one louder than the first. Emphyrio spoke, and the book in his lap amplified his voice: "You refer to true crime, violence urged by passion, not merely to fraud or juvenile pranksman-ship?"

Harrier said, "Evidence is scant, but the hints are shocking, sir. We suspect attempted murder, corruption, and mind rape."

Audible gasps of astonishment and fear came from several points in the chamber. Helion was scrutinizing Phaethon as if he had never seen him before.

Neo-Orpheus asked: "When you say 'we,' do you mean you are part of the Constabulary?"