La Trascendencia Dorada (54 page)

With a mental command, Phaethon had the Phoenix Exultant close all her outer hatches, bays, ports and thought ports. Phaethon had paid for every expensive artificial atom of that hull armor. He knew that there were no breaches or breaks in it, not even a pinhole to run a quantum-band antenna through. There was no form of energy, no electromagnetic frequency whatever, that could penetrate that hull. Every known type of communication was blocked.

Neoptolemous, as far as Phaethon could imagine, was trapped, and unable to communicate with any confederates outside.

Phaethon was uneasy. Was it all to be as simple as that?

He prepared a second charge of much deadlier energies in the mirrors, energies sufficient to destroy anything not encased in adamantium armor. He instructed those mirrors to flood the bridge with fire if Phaethon’s thoughts showed any trauma or undue anxiety, or if communication between the ship mind and Phaethon’s armor was interrupted.

A signal came from the medical stealth remotes, warning him that chances of discovery were growing with each second of delay. The little machine asked for the kill order. It almost seemed impatient.

Phaethon hesitated. What if this were not the enemy? Didn’t he have an obligation to talk to it first? At least to give it a chance to surrender? The Neptunian spoke first.

A voice issued from the bridge speakers. “This is the translator. My client issues parallel simultaneous communication on twenty-four channels, including an introductory file with appended suggestions for artistically proper methods of interrelating the contents of each communication so as to best appreciate the contrasts, similarities, and patterns of many-sided interrelationship. It is not recommended that you continue in your present neuroform, which seems to be capable only of linear-thinking formats.

“For example, in the first suggested configuration, labeled ‘Mandelbrot Fractal,’ your mind would be subdivided into recursively symmetrical parts, with your subconsciousness receiving information from communication files one through five, your midbrain complexes receiving file six as memory, seven as dream associations (with a separate subfile for scents, as olfactory memories are stored in different areas of your nervous system), and files eight through fourteen simultaneously being experienced by a multiple-personality format, which would later integrate the responses and cross-correlations back into an artificial main self, according to a neurosymphonic pattern orchestrated through file fifteen. Thereafter—”

Phaethon sent: “Stop. Are you the same individual, the Neptunian Legate, who first accosted me in the Saturn-tree grove on Earth? Where is Neoptolemous? Your speech pattern is entirely different from his.”

“I have not yet described the benefits of the Mandelbrot Fractal configuration for files sixteen through twenty-four; nor have I described the one hundred eighty-two other mental configurations or time systems for apprehending my client’s first message. By asking a question at this time, you are attempting to enter question-and-answer dialogue without first establishing dialogue format.”

Phaeton: “Nevertheless, pass my question along to your client. I consider the question of his identity paramount, since, if he is not Neoptolemous, then he is not an individual who has any right to be here, and I will have him thrown off the bridge.”

“My client in the meanwhile has posted four hundred twenty new communication files, ranging from topics including decision-actions trees predicting the outcome of this conversation, compliments and new forms of art relating to the appearance and aspects of this bridge, an in-depth information study of the concept of ‘self-hood’ as it relates to certain abstract philosophic ideals, a prospectus for the marriage and conglomeration of your identity and neural systems into his own, along with explanations of the memory benefits and a sample model of the pleasure-reward sharing cycle offered to new members.”

Phaethon allowed anger to sound in the voice he sent: “This is not responsive to my demand. I am recording this conversation for legal purposes, and hereby make demand that, if you are not a trespasser, you immediately identify yourself, and show by what right you claim to be here. Where is Neoptolemous? Do not utter further irrelevancies.”

“My client wishes to draw your attention to certain legal documents waiting for you attention in the preliminary introduction file of his first communication grouping. These documents include various writs and titles showing his ownership of the Phoenix Exultant” “What?”

“Please examine the file. You will find included my client’s procedural claim to be thought-heir to Neoptolemous; extrapolations and legal briefs on possible outcomes of a counterclaim or challenge to his rights of ownership; a copy of Neoptolemous’s internal mental constitution; voting records and internal mental decision hierarchies; and, finally, Diomedes’s recorded affirmation and legal subscription to that constitution before he joined, as well as, in a postscript, noetic records scanning his brain showing that Diomedes did in fact understand the rules and possible outcomes of merging his mind with my client’s, including his acknowledgment that the absorption of his lesser personality into my master’s greater personality would be permissible and acceptable, and not legally grounds for a charge of murder, provided it was done according to the agreed-upon legal rules and standards, a copy of which, as I have said, has thoughtfully been provided for you to peruse. And, it is incumbent on me to point out that, had you accepted any of the mental-configuration formats labeled ‘fractal’ in the file I proffered you earlier, this information would have already automatically been sent to your midbrain emotion centers and memory, so that not only would you remember all this as if you had always recalled it but all internal mental distress, questioning, grief, and pondering as to whether or not my client truly is, essentially, Diomedes and Neoptolemous, would also have been automatically inserted into your nervous system. You would have been instantaneously run through the cycle of grief, anger, and futile challenge, and would already be experiencing a pleasant resignation to reality, and congratulating yourself on your stoicism. Would you like me to download this mental construction into your midbrain? Please open your private mental files and render the access codes.”

Phaethon felt a peculiar sensation of crawling horror. (This sensation was made peculiar by the slowness with which it happened. Phaethon’s sluggish false blood reacted slowly as the threads of the retardation field surrounding him prodded molecules of adrenaline, each individually, into his bloodstream. Other parts of the field deliberately pulled his nape hairs erect.)

“You … you are Xenophon, aren’t you?”

“The question of identity is complex. The preliminary files appended to the first information burst contain the debates, records, conclusions, and extrapolated questions-and-answers surrounding this issue.”

Phaethon sent: “The Xenophon half of Neoptolemous consumed and absorbed the Diomedes half during the ten minutes it took you to travel down the ship axis and reach the bridge. That’s why you started the trip in human form, according to Silver-Gray conventions, looking like Queen Victoria, and why you arrived looking like an amoeboid. Isn’t that right?”

“I repeat my last answer. All questions as to my identity are answered. Lower your mental defenses and open the channels leading into your brain. As owner of this ship, and your new employer, I demand that all crew be examined for honesty of intentions, mental reservations, and memories related to possible acts of sabotage or ship tampering. If you fail to comply, it is I, the owner of this vessel, who will have you, the trespasser, removed.”

How should he answer? Should he blast Xenophon now? The energy mirrors were already aimed and focused. Or should he pin the monster in place with ninety gravities, and read what he could from the remains of the crushed brain slush with the portable noetic reader sitting by his left chair arm? The main drive, after all, was primed and ready.

Was there any reason to continue this absurd pretense?

At that moment, the medical stealth remotes implanted in Xenophon’s body fed additional information into Phaethon’s armor. There was a mass of neural tissue, a brain, with no nerve fibers linking its upper spinal control nerves to any circuits. This brain’s sensory nerves were being fed through a regulator controlled by the central Xenophon brain group, and additional one-way links were running to the midbrain (seat of the emotions) and the pons (where the pain center of the brain was kept).

A configuration analysis detected no threat. This brain, after all, was utterly helpless. Whoever was in the brain had no more control over their own emotions than a raving drunk, had no muscles or circuits to manipulate, and could only see and feel whatever things or whatever pains as the master brains would choose to impose.

And so the simple-minded stealth remotes had, until now, ignored this extra brain mass. A higher-level strategy formulator in the stealth remotes had noticed this prisoner as a possible ally.

It was Diomedes.

Motionless, helpless, betrayed and trapped in hell by this enemy.

Phaethon decided there was no reason to continue any pretense after all.

The energy mirrors erupted with fire, with concentrated scalpel lasers aimed at specific nerve clusters, with more general washes of electric and focused high-energy particles meant to burn out sense organs, cripple legs and motor control, disrupt links between and through the Neptunian body.

At the same time, twenty-five gravities of acceleration flattened all loose objects in the room, hurling Xenophon and his ally bodies against the far wall. It looked just as if the whole huge room had just wildly been thrown over on its side. Actually, the carousel of the ring in which the bridge was held could not reorient quickly enough to keep the local deck perpendicular to the sudden thrust. Fields made of pseudo-matter, not unlike the retardation fields interwebbing Phaethon’s body on the captain’s chair, trapped every cell of the Neptunian bodies in place. Those webs allowed only those biochemical functions to continue that the stealth remotes did not classify as potentially threatening. Consciousness was not one of them.

For now, Phaethon wanted prisoners, not corpses. The higher centers of the brain and associated neurocircuitry had bioelectrical patterns in the Neptunian modes imposed upon them by the lurking stealth remotes, patterns, which, in a base neuroform, would have been fourth-stage delta waves, deep, dreamless sleep.

In that same split instant of time (long before Xenophon’s scalded, blinded, crippled, and stunned body could hit the far bulkhead), the portable noetic reader to Phaethon’s left came to life. Despite the storm of energies lashing the chamber, it retrieved the information from the stealth remotes, positioned in and around the Neptunian’s main nerve channels, were pinpoint-beaming to the reader heads.

By the time direction of gravity returned to deck-perpendicular as the straining carousel reoriented all the rooms and chambers in the ring (including the bridge) to right angles, Phaethon had a working copy of Xenophon’s brain trapped in the noetic reader. It was, after all, also a noumenal mentality recorder.

But now for the important part.

The stealth remotes monitoring the ship mind indicated that the virus-infected sectors had been dumped, a new mind reestablished, and that the full computing power of the ship was at his command. He signaled to his mannequins. “What communications or signals have left this chamber or this ship? Track and trace them.”

The Jason mannequin reported that no transmission, of any type of energy the ship instruments could detect, had left the chamber, or the ship, nor was there any breach in the hull, such as a collision with antimatter might produce.

The Byrd mannequin brought up views of the other Neptunians everywhere on the ship, where they had been caught by the sudden, unexpected, tremendous acceleration. Those who the stealth remotes had concluded were not allies of Xenophon had been given enough warning to find pseudo-material retardation fields, to survive the shock; others had been downloaded into more pressure-resistant brain boxes, since the Neptunian neuroform allowed for rapid transmission and storage of neural information, and survived even if their bodies were crushed. Many had been injured; none had been damaged beyond the point of recovery. Resurrection teams were already being formed in the ship mind and telerepresented to the severely injured. But, so far, there was no panic, no outrage. Being Neptunians, their bodies were insensitive to pain, except when they chose to feel it, and as for their minds, they chose to regard all this as some huge prank, or hoax.

But there were no transmissions detected coming from any of them, either, nor was there any activity at all coming from the body masses Xenophon had left behind on the ship-mind decks, or in the fuel axis.

The estimator from the stealth remotes said, “There are no transmissions detected from any source. Xenophon either has no ability to transmit to his superior during an emergency, or prepared no deadman switch or alternate—despite that he must have known he was walking into a trap—or else has no superior, and he himself is the Silent One in charge.”

But the Ulysses mannequin said, “With all due respect, sir, the readings are not complete. We ourselves have opened the hull ports to extend antennae, detectors, and to send signals to and from the attendant ships which are circling us, watching for transmissions. Also, the drive is operating—”

Phaethon said: “Wait!”

Because, at that moment, red status lights lit on the noetic unit. Phaethon looked at the golden tablet through the ship’s Middle Dreaming, and understood that the noetic reader could not analyze or interpret certain sections of Xenophon’s mind. Some of the brain segments had been encrypted, thinking by a means, or in a formation, utterly unknown to the builders of the noetic unit. This was a thought formation, a mental language, so to speak, that the noetic unit could not decode.

These encrypted segments could not be decrypted by any key or process known to the legible parts of Xenophon’s mind.