The Hyperion Cantos 4-Book Bundle

by Dan Simmons

  De Soya did not speak, but neither did he show comprehension.

  “ ‘The Work of God’ used to be a minor religious organization,” said Wu. “It’s … ah, I believe … about twelve hundred years old. Founded in 1920 A.D. In the past few years, it has become not only a great ally of the Holy See, but a worthy competitor of the Pax Mercantilus.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Father Captain de Soya. He could imagine the Mercantilus buying up entire worlds, but he could not imagine the trading group allowing a rival to gain such power in the few years he had been out of Pax news. It did not matter. He turned to Admiral Marusyn. “One last question, sir.”

  The Admiral glanced at his comlog chronometer and nodded curtly.

  “I have been out of Fleet service for four years,” de Soya said softly. “I have not worn a uniform or received a tech update in all that time. The world where I served as a priest was so far out of the mainstream that I might as well have been in cryogenic fugue the whole time. How could I possibly take command of a new-generation archangel-class starship, sir?”

  Marusyn frowned. “We’ll bring you up to speed, Father Captain. Pax Fleet knows what it’s doing. Are you saying no to this commission?”

  Father Captain de Soya hesitated a visible second. “No, sir,” he said. “I appreciate the confidence in me that you and Pax Fleet are showing. I’ll do my best, Admiral.” De Soya had been trained to discipline twice—once as a priest and Jesuit, again as an officer in His Holiness’s fleet.

  Marusyn’s stone face softened. “Of course you will, Federico. We’re pleased to have you back. We’d like you to stay at the Legionaries rectory here on Pacem until we’re ready to send you to your ship, if that would be all right.”

  Dammit, thought de Soya. Still a prisoner with those damned Legionaries. He said, “Of course, sir. It’s a pleasant place.”

  Marusyn glanced at his comlog again. The interview was obviously at an end. “Any requests before the assignment becomes official, Father Captain?”

  De Soya hesitated again. He knew that making a request would be bad form. He spoke anyway. “Yes, sir … one. There were three men who served with me on the old Raphael. Swiss Guard commandos whom I brought from Hyperion … Lancer Rettig, well, he died, sir … but Sergeant Gregorius and Corporal Kee were with me until the end, and I wondered …”

  Marusyn nodded impatiently. “You want them on new Raphael with you. It sounds reasonable. I used to have a cook that I dragged from ship to ship … poor bugger was killed during the Second Coal Sack engagement. I don’t know about these men …” The Admiral looked at Marget Wu.

  “By great coincidence,” said Admiral Wu, “I ran across their files while reviewing your reinstatement papers, Father Captain. Sergeant Gregorius is currently serving in the Ring Territories. I am sure that a transfer can be arranged. Corporal Kee, I am afraid …”

  De Soya’s stomach muscles tightened. Kee had been with him around God’s Grove—Gregorius had been returned to the crèche after an unsuccessful resurrection—and the last he had seen of the lively little corporal had been after their return to Pacem space, when the MPs had taken them away to separate holding cells after their arrest. De Soya had shaken the corporal’s hand and assured him that they would see each other again.

  “I am afraid that Corporal Kee died two standard years ago,” finished Wu. “He was killed during an Ouster attack on the Sagittarius Salient. I understand that he received the Silver Star of St. Michael’s … posthumously, of course.”

  De Soya nodded tersely. “Thank you,” he said.

  Admiral Marusyn gave his paternal politician’s smile and extended his hand across the desk to de Soya. “Good luck, Federico. Give them hell from the Raphael.”

  The headquarters for the Pax Mercantilus was not on Pacem proper, but was located—fittingly—on the L5 Trojan point trailing behind the planet by some sixty orbital degrees. Between the Vatican world and the huge, hollow Torus Mercantilus—a carbon-carbon doughnut 270 meters thick, a full klick wide, and 26 kilometers in diameter, its interior webbed with spidery drydocks, com antennae, and loading bays—floated half of Pax Fleet’s total orbital-based firepower. Kenzo Isozaki once calculated that a coup attempt launched from Torus Mercantilus would last 12.06 nanoseconds before being vaporized.

  Isozaki’s office was in a clear bulb on a whiskered-carbon flower stem raised some four hundred meters above the outer rim of the torus. The bulb’s curved hullskin could be opaqued or left transparent according to the whim of the CEO inside it. Today it was transparent except for the section polarized to dim the glare of Pacem’s yellow sun. Space seemed black at the moment, but as the torus rotated, the bulb would come into the ring’s shadow and Isozaki could glance up to see stars instantly appear as if a heavy black curtain had been pulled aside to reveal thousands of brilliant, unflickering candles. Or the myriad campfires of my enemies, thought Isozaki as the darkness fell for the twentieth time on this working day.

  With the walls absolutely transparent, his oval office with its modest desk, chairs, and soft lamps seemed to become a carpeted platform standing alone in the immensity of space, individual stars blazing and the long swath of the Milky Way lighting the interior. But it was not this familiar spectacle that made the Mercantilus CEO look up: set amid the starfield, three fusion tails of incoming freighters could be picked out, looking like smudges on an astronomical holo. Isozaki was so adept at gauging distances and delta-v’s from fusion tails that he could tell at a glance how long it would be before these freighters docked … and even which ships they were. The P.M. Moldahar Effectuator had refueled by skimming a gas giant in the Epsilon Eridani System and was burning redder than usual. The H.H.M.S. Emma Constant’s skipper was in her usual rush to get her cargo of Pegasus 51 reaction metals to the torus and was decelerating inbound a good fifteen percent above Mercantilus recommendations. Finally, the smallest smudge could only be the H.H.M.S. Elemosineria Apostolica just passing spindown from its C-plus translation point from Renaissance System: Isozaki knew this from a glance, just as he knew the three hundred-some other optimal translation points visible in his part of the Pacem System sky.

  The lift tube rose from the floor and became a transparent cylinder, its passenger lit by starlight. Isozaki knew that the cylinder was transparent only from the outside: in it, the occupants stood in a mirrored interior, seeing nothing of the CEO’s office, staring at their own reflection until Isozaki keyed their door open.

  Anna Pelli Cognani was the only person in the tube. Isozaki nodded and his personal AI rotated the cube door open. His fellow CEO and protégé did not even glance up at the moving starfield as she crossed the carpet toward him. “Good afternoon, Kenzo-san.”

  “Good afternoon, Anna.” He waved her toward the most comfortable chair, but Cognani shook her head and remained standing. She never took a seat in Isozaki’s office. Isozaki never ceased offering her one.

  “The Conclave Mass is almost over,” said Cognani.

  Isozaki nodded. At that second his office AI darkened the bubble walls and projected the Vatican’s tightbeam broadcast.

  St. Peter’s Basilica was awash in scarlet and purple and black and white this morning as the eighty-three cardinals soon to be sealed in the Conclave bowed, prayed, genuflected, knelt, stood, and sang. Behind this terna, or herd of theoretically possible candidates for the papacy, were the hundreds of bishops and archbishops, deacons and members of the Curia, Pax military officials and Pax civil administrators, Pax planetary governors and high elected officials who happened to be on Pacem at the time of the Pope’s death or who were within three weeks’ time-debt, delegates from the Dominicans, the Jesuits, the Benedictines, the Legionaries of Christ, the Mariaists, the Salesians, and a single delegate standing for the few remaining Franciscans. Finally there were the “valued guests” in the back rows—honorary delegates from the Pax Mercantilus, the Opus Dei, the Istituto per Opere di Religione—also known as the Vatican Bank, delegates from the Vatican administ
rative wings of the Prefettura, the Servizio Assistenziale del Santo Padre—the Holy Father’s Welfare Service, from the APSA—the Administration of the Patrimony of the Holy See, as well as from Cardinal Camerlengo’s own Apostolic Chamber. Also in the rear pews were honored guests from the Pontifical Academy of Sciences, the Papal Commission on Interstellar Peace and Justice, many papal academies such as the Pontifical Ecclesiastical Academy, and other quasi-theological organizations necessary to the running of the vast Pax state. Finally there were the bright uniforms of the Corps Helvetica—the Swiss Guard—as well as commanders of the Palatine Guard reconstituted by Pope Julius, and the first appearance of the commander of the hitherto secret Noble Guard—a pale, dark-haired man in a solid red uniform.

  Isozaki and Cognani watched this pageant with knowledgeable eyes. Each of them had been invited to the Mass, but it had become a tradition in recent centuries for the Pax Mercantilus CEOs to honor major Church ceremonies by their absence—sending only their official Vatican delegates. Both watched Cardinal Couesnongle celebrate this Mass of the Holy Spirit and saw Cardinal Camerlengo as the powerless figurehead he was; their eyes were on Cardinal Lourdusamy, Cardinal Mustafa, and half a dozen other power brokers in the front pews.

  With the final benediction, the Mass ended and the voting cardinals filed out in solemn procession to the Sistine Chapel, where the holocams lingered while the doors were sealed, the entrance to the Conclave was closed and that door bolted on the inside and padlocked on the outside, and the sealing of the Conclave pronounced official by the Commandant of the Swiss Guards and the Prefect of the Pontifical Household. The Vatican coverage then shifted to commentary and speculation while the image remained of the sealed door.

  “Enough,” said Kenzo Isozaki. The broadcast flashed off, the bubble grew transparent, and sunlight flooded the room under a black sky.

  Anna Pelli Cognani smiled thinly. “The voting shouldn’t take too long.”

  Isozaki had returned to his chair. Now he steepled his fingers and tapped his lower lip. “Anna,” he said, “do you think that we—all of us in the chairmanship of the Mercantilus—have any real power?”

  Cognani’s neutral expression showed her surprise. She said, “During the last fiscal year, Kenzo-san, my division showed a profit of thirty-six billion marks.”

  Isozaki held his steepled fingers still. “M. Cognani,” he said, “would you be so kind as to remove your jacket and shirt?”

  His protégé did not blink. In the twenty-eight standard years they had been colleagues—subordinate and master, actually—M. Isozaki had never done, said, or implied anything that might have been interpreted as a sexual overture. She hesitated only a second, then unsealed her jacket, slipped it off, set it on the chair she never sat in, and unsealed her shirt. She folded it atop her jacket on the back of the chair.

  Isozaki rose and came around his desk, standing only a meter from her. “Your underthings as well,” he said, slipping off his own jacket and unbuttoning his own old-fashioned shirt. His chest was healthy, muscled, but hairless.

  Cognani slipped off her chemise. Her breasts were small but perfectly formed, rosy at the tips.

  Kenzo Isozaki lifted one hand as if he were going to touch her, pointed, and then returned the hand to his own chest and touched the double-barred cruciform that ran from his sternum to just above his navel. “This,” he said, “is power.” He turned away and began dressing. After a moment, Anna Pelli Cognani hugged her shoulders and then also began dressing.

  When they were both dressed, Isozaki sat behind his desk again and gestured toward the other chair. To his quiet astonishment, M. Anna Pelli Cognani sat in it.

  “What you are saying,” began Cognani, “is that no matter how successful we are in making ourselves indispensable to the new Pope—if there ever is a new pope—the Church will always have the ultimate leverage of resurrection.”

  “Not quite,” said Isozaki, steepling his fingers again as if the previous interlude had not happened. “I am saying that the power controlling the cruciform controls the human universe.”

  “The Church …” began Cognani and stopped. “Of course, the cruciform is just part of the power equation. The TechnoCore provides the Church with the secret of successful resurrection. But they’ve been in league with the Church for two hundred and eighty years …”

  “For their own purposes,” said Isozaki softly. “What are those purposes, Anna?”

  The office rotated into night. Stars exploded into existence. Cognani raised her face to the Milky Way to gain a moment to think. “No one knows,” she said at last. “Ohm’s Law.”

  Isozaki smiled. “Very good. Following the path of least resistance here may not lead us through the Church, but via the Core.”

  “But Councillor Albedo meets with no one except His Holiness and Lourdusamy.”

  “No one that we know of,” amended Isozaki. “But that is a matter of the Core coming to the human universe.”

  Cognani nodded. She understood the implicit suggestion: the illicit, Core-class AIs that the Mercantilus was developing could find the datumplane avenue and follow it to the Core. For almost three hundred years, the prime commandment enforced by the Church and Pax had been—Thou shalt not build a thinking machine equal or superior to humankind. “AIs” in use within the Pax were more “All-purpose Instruments” than “Artificial Intelligences” of the kind that had evolved away from humanity almost a millennium earlier: idiot thinking machines like Isozaki’s office AI or the cretinous ship computer on de Soya’s old ship, the Raphael. But in the past dozen years, secret research departments of the Pax Mercantilus had re-created the autonomous AIs equal to or surpassing those in common use during the days of the Hegemony. The risk and benefits of this project were almost beyond measure—absolute domination of Pax trade and a breaking of the old balance of power stand-off between Pax Fleet and Pax Mercantilus if successful, excommunication, torture in the dungeons of the Holy Office, and execution if discovered by the Church. And now this prospect.

  Anna Pelli Cognani stood. “My God,” she said softly, “that would be the ultimate end run.”

  Isozaki nodded and smiled again. “Do you know where that term originated, Anna?”

  “End run? No … some sport, I imagine.”

  “A very ancient warfare-surrogate sport called football,” said Isozaki.

  Cognani knew that this irrelevancy was anything but irrelevant. Sooner or later her master would explain why this datum was important. She waited.

  “The Church had something that the Core wanted … needed,” said Isozaki. “The taming of the cruciform was their part of the deal. The Church had to barter something of equal worth.”

  Cognani thought, Equal in worth to the immortality of a trillion human beings? She said, “I had always assumed that when Lenar Hoyt and Lourdusamy contacted the surviving Core elements more than two centuries ago, that the Church’s bartering point was in secretly reestablishing the TechnoCore in human space.”

  Isozaki opened his hands. “To what ends, Anna? Where is the benefit to the Core?”

  “When the Core was an integral part of the Hegemony,” she said, “running the WorldWeb and the fatline, they were using the neurons in the billions of human brains transiting the farcasters as a sort of neural net, part of their Ultimate Intelligence project.”

  “Ah, yes,” said her mentor. “But there are no farcasters now. If they are using human beings … how? And where?”

  Without meaning to, Anna Pelli Cognani raised one hand to her breastbone.

  Isozaki smiled. “Irritating, isn’t it? Like a word that is on the tip of one’s tongue but will not come to mind. A puzzle with a missing piece. But there is one piece that was missing which has just been found.”

  Cognani raised an eyebrow. “The girl?”

  “Back in Pax space,” said the older CEO. “Our agents close to Lourdusamy have confirmed that the Core has revealed this. It happened after the death of His Holiness … only the
Secretary of State, the Grand Inquisitor, and the top people in Pax Fleet know.”

  “Where is she?”

  Isozaki shook his head. “If the Core knows, they haven’t revealed it to the Church or any other human agency. But Pax Fleet has called up that ship’s captain—de Soya—because of the news.”

  “The Core had predicted that he would be involved in the girl’s capture,” said Cognani. The beginnings of a smile were working at the corners of her mouth.

  “Yes?” said Isozaki, proud of his student.

  “Ohm’s Law,” said Cognani.

  “Precisely.”

  The woman stood and again touched her chest without being aware of doing so. “If we find the girl first, we have the leverage to open discussions with the Core. And the means—with the new abilities we will have on-line.” None of the CEOs who knew of the secret AI project ever said the words or phrases aloud, despite their bugproof offices.

  “If we have the girl and the means of negotiating,” continued Cognani, “we may have the leverage we need to supplant the Church in the Core’s arrangement with humanity.”

  “If we can discover what the Core is getting from the Church in return for control of the cruciform,” murmured Isozaki. “And offer the same or better.”

  Cognani nodded in a distracted manner. She was seeing how all of this related to her goals and efforts as CEO of Opus Dei. In every way, she realized at once. “In the meantime, we have to find the girl before the others do … Pax Fleet must be utilizing resources they would never reveal to the Vatican.”

  “And vice versa,” said Isozaki. This kind of contest pleased him very much.

  “And we will have to do the same,” said Cognani, turning toward the lift tube. “Every resource.” She smiled at her mentor. “It’s the ultimate three-way, zero-sum game, isn’t it, Kenzo-san?”

  “Just so,” said Isozaki. “Everything to the winner—power, immortality, and wealth beyond human imagining. To the loser—destruction, the true death, and eternal slavery for one’s descendants.” He held up one finger. “But not a three-way game, Anna. Six.”