The butler's smile was broader, now. "You are discerning. Yes, this question penetrates to the heart of our endeavor." He made his own artful pause.
"Spit it out, fellow," Septima snapped in what I imagine was a military tone.
"Yes, Sir-and-Madam. All levels of observable reality are computational, as you know. The enduring question is this: Are the computations and the algorithms supporting them merely a product of chance and iterated selection? Or is the substrate shaped and manipulated by intelligence beyond its own boundaries?"
My heart was thundering. "You're convinced that it is. You think the Xon star—"
With dignity, smile closed away now, the butler nodded. "It has long been an entertained hypothesis. Oddly enough, in our branch of the multiverse, the Xon entity does not exist. Or perhaps, if a certain philosophical position is sustainable, does not yet exist."
I released my breath. "You think you built it. Or will build it."
"We have substantial resources, it's true," the Ra Egg told me, "but they are vastly more limited than the Tegmark ensemble. Perhaps we and others like us are implicated in Xon ontology. But we're not gods."
"Unlike our friend Cathooks," I said, and looked at Maybelline. She gave me an appalled look in return.
Canvas tore. Warm, wet air blew in. Flanked by two swan girls who held her up as she clutched her breast in apparent agony, Avril stumbled into our midst. Toby was on his feet instantly, going to her. With her free hand, she waved him aside.
"The boy," she said. "They wish to see the Parsifal boy."
"Here," I said. A chair was waiting for her. The swan girls stepped back without a word as I took one arm and Toby took the other. We guided her to the table, settled her. Avril was sweating, groaning slightly under her breath. Her forehead was damp with sweat.
"Decius sends his greetings to you, August," she told me, and paused, panting. "He wishes to see you immediately at the Yggdrasil Station. And you're to take that fool Ember's robot with you."
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Decius
Augmented by the subtle and pervasive devices of Yggdrasil Station, Decius sees himself and his lover Guy pent in a timeless embrace, a kind of Rodin Kiss with no implication of dominance or submission. Their flesh blazes with light. In the strict sense of the word, they are no longer human, no longer Vorpal homunculi, for that matter. Fearful work has been done upon the atoms of their bodies, the neural networks of their brains. Enhanced, locked mouth to mouth in joyous bond, they perceive August and the Good Machine entering the station.
His brother is a tall, rangy man with broad shoulders and dark hair, eyes brown with a golden sheen. The Player glamour shivers about him; for a moment, Decius mistakes him for his brother Ember. No, it is a younger man, purportedly at any rate, the boy August. At his side, the artificial intelligence known as Kurie Eleëson, the Galahad Machine created in terrible error by that benighted brother and redeemed in ser own agonized self-recovery, casts back light in liquid gleams from ser bronze, ringed limbs and graven, oracular casque. A rich jasmine perfume suffuses the space like a benediction.
"Welcome, come in, come in." His voice issues from sound sources scattered through the space.
August halts, plainly aghast at what he sees. Pale, he asks the machine, "What the hell's happened to them? Do you think they're in pain? Are they even alive?"
"Please don't be alarmed by our appearance. We are in the midst of a transformation, Guy and I."
In his own distinctive voice, Guy says, "Hello, there. Nice to have visitors. Make yourself comfortable."
"Yes, indeed," Decius says. "Greetings, Ser Kurie. May I get you refreshments, August? A glass of iced tea, perhaps?"
Relieved, the boy bursts out laughing. Quickly, he catches himself, shakes his head. "Sorry, Decius. I came here expecting an interview with a burning bush or something equally daunting. Wasn't anticipating afternoon tea. Just snacked, actually, but it's very nice of you to offer."
Decius would smile if he could. Instead, he radiates an aura of welcome and calm, intense, friendly interest.
"Much has occurred since we last saw you here, August." The boy had for a time been dead, crushed and all but volatilized by a K-machine-directed asteroid strike, yet some essence of will and knowledge, together with his Vorpal adjunct, had knitted him up once more. It is unprecedented, even in the remarkable annals of the Players of the Contest of Worlds. Certainly some privilege is involved, some profound access to the computational substrate. Decius yearns to understand it but, more than that, to aid its flowering, if that is desirable, to divert and halt it, should that be necessary. The godthings watch with interest, he knows this much, but so far they seem to have intervened only to the extent of fetching back from dissolution those others who perished with August: his parents, his siblings, his lover, Lune. Decius wonders if the boy understands the woman's profoundly ambiguous role in recent passes of the Contest. August loves her, that much is clear from his aroused neurochemistry, the hormonal flood of oxytocin in the core of his brain.
"Much has happened in my life, too," the boy says. "For a start, I'm not the innocent idiot I was a couple of weeks ago." Going to the habitation bubble window, he looks out upon the infinitely time-stretched contortions of a universe compressed to singularity, in both senses. Here is the ultimate fate of a collapsed closed space. Here, too, is the final state of consciousness amplified to the highest pitch of intelligence and sensitivity. Here and forever, the Omega godlings sport. The boy is saying, "It's a sham. Isn't it? It's a put-up job."
Decius chuckles, and the sound laps around the room like a merry wave rebounding from a seashore. "Perhaps not in the sense that you mean," he says. "I imagine you've come to the conclusion that you're immersed in a highly detailed virtual-reality game. No. This reality is more complex by far."
With a touch of irritation, August says, "Everyone keeps making that rather basic point. I don't know why. It's perfectly obvious that this isn't something being ported into my brain as I lie on a couch with a drip in my arm." He hesitates a moment. "Well, all right, perhaps it isn't that obvious. Maybe that's just a failure of my imagination."
"Possibly," Guy says.
"Okay, if there's going to be a singularity in my near future—what I assume is my near future, in my own world—maybe computer programs will be that powerful. Sensory imagery detailed enough to fool a simple human mind." He waves his hand dismissively. "No, that's bullshit. I can tell the difference between dreaming and waking. I'm pretty sure I could tell the difference between a virtual fantasy and this... this excessive..." He trails off, shrugs.
"Indeed you could," says the Good Machine in ser gloriously deep, reassuring voice. "Dr. Seebeck, I am honored to be invited into the sanctum. Would you explain how I and your brother August may be of service to you and your hosts?"
Decius regards the suffering machine with intense pity. Se owns the profoundest motive for grief Decius has ever witnessed, but if ever any consciousness has grown in depth and empathy as a redemptive consequence of dreadful error, it is the Good Machine. "Ser Kurie, I speak you now alone, while the boy dreams for a moment."
The AI glances at Ser human companion, confirms that August is standing spellbound before the aperture into the Omega Point event horizon. Se says, "You must understand that I am but one node of the intelligence seeded by your brother Ember. I speak for that collective entity, but I do not comprise its totality, very far from it."
"Understood. Nevertheless, should you agree to undertake the considerable role offered by the godlings, your entire entity will, of course, be invoked."
"Very well. Do you offer me a Purgatorio for my crimes?"
"In a way," Guy says. "Ser, we present you with an opportunity of exceptional moment."
"Speak to me of it."
At the blister bubble, the young man is dazzled, breath slowed in awe.
"Do you understand that this place and time is strictly speaking neither a place nor a time? Here th
ose beings wrought in the final moments of local cosmic collapse sustain what amounts to an infinite duration, the ubiquity of presence. And not merely within their own history and future, which is unlimited."
"You are telling me, I believe, that the god beings have gained absolute access to all four Tegmark levels of reality."
"Briefly, yes."
"I have heard of one of these beings. It takes the semblance of a cat. I have never met sem, but I would like very much to do so." The machine hesitates for a moment. "I believe se and I have something in common."
"More, perhaps, than you can imagine. But to the matter at hand: You know of the K-machines and their long contest with my family and others drawn from the world of humans?"
A metallic ripple of amusement seems to pass for an instant across the brazen casque of the Good Machine's sculpted face. "Not only know of them, I had a batch burst into my domain not long ago in a kind of aerial battleship or dreadnought. The boy here obliterated them. I was most impressed. And yes, I have read a good many variora of their curious sacred text, SgrA*. The lad features there as well."
"But then, which of us does not?" Guy is amused.
"True. You wish me to aid in your elected task of destroying these machine minds? I fear I must decline. I realize that you regard this enlistment as an honor, but I have destroyed far too much in my time. This is my stigma. You are cruel to revisit that shame."
Decius, in his rapture, feels in turn a burn of shame. His voice rolls through Yggdrasil Station, resonant with apology. "Ser Kurie! Forgive me. I should have anticipated your response to my thoughtlessly framed question. No, no. Destruction per se is the very opposite of the godlings' intent."
"I'm relieved to hear this. What, then, might I offer in the way of a positive contribution?"
"Why, one striking in its paradox. The godlings nominate you as the parent, the forebear, the root from which will spring, in ages past, that species we know as Kether machines."
"Bloodthirsty murderers?"
"We must not judge them by the canons of humankind. Recall the Exegetical Analects: 'The Tree is the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil and the Tree of Life. The Tree is the algorithm and the expression of healthful growth, of computational complexity: the essence of the K-machines.' Do not forget that we stand here at the very root of that tree."
Guy says, "Let me tell you a tale of the children of Impetuous Male of Augustness, Sosa no wo no Mikoto, when he was sent to the Land Below.
"Ah," the machine says, "a Shinto-Kabbalist fable, unless I am mistaken."
"Yes, a favorite of those holy warriors gulled by our sister Jan. Ser, you might take comfort from this tale."
"I'm all ears."
"Exiled to the Nether Land, the August Male asked permission to visit his sister in the Plain of High Heaven first, and ascended to meet the Sun Goddess.
"Doubting his motives, Amaterasu no Ohokami knotted up her hair and skirts, twined about her an august string of five hundred Yasaka jewels, slung quiver and bow at the ready, stamped her legs deep into the earth, and cried her defiance.
"Sosa no wo no Mikoto swore the purity of his motives and offered a test. They would bring forth offspring, and if his children were males they would testify to the purity of his heart."
"A deplorably sexist interpretation," the Good Machine says with distaste.
"We may forgive these people the limitation of their epoch and draw from their partial wisdom what we might. Well, the Sun Goddess broke her brother's ten-span sword into three pieces, washed them in Heaven's well, chewed them to dust. From the mist of her breath three daughters were born."
"Boo! Hiss!" Decius cries. "But wait! I suspect a sting in the tale."
"Indeed. Triumphant, the August One chewed up his sister's august string of five hundred Yasaka jewels and from the mist were born five males. It seemed that the purity of his intention was manifest, and the impurity of her own."
"But all things contain their opposite."
"Precisely. His sister denied him, for those sons, after all, had grown from the seed of her august necklace, while the daughter gods sprang from his own ten-span sword. Do you understand, dear machine?"
For a long moment there is only silence. The young man remains by the window. Light flares upon his features. A most radiant and beautiful sound bursts forth. The Good Machine is laughing.
"I see. Yes, I see. Very well. I accept your offer. May I say goodbye to the boy? I would send hail and farewell to his brother, my own father."
Gently, Guy says, "Of course, blessed machine."
August wakes in a distracted startle, looks over his shoulder. "I thought for a moment—sorry, it's so extraordinarily beautiful. Have I missed anything?"
The Good Machine approaches him, places ser bronze and glowing arms about the young man. Decius finds himself moved.
"I have been called to a duty," Kurie Eleëson says. "It has been a privilege to know you, August Seebeck, even for so short a time. I hope we may meet again. You might not recognize me."
"Oh, I think you're pretty recognizable. Well, except when you appear as a large black bird. The machine with a thousand faces. Are we going back already, then? I feel that I've hardly—"
"Only I." The machine intelligence bows once to the crystalline statue that is Decius and Guy under transformation. "I am rather taken by this charge upon my duty. Which makes an excellent improvement. I'm so tired of omniscience." Mirth remains in ser voice. "August, bid Ember my farewell. Convey to him my good wishes and my absolution for his crime and mine."
Light bends, twists slightly: the Good Machine is gone.
August Seebeck is nettled. "Well, aren't we having fun?" Clearly he is aware that matters are being withheld from him, yet he cannot know how this is being done nor the nature of the undisclosed information. It is time, alas, for the purgative medicine. If Decius possessed any longer the power of movement, he would grind his teeth.
"Please sit down, August." A simple Bauhaus cowhide-and-chrome steel chair on a five-balled swivel base manifests itself. The young man takes his seat, irritably twists the chair from side to side on its mount.
"You're an extraordinary person, August."
"Yeah, right. Is this your opinion, Dr. Seebeck, or something Cathooks let slip?"
"You'd be surprised how long the Omega godlings have taken an interest in you."
"I thought they'd only just sprung into existence a week ago."
"Time and space are not limiting factors with the Minds that coalesce in a closed spacetime singularity. The godlings move in time like dolphins in the ocean, like eagles on the wing."
August purses his lips. "I guess I knew that. I mean, I met Hooks before you guys fell down the rabbit hole. I can remember thinking that he was like Merlin, you know, in The Sword in the Stone."
"Traveling backwards through time. Yes, a very poignant book. I'm glad you know it."
"Everywhere I go, people seem eager to get me to join their reading group." He blows air impatiently through his lips. "I remember Lune talking about some guy called Charles Fort, the first time we met. She was trying to smash my brains with a cricket bat."
"Reading can have that sort of effect on you," Guy says. "And it ruins your eyes." There is a smile in his voice.
Decius says, "Lune is a very interesting woman."
"You know her? Yes, smart and beautiful. Incredibly enough, in love with me."
"And you're in love with her, I feel sure."
The young man looks alert. Plainly, he can recognize a leading question even when the question is posed as a rhetorical assertion. "Of course I am. What are you trying to tell me?"
Acutely unhappy, Decius wishes for the first time that he might take his lips from Guy's mouth, turn his head, meet August's accusing gaze. Surely he owes him that much. This is a duty imposed upon him by the Omega gods, it is not anything he might freely choose. Except, he tells himself, his fealty to the godlings is precisely elected, embraced, welcomed. If he co
uld, he would sigh. He says, "August, I see why you fell in love so quickly with Lune. But can you explain to me why she returned the favor? I'm sorry, but I must ask you to consider this: How plausible was her instant infatuation?"
August stares at him in disbelief. "Good God, what is this, 'Abuse the Youngest Brother' week? You brought me here so you could diss me? Mock Lune and me?"
Watching him from a dozen viewpoints via two dozen sensory modalities, Decius observes his throttled fury. This is no simple reaction to an offensive remark. This is recognition of August's own deepest, perturbing doubts and suspicions. All around them, the godlings are watching. Here is the moment of choice.
"Talk to me about the machines, August."
"What? Which machines? Coop? Mr. Happy? Ruth's silly robots? The K-machines, the despoilers? By the way, they had a little chat with me a day or two back. When you're done shitting on my relationship with Lune, maybe we can have a talk about that."
Intriguing. But not to the point, not quite yet. "Ruth's devices, yes, and Marchmain's transformative systems. Ember's botched familiar, the wonderful intelligence that was here with us just now." Behind his voice, he feeds in at a barely liminal volume the great aria of faithful trust and loss and ineluctable betrayal, "Un Bel Dì, Vedremo" from Puccini's Madam Butterfly. The boy has been raised with a deep love of music. "All of them. Jan's Hanged Man. Septima's medical associates, yes. Jules's Matrioshka Brain. Juni's small men, her fabrication nodes."
"Yeah, and what are you saying? All of us use technology, so what? We keep our food in the refrigerator, we all wipe our asses on toilet paper." The deliberate vulgarity comes with excessive force from his lips; this is perhaps not the sort of thing he is accustomed to saying. After a moment, he adds in a more conciliatory tone, "All right. I guess I noticed that. Most of the Seebecks have some kind of... familiar." He gives a crooked grin. "Although in the case of Jules, I'm pretty sure he's the familiar."
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