by John Wright
Daphne Tercius Eveningstar stood up and stepped closer to her older self. She said in a low voice. "I am leaving. If you want to claim the gold medal, it's yours. I'll trade you for the energy sculptures. Or ..."
The older one shook her head. "The plots and characters and setup were mine. But you made up your own ending. There was not ever going to be an industrial revolution in my little world. I never had a plotline about a young prince deciding to shatter the sky. That was your muse speaking, your heart, your convictions. And it set the world on fire. Everyone fell in love with the idea. And when they all remembered, later, what it was Phaethon was actually trying to do ... Well. No one was as eager to stop Phaethon as they had been before. Even some of the Hortators seemed to drag their feet."
"Thank you. I don't think my little story had that much to do with it."
The older Daphne smiled. "It's tales that make the difference. Facts kill; but it is myths that people give their lives for."
"Thank you very much...." The two women stepped closer to each other, smiling, and both grasped two hands, a fond and girlish gesture.
"How did it end ... ? I never saw the finale of your piece."
"Ah," the younger Daphne said. "The young prince broke the sky."
"Was the world crushed by the falling fragments?"
"Only the people too stupid to look up, and see what was coming, and get out of the way."
"And what was there?"
"Where?"
"What lay in the regions beyond the sky?"
"The shining fields of paradise were waiting there, wider than the sky, opening on all sides without limit. They only were waiting for the hand of man to come and plant them."
A rose-pink light stole across the lake and trees outside. It was the early part of true dawn, and it mingled with the pale, silver-red light of Jupiter to form (if only for a moment) a landscape of strange and expectant mystery, tangled double shadows, fabulous and familiar at once. The sky above was imperial purple, and only the brighter stars shone through.
"It is a wonderful tale," said the elder one softly. "I wonder if I shall ever write one to match it."
"Write whatever you believe in."
"But you've taken my hero...."
The younger Daphne gave an impish smile. "If the predictions are right, the New College will make old war stories and tales of honor true again. How about that?! You can have Atkins!"
The elder looked thoughtful. "Hmm... Atkins... ?"
At that moment, both women raised their heads as if they had heard a trumpet sound. But there was no sound, all was still and quiet. What had caught and held their gaze was that one bright star, brighter than Venus, had risen above the mountains in the west.
The elder said in a voice of wonder: "That light... that light!"
The younger said: "It is my husband. He is coming for me."
"Then is that the Phoenix Exultant! So bright! I thought she was still at Jupiter, being refitted."
"Your rival for his affections. You forget how swiftly she flies. She was at Jupiter. Ten hours ago. Now she is in high Earth orbit, beginning her deceleration burn. Come with me! By the time we climb the mountain there, where Phaethon and I agreed to meet, the Phoenix will be overhead."
The elder drew back. "But surely it will be hours and hours, if the ship is only just now beginning to decelerate."
"At ninety gravities? Her engines are outshouting every bit of radio-noise in the area. Phaethon wants everyone to know his ship is coming here. She'll be above us when we get to the mountaintop, believe me. Are you coming? He'll want to say good-bye to you, I'm sure."
The elder shook her head sadly. "He said all his good-byes to me, when he cried above my coffin at the Eveningstar Mausoleum. I said mine to him, earlier, much earlier."
"When?"
"I saw him. He had turned his ship around and come back, abandoning everything. Abandoning his life's work. The first time, before Lakshmi. I looked out through the window and saw him coming up the stairs. If he had been fifteen minutes earlier, the coffin would not have been prepared, and I would not have been able to drown myself. But I was gone by the time he reached the top of the stair. He tried to drag me from the coffin. He was like a young god in his gold armor, and he threw the Constables aside like puppets. They had to call Atkins to stop him. Atkins had been waiting, watching, ever since the colonial warrior was incarnated, certain that they would someday fight. Atkins was naked and magnificent, and there was a twinkle in his eye when they closed to grapple each other."
"How do you know all this, if you were in the coffin?"
"I was dreaming true dreams. I saw everything that happened: I had all the pictures and sounds from the outside world sent into my sleeping brain. I knew. Of course I knew. Would I spare myself? I am not as cowardly or soft as you might think. After all, I was the model for you!"
"Then come!"
The elder Daphne turned away. "I can't face him. You must be my ambassador this one last time, and tell him how I wanted to return his love, but could not. The black and endless void that so allures him fills me but with terror; how could I leave the green, sweet Earth... for that? Tell him, if I were braver..."
"If you were braver, you would love him?"
"If I were braver, I'd be you."
There was no more said. The two women stood for a time, side by side, holding hands in front of the window, watching the rising star of-the Phoenix Exultant, and wondering at the brightness.
Daphne Tercius Eveningstar climbed the moutaintop alone. She had changed into her taller, stronger body, and now a tight black skin of nanomaterial hugged her curves, and streamlined strands of folded gold adamantium cupped her breasts, emphasized the slim-ness of her waist, the roundness Of her hips.
The sun, by this time, had risen in the east, and Daphne's gold boots flashed as she walked. She carried her helmet in the crook of her elbow. It was gold, built in the same Egyptian-looking design as Phaethon's.
The top of the mountain was flat, littered with gravel, and with a few thorny strands of grass. On a rock not far away sat a wrinkled old man. He was leaning on a long white staff, and his hair and beard were the color of snow.
The old man was staring at a plant that had taken root. It was less than nine inches tall, just a slender stalk, but it must have been made to bloom out of season, for one bud had unfolded and formed a silver leaf. The leaf shone like a tiny mirror, and the old man stared down at it, smiling in his beard.
He looked up. "The Golden Age is ended. We will have an age of iron next, an age of war and sorrow! How appropriately you are armored, then, my darling Mrs. Phaethon. You look like some delectable young Amazon! How could you afford armor like that?"
"I collected the fees during the Transcendence from everyone who came to consult with my daughter."
" 'Daughter'?" blinked the old man. "Daughter... ?"
"She is not yet legally of age, so the money came to me. And the Transcendence predicted, or decided, that Gannis would try to undo some of the harm he had done to his public image, and so, during the long months of Transcendence (even though it only seemed like a moment to us) he put this armor together for me, one atom at a time. When I say 'to us' I mean 'to those of us who were in the Transcendence,' that is. I don't recognize you."
He groaned and leaned on his stick and pushed himself to his feet. "You don't?!! My sweet young curvaceous little war goddess has forgotten me! And after all we meant to each other!"
She stepped back half a pace. "The Phoenix Exultant is coming." She pointed overhead. Where the clouds parted, a golden triangle hung in the sky, as the moon is sometimes visible by day. Even from orbit, the great ship was still a naked-eye object. "The landing craft will be touching down here. So clear off if you don't want to get hurt."
"I know all that. The landing craft fell out from port-side docking bay nineteen, about two hours ago. There were big dragon-signs painted on her keel: Just Married, and tin cans on tethers floating aft. Anyway,
the lander flew beneath the levitation array. Your husband left the lander there, and just jumped out of the air lock. He swan-dived into the atmosphere. Simply to show off how much re-entry heat his armor can shed, I suppose. Heh, heh! I expect him any minute."
"How do you know this?"
"I was watching it all from my grove. I told the leaves in a certain valley of mine to form a convex mirror, so I could take measurements of the Phoenix Exultant as she approached. Amazing what you can do with primitive tools and a little simple math! I also built a bridge across that little stream in front of your parent's house, out of planed wood and good old-fashioned molecular epoxy. Very refreshing to work with your hands!"
Daphne made the recognition gesture, but nothing happened. "Who the hell are you? The masquerade is over! Why isn't your name on file?"
"Oh, come on!" He looked sarcastically exasperated. "You are the mystery writer. It should be obvious who I am!"
"You are the one who started all this. Woke up Phaethon, I mean, and got him to turn off his sense-filter so that he saw Xenophon stalking after him. Phaethon found out that he had been redacted...." "Yes. Obviously. And ... ?" "You work for the Earthmind! She arranged this whole thing from start to finish so that everything would work out right!"
"Little girl, if you were not in a space-adapted body one hundred times stronger than I am right now, I would turn you over my knee and spank your pert little behind bright red."
"Okay. You don't sound like an Earthmind avatar. Are you Aurelian ... ? You did all this to make your party more dramatic ... ?" "You're guessing."
"You're an agent of the Silent Ones. You woke up Phaethon for Xenophon's sake, to get the Phoenix Exultant out of hock, so your people could grab it."
"Exactly right! And I've come here to surrender, but only if you make mad, passionate love to me, right now!" He threw his arms wide, as if to embrace her, capering from one foot to the other, hair flying wildly. She fended him off with her hand. "Okay, no. Do I get another guess?"
The old man straightened up, and looked at her, a look of calm amusement. He spoke now in a lower octave, and his voice was no longer thin and cracked. "You could use logic and reason, my dear. The answer, I assure you, is quite evident."
"I've got it. You're Jason Sven Ten Shopworthy, risen from the grave to get back at Atkins for shooting you in the head."
"Logic. Anyone who had a recording in any noume-nal circuit would be logged on to some Sophotech, somewhere. The masquerade is over. If I had any Sophotech connections of any kind, even a money account, even a pharmaceutical record at my local rejuvenation clinic, you would know me at a glance. Logically, I must be someone who has never bought or sold anything, never logged on to my library, never sent or received messages, never bought any adjustments from a thought shop. Who am I?"
He pushed his hair away from his brow, and put his hand along his chin, as if to hide his beard from view. "Ignore the wrinkles. Look at me, my dear."
Daphne put her hand up to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Oh, my heavens. You're Phaethon."
"The real Phaethon."
"But... How ... ?"
"A good engineer always has triple redundancy. Seventy years ago, it was clear to me then that the College of Hortators would never allow my great ship to fly. When the Phoenix was not yet complete, she still had enough thought boxes and storage and ecological material aboard to grow a body, and to store a spare copy of my mind in it. I-this body-Phaethon Secundus- came back to Earth in secret, having erased all record from the ship and my other self's memory that I was alive. And I watched Phaethon Prime-my other self- knowing something would try to stop him.
"I did not expect the drama with Daphne Prime drowning herself. But I expected that if it had not been that, it would have been something else. Gannis, or Vafnir. I knew Phaethon would be hauled before the Hortators at some point. And I had guessed correctly that the most politic solution would be to have everyone undergo a global redaction. Everyone would for- get about the problem. That is the way, after all, the people in the Golden Oecumene tend to deal with all their problems.
"My role was to make sure that he did not forget. I his spare memory. I kept the dream alive when everyone else in the Golden Oecumene, except for his enemies, had forgotten about it.
"Once the masquerade started, I could move around more easily, and could even submit gene designs to Aurelian anonymously. I set up a grove of trees designed to show support for igniting Saturn into the third sun. If Phaethon had ever bothered to read his invitations or party program, his interest would have been piqued, and he would have sought me out. Instead, by dumb luck, he just wandered into the grove. "As for Xenophon, I was as fooled as everyone else; I thought he was doing what I was doing, coming to remind Phaethon Prime of his lost dream; or that Diomedes had sent him. When I saw Xenophon coming up the slope, I decided not to reveal myself to Phaethon Prime. Xenophon was still a Neptunian, after all, and connected to the thought systems of the Duma. Anything he knew might find its way into the public record. I had been very careful, for seventy years, not to buy on credit or send messages or even to read a newspaper, or anything which would leave any record of me. I could not even buy food. It was not easy. So I wasn't going to give away my secret to another soul, even one sent (as I thought then) by Diomedes, my good friend. Besides, I guessed correctly that, if I could get Phaethon to turn off his sense-filter, and he saw Xenophon, Xenophon would tell him (within whatever limits the Hortators' ban allowed) that something mysterious was interfering in his life. And knowing Phaethon as I did, I knew he would not let it rest until he solved the mystery. As I recall, it took him exactly one day. Not as I expected! But if he had been killed, I would have picked up and carried on. That's what I was here for. Phaethon Spare."
"How did you live for seventy years without eating?"
"I ate."
"Without buying food?"
"I bartered it from people who grew it in their gardens. You know. I taught fences how to herd sheep, and decontaminated grass, pulled weeds, split rails, fabricated simple thoughtware for lamps and reading helmets, cleaned house-brains of accumulated bitmap junk. I built things and repaired appliances. You know me."
"Where? What people?"
"I thought I had already made that clear. I am Phaethon Spare Stark of the Stark School. I stayed with your parents. I slept in the bed you slept in when you were a little girl. I dreamed of you every night, once I programmed the nightcap. Because your fragrance is still in that bed. Imagine sleeping in a bed, and not in a pool! I slept with my arms around your pillow."
"My parents... why? I thought they hated you... ?"
"I told them about the Phoenix Exultant."
"What?"
"I told them everything. Your parents want to live as men did in days of old. What did they have in those cruel and ancient times? Adventure; exploration; danger; death; victory. They had Hanno and Sir Francis Drake and Magellan and that bungler Columbus; they had Bucky-Boy Cyrano D'Atano and Vanguard Single Exharmony. I told them that the Golden Age, the age of rest and comfort, was ending; and that an age of iron and of fire was coming next. 'We have rested for a long time,' I told them, 'because history had suffered greatly, and mankind deserved a long period of peace, and play, and contemplation. But now a time of action, and of heroes, and of tragedy, was upon us!' And, when they heard, they welcomed me, and joined in my attempt."
"And my dad did not tell me any of this when he spoke to me last, when I was going off to the wilderness to go save Phaethon! What a liar he is! Give me an honest man any day! Give me Phaethon!"
"Why, thank you."
There was a motion above them, like the streak of a falling star. It was a figure of gold, shining, bright as an angel of fire, descending. It was Phaethon. He plunged down through a cloud into a beam of sunlight, and flame seemed to dance like water across his armor.
Daphne said to the old man beside her: "What now? Are you going to wrestle him for the captaincy?"
"I'm really hoping he'll just agree to knit our separate memory-chains back together to form one individual. Otherwise, I have legal title to the ship, because I have older continuity, and he gets to carry you off to the honeymoon that I have been dreaming about for seventy years, and we are both unhappy. No. Much better for all of us if he and I become one again, and, finally, absolutely, all my memories and all of my life is gathered into my soul once more. This long struggle through a labyrinth of lies will end, I shall be whole. And I can claim my destiny, my wife, my ship, and all the stars, finally, finally, for my own!"
Daphne smiled. "Not to mention your daughter."
"Daughter?"
The golden Phaethon landed, lightly as a thistledown. In his arms was cradled a girl child, who seemed to be about seven or eight standard years old: a dark-haired, sober, big-eyed waif, in a dress of black chiffon, with an enormous red bow atop her hair.
The golden helmet drew back, revealing a face so bright with happiness, eyes that gleamed so with pride and victory, that Daphne practically swooned into his arms, and the old man straightened, as if at attention, braced by that most wholesome and wonderful of sights: the sight of a human face in a state of joy.
While her parents hugged, the daughter, ignored, squeezed out from between them. She grimaced and panted and pulled free. The old man put out his hand and helped her escape.
The little girl looked up at him. He said, "You must be the little girl who made your mommy so rich during the Transcendence. But I cannot figure out who you are."
"I know who you are. You're Daddy's spare." "He's the spare. I'm the real one."
"So are you coming with us, too? Rhadamanthus the penguin, in the dreamspace, grew wings and flew up to the ship. He's in the ship-mind now. He seemed really happy. And Temer Lacedaimon joined the crew, and so did Diomedes, and a bunch of Neptunians, and so did a girl named Daughter-of-the-Sea, although she takes up almost all of the one hold. We asked Grandpa He-lion to come, but he says he can't leave his work. But, hey! He can still change his mind, as long as we're in noumenal broadcast range. What about you? Are you coming, too?"
