The Golden Transcendence

by John C. Wright

  Younger Daphne exclaimed happily: “You scheming bitch!” And pointed her finger. “You’re wrong. I think we could be good friends after all. What went wrong?”

  “You did, little sister. Oh, you were not self-aware back then, and it was not your fault. Nor were you exactly like me. But when you fell in love with Phaethon, and became the seduced instead of the seductress, what could I do? When Phaethon returned to Earth, I tried, at first, to put him off. But he . . . he overwhelmed me. I was helpless in front of a man like that. He never gave up; and he was so . . . so . . . it was like he was on fire. But he was never out of control of himself. He was like a man made out of ice. And . . . he loved me so much . . . And . . .”

  “And Helion was out of your reach.”

  Daphne Prime Rhadamanth actually blushed. The younger Daphne saw the color in her older version’s cheeks and throat, and wondered: Is that what I look like when I do that? It’s kind of sexy, somehow.

  The older version said, “I didn’t like Helion when I actually met him. You know that I left those memories in.”

  “He’s a whiner.”

  “He’s concerned with preserving the old, not with beginning the new. Even saving the sun is a type of preservation, for him. And so I fell in love with Phaethon, so deeply in love, that I . . .”

  “That you tried to ruin his life!”

  The older version’s eyes flashed, an expression of impatient fire, and for a moment, the two women looked exactly alike. Daphne Prime Rhadamanth said in a voice like a queen: “Fool! I loved him enough to die for him! How can you imagine! How can you know! How can you know what it is like to see yourself in the looking glass and to know you are unworthy of the man you are married to?! Unworthy! Holding him back! Keeping him down! And no matter what you try to do you end up helping the people who hate him!”

  The elder Daphne leaned back, smoldering, and petted the cat with such angry strokes that he miaowed, and slithered from her grasp, falling heavily to the floor. The cat gave them both a haughty stare and gracefully waddled off.

  The elder Daphne said in a quieter voice, “I saved up my money and bought time from the Eveningstar Sophotech. I did not trust Rhadamanthus for this; he would have just told me to be stoic. And Silver-Gray’s don’t allow radical self-editing in any way. Eveningstar examined me, but she thought I could not make myself into the kind of woman who would be good for Phaethon. Not and still be the same person in the eyes of the law. The change would be too great. It’s a question of core values again, a question of fundamental differences. That’s what I meant about helping his enemies; everything I thought or said in public reflected a mind-set more cautious than his. There were so many times when I humiliated him in public, something I had said, or written, or thought, was published in salons against him. . . .

  “And children. How could we have children, if he was going to go away? Away and away, to die in the dark, and never return? And so our marriage was never completed.

  “I honestly thought he would fail. But I did not want to think that, because, without me, without my support, he might fail. So I had to leave him. I could not go with him; I don’t want to die in the sunless cold of space; but he kept telling me he would not leave without me. So what could I do?

  “I had to leave. I made you to take my place. You. The woman I could never become. The same way Phaethon is the man Helion could never become. . . . Our whole society evolves. We each made the next versions of ourselves more perfect. But we who are less perfect stay behind.”

  Both women were silent for a moment, looking deeply at each other’s eyes. The look was one of sorrow.

  But then the younger Daphne laughed. “And just think, older sister, you would have gotten Helion, too, if he hadn’t married Lucretia, or whatever it is Unmoiqhotep is calling herself these days!”

  The older Daphne leaned her chin on her palm, fingers curled so that her pinkie lightly touched her lips. She nibbled delicately on her fingernail, and said: “Perhaps, daughter. Perhaps. But . . . You know, it is really sort of odd. First Helion adopts, as his son, a man who turns out to have been a colonial warrior from a Transcendence drama, a burner of worlds. Then he marries the girl who tried, this time, in real life, to destroy as much of the Oecumene as she could. I wonder what his secret obsession with destruction is? He does live, after all, in the most dangerous spot in the Solar System . . .”

  The younger Daphne exclaimed, “I’m sad for you about Lucretia. I would have preferred if the extrapolation had come true, and we could all have had a lurid trial, with hundreds of weeping girls being sentenced to death, and Atkins shooting down rioters who stormed the Courthouse steps . . .”

  The elder one smiled a faint smile. “I’ll write that one up. Especially the rioters. All cacophiles, of course, but, in my story, they’ll turn out to have been mind-poisoned by Xenophon, merely tools of the sinister Silent Empire. And for my hero . . .” But then her face fell again. “Oh . . . But I cannot really use someone like Helion for my hero again, can I? Or Phaethon? Everyone will think I’m copying you. The dream-world you composed for the Oneiromantic Competition . . .”

  The younger Daphne snorted, and said, “That was your world! I looked in the records! All the work was done, the plots, the setting, all the characters, the laws of nature, everything, years before the competition. While I remembered making it up, those were your memories. The Gold Medal actually belongs to you!”

  There was a look of hunger on the older Daphne’s face. They both knew how badly she had longed to win the gold. It was a lifelong ambition.

  The older Daphne stood up, and turned away, hands folded against her stomach, pretending to stare out the window.

  Daphne Tercius Eveningstar said nothing, not wishing to increase her older self’s upset. She let a moment of time go past, and then said lightly, “That lake out there. Looks familiar. Where are we?”

  “Ah. This used to be part of the exposition grounds. That is Destiny Lake.”

  “What? The place where Phaethon saw that performance of the burning trees? I was looking all over for him here! You’d think I’d remember every damn rock and stone. Sure looks different. Water level is lower. Guess they tore down part of the mountain. But—say . . . ? Those little colored lights in the water? Those dots fading in and out like that . . . ?”

  The older Daphne looked over her shoulder and smiled a cryptic smile. “Survivors. Parts of the tree are still growing down there, long after the performance ended. The life adapted to a less energy-wasteful form, and the trees altered and specialized so that they were no longer in direct competition with each other. It’s more like a banyan tree now, with long root-systems under the soil, connecting the widely scattered colonies.”

  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.”

  2.

  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.

  3.

  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 slimness 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 portside 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 Ph
aethon, 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 noumenal 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?”