Asmodious Bohost said, "And grow the tree and pulp the paper and raise the goose to pluck the quill to sharpen for a pen!"
One of the Eleemosynary Composition stood: "Phaethon's body is stored aboard a segment of the ring-city we own. The water, and air, and the cubic space there belongs to us. He shall not be allowed to purchase any of this."
Neo-Orpheus observed: "With Sophotechs to advise us, we will be able to anticipate and outmaneuver any attempt Phaethon makes to circumvent our restrictions."
Tau Continuous Albion of the White Manorial School said: "The Phoenix Exultant is still in sub-Mercurial space; even if Phaethon, by some trick, should come to have legal ownership of it again, who will ferry him to it? Who will transmit
the signal for him to call it back to Earth? He cannot get to Mercury by flapping his arms."
Tsychandri-Manyu Tawne rose to his feet. "I once again will call the question. Is there anyone who sees further need for discussion?"
Helion rose to his feet.
"Wait."
The chamber fell silent.
THE EXILE
From the corner of his eye, Phaethon saw Gannis lean forward with great interest as Helion rose to speak. Members of the Eleemosynary Composition all wore the same expression of alert caution, staring at Helion. Ao Aoen, although he was not a member of the College, had been given a seat in the visitor's bench near the rear of the Warlock's section, and the light from the windows behind him glinted on the serpent scales of his cloak and threw his hooded face into shadow; but something in the set of his shoulders betrayed his tension.
Would Heiion speak to favor Phaethon? If so, the Peers might well exclude Helion from their number, and undo, at one stroke, all the work Helion, for uncounted years, had done to raise himself to that high eminence.
Phaethon thought: Please, don't do it, Father.
And then his own anxiety made him smile. Phaethon's own prospects seemed so very much dimmer than even the worst that could happen to Helion. It was ironic, to say the least, that he should worry for Helion at this point. Nonetheless he did.
But those worries were needless. Helion did not say anything controversial or extraordinary. He said merely, "Masters
and gentlemen of the College. I introduce a guest who has significant information to impart."
Footsteps were heard approaching the chamber doors. Phaethon cocked his ear. There was something strange about the sound, something he could not quite define. Perhaps it was that the echoes and acoustics surrounding the noise seemed particularly clear and distinct.
Then came a rattle of the latch, the noise of hinges, and the double doors behind Phaethon opened. The texture of the light on the polished wood floor around the doors changed as reflections from the antechamber fell into the hall. A man stood in the doorframe.
He had a narrow, ascetic face, and piercing gray eyes, which gave him a look of fiercely alert intelligence.
Every detail of the image was perfect. One could see the individual strands in his fabric of his Inverness cape; one could see the way each particular hair above his ears was disarrayed from the small weight of his deerstalker cap; one could see the freckles on the backs of his hands; the tiny flakes of dirt dotting the heel of his left boot. Sound and sight, texture, color, and presence, all were perfect.
As he stepped up to the table where Phaethon stood, Phaethon noticed more detail. A light odor of tobacco touched the tweed fabric of his cape. One of the threads on his coat buttons did not match the thread of the rest. The stubble on the left of his jaw was slightly rougher than on the right, as if he had shaved with a razor that morning, perhaps favoring the cheek that faced his window.
The amount of detail was remarkable. Phaethon saw the Hortators on their benches to either side whispering and staring, trying to guess who or what was represented by this enormously expensive and detailed self-image.
The gray-eyed man doffed his deerstalker cap and greeting the College with a curt nod. He spoke with a dry and slightly nasal accent: "Members of the College, greetings. My name
is Harrier Sophotech."
Of course. No human-run self-image could be so thorough
in its detail.
Harrier continued: "You may not have heard of me. I was created fifteen minutes ago, your time, to investigate some certain irregularities surrounding Phaethon's decision to open his memory casket. I should mention that this decision of Phaethon's was entirely unexpected, even by the Orient Sophotech Overmind-group, who was running a predictive model of Phaethon's behavior at the time."
Another rustle of wonder went through the chamber. Even Nebuchednezzar seemed surprised. The Orient Overmind was one of the Ennead, the nine community superintellects that the Sophotechs cooperated and melded themselves to create. Why would a mind placed so high in the Earthmind hierarchy be concerned?
Harrier said: "Only a tremendous shock, or some perceived threat to his life or the lives of his loved ones, could, in our opinion, have urged Phaethon to act so far out of character. We suspect foul play."
Again, there was a murmur and stir in the chamber, this one louder than the first. Emphyrio spoke, and the book in his lap amplified his voice: "You refer to true crime, violence urged by passion, not merely to fraud or juvenile pranksman-ship?"
Harrier said, "Evidence is scant, but the hints are shocking, sir. We suspect attempted murder, corruption, and mind rape."
Audible gasps of astonishment and fear came from several points in the chamber. Helion was scrutinizing Phaethon as if he had never seen him before.
Neo-Orpheus asked: "When you say 'we,' do you mean you are part of the Constabulary?"
Harrier smiled slightly to himself. "No, sir. Sophotechs prefer not to join the police, military, or governmental functions. However, I have been working closely with the Commissioner of Constables on this case, purely in an advisory capacity. Think of me as a consulting detective."
Tsychandri-Manyu Tawne of Tawne House spoke: "With respect, my dear sir, this is all very interesting, but... what has this to do with us?"
Harrier raised an eyebrow and stared at Tsychandri-Manyu
with steel-gray eyes. "You Hortators are so famous for your public spirit, I was sure you would be eager to cooperate in
this matter."
Helion touched Agamemnon XIV, Archon of Minos House, on the shoulder. Agamemnon stood. "Dignitaries and notables of the College! We have not yet asked Phaethon why he opened the forbidden casket. Our determination can neither be informed nor fair without this datum."
Tsychandri-Manyu made a noise of disgust. "Come, now! This is irrelevance!" But he looked to his left and his right as he spoke, and saw the faces around him. Something in the mood of the chamber was changing. Tsychandri-Manyu had the instincts of a politician; he knew when not to go against the mood of the group. He sat down.
Agamemnon spoke, pretending to answer Tsychandri-Manyu, but actually addressing the chamber, "Is it? Is it irrelevant? I think the question is central. Did some crime or violent event compel Phaethon's action? Consider: If you were an amnesiac, and had suffered the only murder attempt in many centuries, surely you would conclude that the crime was motivated by something, or explained by something, in your forgotten past. Who among us, if horror and emergency loomed, would not avail ourselves of every memory, every piece of information, we might suspect would be useful to avert disaster? Come, notables of the College! If Phaethon opened that box to learn the secret of some attacksome real attackthen both prudence and duty required him to open it! We cannot, we can never, punish a man for doing what duty requires; that would make a mockery of this whole College. Do not forget what a tenuous hold on power we Hortators have! One wrong decision, one notorious act of folly, and the public respect which forms the foundation of everything we are, will erode to nothing! Have we not more than endangered the public faith in us once already in this matter?"