Their plans had been discussed in detail long before, but Del Azarchel had the habit of speech making from his many years when this was his profession. Montrose had never actually seen Del Azarchel at his business before; it was something of a surprise to Montrose to see the spine of Mickey grow straight, and to see Trey smile and, for once, look utterly focused on the matter at hand, alert and bright, and then to see a spirit of resolve and fortitude blaze in both of their eyes like hero worship.
Montrose wondered if drugs or some electromagnetic brain-hoax was involved. The words of Blackie just did not seem that impressive to him.
Of course, he had seen Blackie naked in the showers at Space Camp back in Africa, back in the days when Africa was one continent and not two, and had seen him puking drunk, crying about his mommy, and had felt the man on his back when he carried him home from the bar, so maybe there were no tens nor hundreds of generations of glamour to fog the gaze of Montrose when he looked at Blackie. All he saw was a sneaky and smug Hispanosphere pilot who murdered his way into a throne Montrose, when mad, had accidentally made available to him.
Blackie said other things Montrose did not hear, because he knew the plan already. After the Solitudines Vastae Caelorum set sail, the physical version of Mickey and Trey were going to stay here on Torment, and try to find some way to send and receive brain signals, to make contact with their twins, Exmictlan and Exprima, trapped in the Ain mindspace.
Del Azarchel explained, “Divarication madness in both the living and the postbiological version of yourself is kept at bay when frequent mind-to-mind contact is maintained. For one thing, the information of your sense impressions sent continuously into the emulations of their midbrain and cortex will make them feel alive, feel like they and you are one and the same. You must stay here and stay alive in order to keep them sane.”
Trey said, “Is that why we cannot make a second copy to send with you? I did so want to see the Swan Princess rescued and see whether Montrose will achieve his dream!”
Del Azarchel, instead of making the expected snide remark about Montrose being sure to fail, spoke in a humble or even haunted voice. “My emulation traveling this same journey went mad. I simply did not know. There was no experimental evidence of the effects of divarication due to long-term isolation before the Bellerophron was launched. At times, in my dreams, I could feel—perhaps it was some resonance effect, but if so—no matter. Never mind that. There is no point in bringing along spare copies of you, Mrs. de Concepcion, just to watch you and your husband slowly go insane. Indeed, there is no torture as exquisite.”
Trey said, “What was it like? To be in two places at once? Two of you?”
Del Azarchel said, “It was having one soul with two minds. I could not read the mind of Jupiter, if that is what you are asking, but as more and ever more of his structure was taken over by my emulations as the lesser emulations, by a natural and ruthless evolution, went mad and became raw material. Mindspace is an Edenic form of being, is it not? They had nothing to live for, and I did. So as Jupiter became fully me, the greater our synchronization became, despite the vast differences in intelligence. We still felt the same way about the same things, even if what we thought was different. Whenever I met him mind to mind, it was as neat and nice a match as fitting hand to glove, or more so. I went from being two minds to one mind with no discomfort.
“However, I was out of contact during my long, slow, doomed attempt to found a second and better race of men in the Sagittarius Arm. When I returned from that last voyage, Jupiter had lost my soul. We were no longer one, and could not merge, nor did I ever understand him again, on an emotional—or any—level. I suppose all fathers have such sad farewells in their past, but for it to happen to a being who was both my exact twin and my undoubted superior in mind—I tell you, I was happy when Montrose killed him. Happy? That is not a word for me. Let us say I had one less source of discontent, one less impediment to my will. Nonetheless, it is a grief I would spare you, if I could, by trying to arrange with Ain that your mundane and electronic versions will be in close radio neural contact as far as possible.”
Del Azarchel turned to Montrose. “You will have to command your ship to allow me access to the mind replication and broadcast circuits, as well as the long-range astronomical instruments, if I am to set up the process for Ain. Unless you want to oversee the details?”
Montrose said, “You are the brain-emulation expert and have been doing it for longer than me. I am the suspended-animation expert, and what we are about to face in terms of a journey of this length will stretch even my skills to the limit. I got too much in my mouth to take another bite. This problem is yours to chew.”
Del Azarchel said, “You have time and more for your research. We can freeze our bodies and use the mind of Tormentil for our blackboard. This vessel cannot depart for many a year, until enough human minds have been cast into the stars where Ain suspects some remnant of the ancient Forerunner races lingers, or some young unmet race, to start the emissary process. Once the first generation of human emissaries has been exchanged, Ain’s own communication systems will be able to shoulder the necessities.”
Montrose said, “Another delay. What if Ain never agrees to Mickey’s plans?”
Del Azarchel smiled. “Do you recall once, long ago, a swan told us that you and I were like Caliban and Tarzan, absurdly primitive beings compared to the monsters in the heavens? Well, one of those monsters is Ain, a machine made of a cloud of dendrites larger in mass than our solar system circling a sun larger than ours, a machine made by an extinct race of whelks or clams who never lied to each other or told less than the whole truth. I suspect Mickey will have a psychological edge when it comes to the bargaining process.”
Montrose said, “You and I could pretend we did not hate each other long enough to prevent Ain from using us to undermine the other.”
Del Azarchel shook his head. “In my life, once I was at oneness with Jupiter, a brain so large all words fail. And this being is far wiser, far more insightful, than that. Unless I were willing, honestly and entirely, to foreswear my hate for you, and you to foreswear your love for my Rania, we could not fool Ain. But with no deception at all, and no mental reservations, I can trust Mictlanagualzin of Tormentil—because I know his true name. I know his character.
“And he knows mine. No one who serves me can ever truly come to hate me, because I know the hearts of men. Of course I trust him.
“So he can tell Ain that mankind will not cooperate without any deception, because his desire to see us sail is less than his desire to see the men of Tormentil live free.”
Montrose whistled. From a nearby swarm of glittering firefly-glinting units shaped like lacy-winged courtiers, the nearest of several identical figurines darted down to him. A tiny figurine, no more than six inches tall, of a princess with a fairy wand, landed on his finger. “Twinklewink, this is Montrose. Do you recognize me?”
The tiny figurine curtseyed. “Montrose, Menelaus Illation, morganthic husband of Her Serene Highness Rania of Tellus, mistress of this vessel. How may I serve?”
“This is an order. Now hear this: Allow Del Azarchel access to the mind replication and broadcast circuits, as well as the long-range astronomical instruments. He is locked out of any and every other central system, until and unless I specifically order otherwise. End.”
“Roger,” said the figurine and flew over to land on the finger of Del Azarchel.
Del Azarchel, with many an orotund and flattering word, said his farewells, and walked a little ways away. There were no control interfaces in this ship, no bridge, nor need of any. Instead, Del Azarchel seated himself on the green grass beneath a white-blossomed cherry tree and spoke to the fairy figure on his finger. She raised her wand, and images, data streams, and memory chains were electronically distributed into his cortex and midbrain. He closed his eyes, and his skin turned white.