Aristoi, page 29
“Good,” she said. “I’m where I want to be. With you, in the center of this mystery.”
Gabriel’s heart leaped. Love and admiration stirred in his blood. “Get away, True Sound,” he said. “Now. If you want to avoid happening to Tienjin what happened to the Sanjay.”
“My Realized Body is already on the move,” Zhenling said. “And daimones are unlocking the necessary gates.”
“Good.”
“Shall I come to the Gaal Sphere?”
He hesitated. He thought of enemies listening to every word. “Your chronology is a little inexact,” he said. “If I wanted to come to the Gaal Sphere, I could have been there over a month ago.”
“The Hyperlogos is compromised, I realize, otherwise all Cressida’s data wouldn’t have vanished. So you can’t give me directions.”
Gabriel said nothing.
“I have built my own communications setup, as you did. Can we link our networks?”
He thought for a moment. “Get clear of the system,” he said. “Then aim a tachline receiver at Illyricum and tune to Channel 3000. I’ll send you a cypher.”
She nodded. “I am pleased to be with you, Aristos.”
“And, in spite of the danger, I am glad to be with you.”
He kissed her, and at that instant she, the pavilion, Mount Trasker, all vanished, and Gabriel was sitting in Remmy’s cabinet, his fingers idly bringing chords out of the cembalo.
He looked up in wild alarm.
Someone had pulled the plug.
*
Gabriel called Fleta in the Illyricum Residence and was told that communication seemed normal throughout the Logarchy. Apparently only the one channel to Tienjin had been cut. Gabriel gave orders for Zhenling’s receiving her cypher, then rose and paced back and forth as he gazed through the unshuttered second-floor windows. The day was gloomy, with a constant low drizzle.
For once, trapped in a small space and away from everything, Gabriel wasn’t afflicted by boredom.
His fight with Silvanus had been yesterday. He and Clancy had returned to their apartment after having received assurances from the two conspirators that, whatever story they told to justify the wounds and bodies, it would be one favorable to Gabriel.
After his return, Gabriel sent a messenger to Remmy at his family’s house a few streets away. Remmy answered the message in person, arriving wild-eyed and under the impression the duel had yet to be fought. He’d been interrupted in the midst of some private devotions, and wore a plain white shirt on which religious medals had been sewn by blue and red ribbons. More medals hung around his neck and had been tied to his four limbs by their ribbons. After being reassured that the fight was over and Gabriel had won, a perfectly astonished Remmy agreed to hide Gabriel in his Santa Leofra cabinet, then make inquiries to determine the position of the authorities.
Gabriel made the experience bearable by setting up a tachline relay directly between the cabinet and his Santo Georgio home, and from there to Cressida and the Hyperlogos. The relay antennae were directional and shouldn’t result in any leakage that could be detected from Saigo’s Santo Georgio house, at least not over this short distance. It was possible, of course, that the whole planet was wired, that everything that happened here was recorded and that the Surveyors had been spotted the second they’d arrived, but Gabriel could think of no reason why the conspirators would do such a thing, and in any case there wasn’t anything he could do about it.
Except for a few hours’ sleep Gabriel had been pacing the floor ever since his arrival, working on his music and his new nano patents while Horus dictated sociological analysis into the Cressida’s official record of the journey.
A gust spattered drizzle over the windowpane. The streets were empty save for a few beggars who viewed the weather with professional disregard.
The conspirators had done some very dangerous things. Cutting communication for someone not otherwise under their control was as reckless as erasing something already in the public record was stupid. Gabriel wondered whether Saigo had made these decisions, or whether it was one of his disciples who had panicked unreasonably. Perhaps, he thought, Saigo had let a daimon take him, a daimon with considerable force of will but with little common sense.
Perhaps Saigo had a Voice of his own, a subtle monster capable of working its way to power.
Hmmm.
Gabriel considered the Voice. He hadn’t made an attempt to contact the Voice again, largely because his thoughts had been too turbulent, and his rush of creativity too overwhelming, for the deep meditation he suspected the contact would require.
But still, the Voice knew something. Perhaps it was time for Gabriel to compose himself and make the attempt.
He made another call to Fleta first, was told that Zhenling hadn’t made contact. Then Gabriel he sat at the cembalo, pulled the lever that, with an unmusical thunk, dropped its complicated mechanism into the key of B-flat, and struck a few soothing chords while he tried to settle his thoughts. His spirit began to float off on a musical tangent, and he took his hands off the keyboard and forced his mind back to the task at hand.
Gabriel closed his eyes, took a long breath to the count of ten, held it for ten seconds, let it out for ten seconds more. “Tzai,” he said, a whisper invoking his cry of the spirit. His left hand, the Voice’s hand, began to trace the Involved Iconography glyph for “beware” on the top of the cembalo. His other hand adopted the mudra for “dialogue.” He let the character “beware” trace itself in his mind, writing it inside his eyelids in characters of fire. “Dai,” he said. He imagined the character floating in void, the sole inhabitant of the universe; he changed its color, rolling through a bright electric spectrum; he moved it away to a pinpoint-distance, then brought it up close, overwhelming. Gabriel dissected the character, calling its meanings to his mind, invoking the modalities for “threat” and “vigilance,” the claustrophobic trapezoid that surrounded the character, like walls leaning in, the imperative mark that gave it all a sense of urgency.
“Die,” he said, and then a cold, faint whisper tracked along his spine .
Gabriel Aristos.
Gabriel’s heart lurched. A keen electric voice sang in his nerves.
An inexpressible sensation of distance filled Gabriel’s senses. He had the impression of a long, darkling plain, a distant, half-heard cry from an unknowable distance. There was a strong eddy of melancholy, of loneliness.
The Voice seemed light-years away.
The taste of metal tracked strongly down Gabriel’s tongue. He focused his attention down the unearthly distance that separated him from the distant Voice and sent his message wailing down into the darkness.
What is your name?
I have no name. Names are dangerous.
Name a thing, Gabriel thought, and you control it. The daimon was determined not to be controlled.
What are you?
I am the thing you need now.
What do I need? Gabriel would play Sokrates with the thing, ask it questions until it revealed its nature.
You need a . . . There was a hesitation. You need a navigator.
A navigator? Do you know where I am going?
You are going into dangerous places.
And you will see me safe?
Do not trust them. Shifting to warning mode again. Gabriel’s strategy was too transparent: the daimon would not play question-and-answer.
Who should I not trust?
Remmy. Zhenling. The Black-Eyed Ghost. All on this Terrina.
Why should I not trust Remmy?
Remmy will not withstand.
He is weak?
Zhenling is driven. Who is her coachman?
Possibilities tumbled through Gabriel’s mind. Do you mean a daimon has her?
The Black-Eyed Ghost is a servant. But whose?
Gabriel’s mind whirled. The strain of communicating across this cold, unspeakable distance was beginning to tell. The Voice’s loneliness chilled his bones like a cold wind.
How do you know these things?
I don’t know. But I know that I know.
Riddles. A mystery wrapped in an enigma . . .
How long have you been in existence? Gabriel asked.
I am recent. I came into being as the result of a threat perception so subtle that you never noticed it. I noticed. But I could not tell its nature because I did not know myself.
Could a part of his mind have intuited the corruption of the Hyperlogos? Gabriel wondered. Was the Voice then its response?
Some dreadfully distant mind-part, this. Possibly the buried lizard brain, perceiving somehow a threat to itself.
You became aware of me only through accident. I have learned not to make that mistake.
Fagit. That peremptory burst had not been intended to be overheard, had only made itself apparent because Psyche had united the daimones in a moment of transcendence.
I will name you Navigator, Gabriel said.
That is not my name. There was a sensation of terrible isolation in the far-off cry, a sound like interstellar hydrogen freezing in the void.
If you give me your name, I will give you access to my reno. You can use the reno to make yourself more powerful.
I do not trust your reno.
Gabriel was surprised. But it is mine— my implant. A part of me. It can enhance you.
Your reno is not necessary.
You will find other daimones there. You do not need to be so lonely. Why must you hold yourself apart?
Sadness flooded Gabriel’s senses. He felt tears stinging his eyes.
I must be alone. It is needed.
I will help you. You are Navigator. You will come when I call you.
I will not come. And that is not my name.
The Voice faded, leaving Gabriel alone on the dark dreaming plain. His skin was sheened with sweat and his breath rasped in his throat. Tears fell down his face; there was an ache in his sinus. Never had he felt such isolation.
The sense of aloneness slowly faded, replaced by quiet foreboding. The Voice had given him a list of people not to trust. And the Voice had been right about Gerius.
Zhenling? He had never intended that she come to the Gaal Sphere— she would arrive too late to be useful in any case— but the notion that someone, or thing, was “driving” her was startling. Who is her coachman? A daimon, insinuated into her consciousness? Did everyone have a Voice somewhere? A stealthy terror began to creep along Gabriel’s nerves. What if everyone had a Voice, what if the Voice was like some virus creeping through the Hyperlogos, infecting every healthy mind . . .
Gabriel shook off the wave of paranoia, recognizing it as a psychic remnant of the Voice’s visit.
He remembered the long hissing journey over snow, the troika driver with his long snowy mustachios. His name had been Gury. The coachman?
That mustached character hadn’t said anything, hadn’t acted as anything other than a coachman. There was no evidence he was anything other than an oneirochronic artifact.
Still, there had been a different quality about the character. Gabriel recalled a flash of something like recognition when he’d finally seen Gury’s face.
He wondered what that was. He would seek the answer within meditation again, when he wasn’t quite so drained by his contact with the Voice.
The Black-Eyed Ghost is a servant. But whose?
Somehow this allegation was the most disturbing. Marcus had served under Saigo, of course, and had, he admitted, contributed to the design of the Gaal Sphere’s primitive technology without realizing it. But could he be Saigo’s plant within Gabriel’s organization? Or worse (the Voice’s paranoia oozing again through his veins) a kind of (seeking for the right word) psychomorph, a plastic artificial personality created specifically to appeal to Gabriel’s tastes and get close to him? And Marcus had insisted on accompanying Gabriel to the Gaal Sphere— perhaps as a spy.
Gabriel contemplated this thought for a long, horrid moment before he concluded that the scenario was far too unlikely. Marcus had been on Illyricum for years, and Saigo hadn’t had any reason to spy on Gabriel until a few months ago.
Unless, Gabriel thought (paranoia smothering him again like damp cotton wool), Saigo had done it to every one the Aristoi. Created hundreds of psychomorphs, one for each . . .
But wouldn’t that be awesomely difficult?
How hard could it be, Gabriel thought in sudden despair, for someone who had created whole planets from scratch? Whole civilizations?
His ricocheting mind bounced again to the coachman. What if the coachman was Zhenling’s psychomorph? Someone with access to her Sealed files in the oneirochronon?
Gabriel blinked, calmed himself, slowed his breathing. This kind of thinking was perfectly insane. The Voice was getting too firm a grip on him.
Gabriel heard a bolt working on the floor below, then the door opening. “Ghibreel?” Remmy’s voice. Gabriel played some chords on the cembalo to let Remmy know he was on the second floor, and continued to play as he listened to the sound of Remmy’s shoes on the stair.
Incoming cypher tachline communication from Ariste Zhenling. Reno’s voice. Gabriel thought for a moment, then called up Bear and gave the daimon control of his body and voice before telling Reno to proceed.
(Springtime blossomed in Gabriel’s mind. A brisk wind ruffled the surface of the once-frozen lake, stirred Zhenling’s unbound hair.
(She stood on the sward in front of the onion-domed dacha, her slim body enclosed in a Yellow Epoch gown, high-collared, broad at the shoulder and hips, narrow at the waist and ankles.
(Seeing this, Gabriel gave himself an English walking suit from the same period, with a four-in-hand scarf and a white carnation, its petal-tips touched with scarlet.
Faintly, through Bear, Gabriel felt the ivory cembalo keys through his fingertips, heard the sound of music, Schön’s love aria from Gabriel’s Lulu. He felt the touch of Remmy’s lips on his cheek, Bear’s answering sensation of warmth and abiding goodwill.
“Good news,” Remmy said. He sat on the bench next to Gabriel. “You’re famous.”
“Famous in what way?”
“As the killer of Silvanus. People live in terror of those sorts of people—everyone thinks we’re well rid of him. And when Gerius and the doctor revealed the treachery—”
“Treachery?” Bear’s pity for Gerius and Augustino filled Gabriel’s soul— poor, benighted puppets. His fingers continued the aria.
“They said that Silvanus asked for a moment to refresh himself, and that he and Augustino drew sword and attacked without warning. That’s how Gerius and the doctor— what’s his name?— that’s how they were wounded.”
(Gabriel embraced Zhenling, kissed her.
(“I’m upwell and out-system,” she said. “I’m on my own, alone in my ship. I didn’t have time to order anyone to go with me.”
(“It’s wise you didn’t delay,” Gabriel said.
(“I need information, Gabriel Vissarionovich,” Zhenling said. “I need to know what to do, where to go.”
(“The cypher changes every six hours or so,” Gabriel said. “More if there’s a lot of traffic.” He took her arm, walked with her up the drive. Gravel crunched beneath their feet. “It’s best if we save the private tachline only for the most important and confidential communications— the less traffic, the more difficult it will be to break any of the cyphers.”
(“Understood.”
(“I am sending you now— ” (Horus pulsed a message to Fleta) “— plans for a communications satellite network.” ((Transmitted, said Reno.)) “This way you can relay communications with a near-certainty of not being traced.”
(“I see.” She straightened slightly as a thought struck her, stopping in her tracks, then looked at him sharply, gloved fingertips tightening on his arm. “Our communications— ? All of them compromised?”
(“I believe so.”
(“All our . . . tangos? Our private moments?”
(“Yes.”
(“And you knew?”
(He looked at her, touched her cheek. “I could not behave otherwise without putting you in danger.” He kissed her; the oneirochronic lips were moist. “And I am not ashamed of my art. Let them envy us if they will.”)
How sad, Bear felt, that they needed to invent such falsehood.
Remmy looked at Gabriel closely. “You haven’t said anything, Ghibreel,” he said. “Isn’t that how it occurred?”
Bear looked up. “They . . . underexaggerate their own part.”
Remmy gazed at him carefully. “What really happened?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Bear said. “It’s over.”
“You haven’t even said what the fight was about.”
Bear struck a few chords, let his hands rest for a moment on the keys. It would be dangerous, he thought, not to let Remmy know.
“It was about you,” he said. “Adrian wanted revenge for my running off with you the other night, and he created a situation in which I would either flee or die. He thought.”
Remmy looked at Gabriel for a long moment, one jaw muscle twitching. Bear’s heart melted with pity. “I’m sorry,” Remmy said.
“It’s not your fault. I made choices, and I’ll live with. the consequences. But in case the consequences include an attack on you, I want you to be prepared.”
(Zhenling thought for a moment. A shimmer of defiance flashed in her dark eyes. “Yes.”
(She kissed him fiercely. “We have privacy now,” she said. “For the first time ever. We should take advantage of it.”
(Lust bubbled happily up Gabriel’s spine. “Indeed yes,” he said.
(“I want to take advantage of it in reality,” she said. They began walking up the drive again. “How can I meet you in the flesh? And where? The Gaal Sphere?”
(“I think you must head for Earth2,” Gabriel said. “Speak to Pan Wengong. The Eldest needs to be informed. The conspirators are panicking and taking hasty action, and he will need advice close to home.”
(Zhenling shook her head. “It will take me months to get there— longer than it will take to get to where you are, I suspect.”)
Remmy gave an incredulous laugh, then flipped his hands.
