[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

merely adjusted his body against the change in temperature when he stepped out
of doors.
They spoke in rapid electronic pulses, mind-to-mind. The niceties of speaking
aloud and slowly, after the fashion of his ancestors, had been left behind
with the other frivolities of the late masquerade.
Page 140
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Neo-Orpheus did not header his information packages with normal
address-response codes. He expected everyone to whom he spoke to know who and
what he was. In the protocols of electronic mind-speech, this was a brusque,
perhaps even a rude, conceit. But he was, or he had been, after all, Orpheus,
the man who granted immortality to man.
Brusquely, then: "What's wrong? Why do you come in person?"
Socrates answered without looking up: "The press and clamor of many busy folk
along the land lines, still filled with post-Transcendence business, precludes
us from sending through messengers our burden. Like donkeys laden, we come,
carrying what few fragments of the dream we still recall from our voyage to
the higher realm of forms."
Neo-Orpheus said, "The Recollections were done in a more haphazard fashion
than ever has been before: the gathered totality was distraught. Much was
lost. What do you recall?"
There was a pause as circuits in the high black walls absorbed the memory load
from the two Hortators. Without a Sophotech, it could not be indexed or
absorbed by Neo-Orpheus, without further slow-rate exchanges needed to orient
him to the subject matter. It was the way memory works: nothing comes to mind
until one is reminded. So the "speech" of the three Hortators continued.
Socrates turned, and looked up at him, still smiling slightly. "Tell me: How
does a man serve the city best? Should he aspire after high offices, and gain
the power to reward his friends and punish his enemies? Every man, even those
who have not reflected on it, will say this is the best way to serve. Or
should he serve as the city deems best, or as he deems best, or in some other
way?"
Neo-Orpheus was not slow on the uptake. "The prediction is that I will receive
a vote of no confidence? The Hortators are kicking me out." He did not express
this as a question. He, too, recalled many of the extrapolations from the
Transcendence.
The memories in the wall circuits filled in details. He remembered the
predictions of public disdain, the loss of his constituency, the loss of
subscribers, of funding. And with all minds touching in the supreme moment,
those people who had been part of that prediction had also affirmed what they
saw, making it a promise to each other.
Emphyrio said in a voice like iron: "All of us."
Neo-Orpheus showed no expression.
Neo-Orpheus stirred, shook himself, said in cold tones: "Foolishness! Without
us, men will destroy themselves. We will all turn into machines."
Socrates said, "And yet I saw a promise that the institution of the College
might not yet be abolished. Phaethon will speak on behalf of the College of
Hortators. The sights he saw at Talaimannar, among the many who do not control
their appetites, who act without virtue, taught him how wrong it is to attempt
the escape of reality. The ugly thoughts of the Nothing Sophotech are known to
everyone now."
Neo-Orpheus said, "Phaethon? He will speak out on our behalf?"
Emphyrio said, "Not ours."
Neo-Orpheus looked up at the black, blank walls. The knowledge seeped into
him. "A New College, then. With a new mandate. Dark-Gray Manorials, I assume.
Fans of Atkins. We frowned on self-destruction, addiction, and perversion.
They will frown on disloyalty. Nonconformity. The ugly future Helion predicted
to the Conclave of Peers comes to pass, but not as he predicted it."
Neo-Orpheus looked at Emphyrio. "Well, I suppose I should congratulate you on
your emancipation."
"You are premature," said Emphyrio. "My case is still pending."
Socrates chimed in, "And neither of us have happy experiences with trials."
"It had to happen. All the attention poured into you during the Transcendence,
all the minds asking all of us to justify our decisions. Hmph. I told the
Hortators
not to construct a simulacrum to be in love with truth. Well, Emphyrio! What
will you do now that you have lost your office?"
Page 141
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"Follow Phaethon. How unlike me is he? He is advertising for crewmen." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]