The Architect of Aeons

by John C. Wright

  The squire sent, “I happen to know Earth was driven insane because he sided with the Revisionists. The Foxes took him.”

  Norbert said, “I was taught the Fourth Man theo-neurologists meant to expand the capacity of Tellus?”

  “If so, they expanded Tellus beyond the bounds of sanity into weird new realms.”

  “Tellus asked it of them! Begged, if my loremaster’s lash back home is to be believed.”

  “Implying Tellus partway insane to start,” the squire said sardonically. “The rest of the calendar heresies can be summed up in a word: astronomers have debated for ten thousand years the meaning of certain X-ray anomalies seen in the direction of Canes Venatici. Either Rania departed immediately or was long delayed. The evidence is thin, and even the Potentates do not agree; but there simply is no energy budget to ignite the beam at both times. One side or the other must prevail. The Guild dare not take sides. Hence the need for discretion, sir. It must look like an accident, or a lawful duel, or an act of the Judge of Ages.”

  But Norbert sent, “The window during which we can compensate for a delayed ignition by lighting a brighter starbeam narrows and closes within the century. And what if the Revisionists are wrong?”

  “Such is life.”

  “Such is death, you mean. If the breaking starbeam is not ignited on schedule, then the Vindicatrix of Man will pass through the Solar System. From our frame of reference her ship is a scintilla shy of lightspeed, which means to us she would seem to be a disk-shaped black hole, flattened in the direction of motion like a pancake, so far red-shifted that her highest-pitched X-ray emissions will be radio too deep to detect, not even with an antenna half a lightyear long. And she will carry near-infinite gravity in her wake. Such an object passing through the system would throw the inner planets from their orbits. You still say the matter means nothing to you?”

  “Sir, with respect, I saw ninety worlds die in Sagittarius. What are three more?”

  “But you believe she returns?”

  The squire sighed and looked upward. “As a man of honor, I can do nothing else but believe. I vowed long ago never to lose faith in the return of Rania or hope in the Vindication of Man.”

  “Why such a vow?”

  “An annoying upstart oaf, in each way my inferior, with a psittacine nose and an agrestic accent, would gain face and favor over me, if she returned and he held faith while I failed. My honor says she is returning even if Jupiter himself says otherwise.”

  Norbert was surprised at the squire’s vehemence. “But Jupiter is wiser than all men and all lesser worlds combined.”

  “Even so, he did not exist when she launched, so he does not truly know her.”

  Norbert allowed himself to become distracted. This was a question he had often pondered. “Did civilization exist before Jupiter? A time when only Archangels ruled mankind?”

  “There was a time when the Hermeticists ruled men, and before that, men ruled themselves.”

  “And, before that, monkeys ruled men, I suppose? Absurd. Cliometric calculation is too complex for merely sub-posthuman minds to address—so how could there be any human history before there was control of history?”

  “Men lived their history blindly in those days, not knowing what was coming.”

  “You can hardly call that history.”

  “Well, sir, if I may, the discovery of cliometry must by definition be an historical event cliometry did not make. In such times the strong make of history whatso they will.”

  “The Summer Kings teach that cliometry is a survival from an ulterior and previous universe, one where time did not pass, on the grounds that cliometry must have existed before historical events for it to plan. The first event was the plan by the ulterior beings to create created reality.”

  “There may be a paradox in that reasoning somewhere,” said the squire blandly.

  “They also teach that Jupiter was created by the Salamander, who was created by Hyades, who was created in turn by higher beings created by this cosmic cliometry. Jupiter designed the Tellus at the core of the Earth who designed the Archangels of the surface, who designed the Angels and Ghosts of the Noösphere, who designed the Swans and other posthumans, who designed the lesser forms of Man, who designed the Dog Things, Cetaceans, and other Moreaus.”

  The squire’s reply betrayed a restrained note of supercilious amusement. “I must say the theory has a certain hierarchical elegance to it.”

  Now they climbed up to the brink of the cliff, and with some effort, calling a tree to bend a branch to help them (which it obligingly did), soon they stood on the edge of the grass-covered table of land. They did not pant and puff, but both restored the oxygen capsules in their bloodstreams with a mental command and a single very long indrawn breath.

  They now could walk shoulder to shoulder. Norbert sent, “I have also heard what the Foxes teach. They say the Salamander did not make the Inner Worlds. They say Earth was built by man; although they never say where man stood to do this deed. They also say the Earth was once a horse.” Norbert saw the squire smile at that. He also saw the smile vanish when he continued: “And they also say men should be free.”

  “Sir, with respect, you traffic with ideas best left untouched. Heresy clings like tar.”

  Onward they passed through pathless wood, their footfalls as silent as those of stags.

  4. The Tribulations

  The cathedral was not visible, for tall trees blocked the view, but the squire’s internal navigation sense pointed the direction. Norbert hesitated, and the squire said, “Sir? There is a satellite feed. Can you not get a picture?”

  “I am under Interdict. The Noösphere of Tellus is closed to me.”

  “What? Just sign on under a different identity. Any wretched Fox vixen will aid a human to do this, if he merely commits one felony or three misdemeanors.”

  “And do I sign on under a different code of honor? Perhaps one where I disobey lawful orders?”

  “You are voluntarily disconnected?” Now the squire ignited his charming smile again. “I did not know being an assassin was so much like being a priest.”

  They set off again, this time with the squire in the lead.

  “The vow of abstinence is one I did not take, although, thanks to the erratic nature of earthwomen, it is one I suffer.”

  “Ah! Women! Women cause difficulties.” The squire gave a shrug of fluid insouciance. “Some men are foolish enough even to fight rivals for mates, never imagining how the struggle will consume their souls and waste long years of time. Perhaps you are better off.”

  “Life causes difficulties. Some men are foolish enough to struggle for it. Are the dead better off?” snapped Norbert.

  “That deep question is the one I hope never to be in a position to answer. So, then, you have told me two different accounts of history. Between Summer Kings and Fox Queen, whom do you trust?”

  “The Summer King version is more plausible. One need only glance at the Firstling forms of man, Nyctalops and Hibernals, and see that they were artificially designed. The Guild keeps alive half-extinct species, Sylphs and Chimerae and Giants, who are useful for the hardships of shipboard work. They are as clearly manmade as the ships themselves.”

  “So you think mankind was designed, not evolved?” the squire asked wryly.

  “During your horrible daytimes, I think so. How could humanity have evolved on a world whose sun no one could stand to see? At night, I do not doubt that man’s evolution had occurred here—I have suffered too many allergies to doubt that this world has been preying on man longer than any other—but I think to have selected this as the world on which to evolve shows a lapse in judgment.”

  “We should lodge a complaint.”

  “In any case, the formation of the planets is not natural: it can be no coincidence that Earth and Venus are exactly the right distance from the Sun to support life, and Mars just happens to have a surface crisscrossed with canals and a subsurface with volcanic heat-vents?”
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br />   “The Salamander of Hyades reengineered the Inner System. He created nothing.”

  “Then you believe the Fox Maidens?”

  “Not in every particular.” The squire spoke sardonically.

  “You seem not to favor the Fourth Humans,” Norbert said.

  “They inflicted madness on history, from the day when the Salamander was lost. It has been a time of tribulations since then.”

  Norbert thought carefully over what the squire had said, turning the matter in his mind this way and that, wondering at this man’s strange combination of clear knowledge about great matters, but inexplicable dimness about simple matters like cloaks and trees and knives.

  A wild speculation rose up like a wine bubble in him, so outrageous that, like a bubble, it threatened to tickle him to laughter. Through the surface of his capes shoulder fabric, he studied the man laboring through the pathless wood in the night next to him. Norbert was struck again by the strangely archaic nature of his features and body language.

  “Speaking to you is an interesting experience, squire. I have never met someone so traditionalist in belief. You say the Master of the World is true, and so is the Judge of Ages, and the Swan Princess—and now the Salamander in the sun is also?”

  The squire gave him an odd and sidelong squint. “Our histories are filled with their doings from the Second Space Age onward. The calendar counts down from the date of Rania’s launch.”

  “You think these events literally happened? Duels between underworld judges and heavenly moons; the creation of the races; the burning of the world; the cursed tombs and promises of duels renewed; and stealing stars from the sky? The princess assumed into heaven with a promise to return and free mankind? All this is figurative, surely, based on myths of dying and returning grain gods. Science is based on evidence.”

  “An eyewitness is not evidence?” asked the squire, with a twinkle of repressed mirth in his eye.

  “Those old accounts were written long ago, by men who lack our modern views. As for evidence: Who has seen the Salamander?”

  “No man has seen the Salamander in the sun, because it is no longer in the sun. So long ago that Beta Ursae Minoris was the pole star, without explanation, in a fashion neither Potentate nor Power predicted, the Virtue we call the Salamander set forth from the depth of Sol in an eruption of fire, sailed across the Solar System, and was never seen again. After this, the tribulations began, and the Long Golden Afternoon turned dark. Three millennia of misery followed.”

  Something about his tone caught Norbert’s attention: what about those years was so significant to this squire, whoever he truly was? There could not be many men to whom those long-vanished years were still important.

  It was a first clue. He could not be what he said. A crewman of the expedition in Sagittarius would indeed have no interest in recent history, no plans for the future. So who was he?

  “Is that so?” Norbert said noncommittally. “Go on.”

  “On? There is not much to say. Each scepter was worse than the previous, and the world groaned under the despotism or folly of Shapetakers, Immortals, Vassals, Lectors, Parthenocrats, and finally Palatials. The Golden Lordship was reduced to mere figurehead and ritual offices, controlling neither decision nodes nor cliometric attractor basins. Like the imperial family of the Japanese under the Shogunate or the Military or the Diet, the rulers watched helplessly as their so-called vicars reigned.”

  “I don’t recognize those names,” said Norbert, still holding his voice casual. “Parthenocrats or Japanese. Earth is not my world.”

  “The Shapetakers ruled when wild Fox Maidens interbred the castes and quadrupled the lifespan of man and quintupled the beauty of women. After them ruled the Immortalists, exiled from 61 Cygni, whose minds are far modified beyond the legal human norm, and claim not to need the fear of death to give their lives meaning. The Vassals were peasants whose fathers were talking animals. Their respect for expertise allowed them easily to be beguiled by the corrupt Lectors of the Analects, who ruled the Earth next with such brutal incompetence. Then cunning Fox Maidens wed to Swan Mages created the Parthenocracy, perhaps in imitation of the lost Heirophancy, perhaps in mockery, and seemed to tame the Foxes. This won Jupiter’s favor and patronage; so the Swan-Fox hybrids were granted strange powers by Jupiter, overturned the Lectors, and ruled both sea and sky and solar system.

  “This decision Jupiter soon came to regret,” continued the squire, “for the Fox-blood half-breeds reappeared in later generations, and they were far more fierce and free than any reticent Swan could be. Against them, Jupiter stirred up the ghosts of long-extinct Cetaceans still dwelling in abyssal palaces beneath the sea. The Palatials squeezed honor and ancient liberties out from all charters, till every Fox, Swan, ghost, prince, yeoman, serf, dolphin, dog, arbor, tree, and flower wept. Such were the conditions before the Final White Ship returned, and the Master of the World, and we his men, descended in wrath, and saw to the overthrow of all these ages.”

  “Unleashing hell.”

  “The Snow Wars were but purgatory. It was three thousand years of anarchy and tyranny between the flight of the Salamander and the fall of the palaces beneath the sea.”

  “But, honestly, Squire End Ragon, was anything accomplished? Is the world better now? Whoever defies a Summer King lives in winter, dies in famine, and tornadoes scatter all his flotillas or all his towers uproot—and none can petition the Retaliator of Jupiter, who crouches like a sphinx, vast and blind and smiling, at the South Pole, for weather control abrogates no weapon laws. This means the Golden Lords are still figureheads. Even the elevation of the Patricians to Lordship positions did not change that. The golden calculations no longer have the power to throw down tyrants. Do not the Summer Kings still retain a veto power over the prognostic nodes that form in the cliometric manifold?”

  “The Golden Lords no doubt encountered some chaotic factor slowing their calculations. The Aestevalarchy is a transitional stage to the Golden return to power.” The squire shrugged, looking nonchalant. Norbert, through the sensor points in his cloak, detected the muscular and neural actions betraying the emotion in the other man as clearly as a red-face scowl of anger.

  This was a second clue. One step closer to the center of the puzzle, then. The Long, Golden Afternoon of Man was precious to this man. Why?

  5. Fate and Chaos

  Norbert wondered how far he could dare. If this man suspected Norbert were sniffing at the edges of his disguise, what would prevent him from throwing off his imposture with a gesture of superb disdain, and drawing his deadly, cold-voiced pistol? Despite Norbert’s boast about picotechnology, a stiletto could not parry a pistol blast.

  The danger lured rather than repelled. So Norbert said, “You said something had thrown off the cliometric calculations: a chaos factor. There are always rumors of minor adjustments needed for the Lords of the Golden Afternoon to thread their disagreement back into harmony, or recalculate unforeseen glitches in the manifold. But you seem to indicate it is worse than this?”

  “I said no such thing,” muttered the squire.

  “Can anything hinder the cliometry? It is not a human invention.”

  “Something is hindering it. Why has the discovery of cliometry not long ago have reached a halt-state similar to the Cold Equations of the aliens? Their society never changes.”

  Norbert said, “Nor does ours, except in eternals. Mankind repeats the same suicidal folly, eternally. History is the dragon who forever devours itself by its tail. Neither biotechnology nor xypotechnology nor any improvement in tools can change human nature.”

  “You are mistaken. You must be.”

  “Why?” asked Norbert.

  “The duel between the Judge of Ages and the Master of the World prevents the end of history. We have never reached a stable and self-perpetuating future because those two cannot agree on a future. History ends when one of them kills the other,” said the squire.

  “That will not end history. They a
re not so important. They are men. Underfoot and overhead are machines so much vaster of intellect than they, that we call them angels and gods.”

  “Machines based on forms those two devised. History will reach an end, for better or worse. The better is that the Swan Princess returns from beyond the stars to restore the world to peace and truth. Mankind submits to the rules she imposes, and enters into the pleasures of the futures she designs for them. If that submission is unwilling at first, there will be one final war after which war will be forgotten forever, and any enormities committed then are justified by the joy and prosperity to follow. That is a happy ending.”

  “What is the worse?”

  “Mankind goes extinct, and the machine life made by the Master of the World replicates itself endlessly and spreads infinitely throughout timespace. That is a happy ending, but not for man.”

  Norbert said, “Why has not Jupiter, if great Jupiter is so great, brought about one of these two halt-states of history, the serenity of peace or the serenity of extinction? If he is so godlike, why does he let us suffer?”

  The squire looked left and right. In the gloom, there was an oak tree not far away, its thick and gnarled branches raised in a menacing fashion. “You know the local plans of Judges of Decades for each ten-year span, and the Judge of Centuries for each hundred,” he said blandly. “Men control their own fates.”

  “What of plans for longer than mortal lifespans?”

  The squire spoke in a voice polite and remote. “Such things concerns the Potentates and Powers, and mortals are unwise to fret.”

  That was the third step closer. Norbert was not sure what was at the center of the maze, but its rough outline was clear enough.

  Jupiter had lost control of human history.

  6. The Second Power of Sol

  Where was the source of opposition to Jupiter? Norbert dismissed the possibility that a Potentate or Archangel could outwit a brain larger than worlds. The opponent was a Power.

  In his mind he counted off the other gas giants which had been converted to sophont matter between the Thirty-second and the Forty-third Millennium: Cerulean of 82 Eridani; Peacock of Delta Pavonis; Immaculate of Altair; Twelve of Tau Ceti; Vonrothbarth of 61 Cygni, the double star of the double planets Odette and Odile. Atramental of Epsilon Eridani he did not count, for the Gas Giant Brain created by the men of Nocturne had gone mad and destroyed itself.