Thus had he crossed the stellar Fallaways and entered the unmapped spaces of the Vild. He, who had always considered himself a potentially finer pilot than even the Sonderval, had found his way past the manifold’s infinite trees and the countless supernovas blighting the galaxy’s Orion Arm. From Cristobel he had learned the fixed-points of Thiells, and so after many days he came to this faraway world and to the New Order with a mission of his own. Upon taking the Sword of Shiva down to the very same light-field where Danlo had come to earth only a few hours earlier, he discovered that the Lords of the New Order were meeting at that very moment in conclave. He had tried to send word of his arrival to Lord Nikolos, but a rather self-important young horologe had informed him that the lords were discussing matters of the greatest importance and could not be disturbed. And so Bardo, in his inimitable way, had raced across Thiells in a sled, charmed his way past the academy’s gatekeeper (whom he had once known as Master of Novices years ago), and had stormed into the Hall of the Lords. And now he stood before them, a towering and impassioned man clad in a suit of armoured clothing, a great pilot and would-be warrior who called all the pilots of the New Order to a grand and glorious fate.
‘On the 60th of false winter, Neverness time, there will be a gathering on Sheydveg,’ he said. ‘The Fellowship of Free Pilots is calling each of the Civilized Worlds to send ships and men and women unafraid to fight. We’ll gather a fleet and fall against Neverness like a thousand silver swords – against the goddamned Ringists, against Hanuman li Tosh and Lord Pall. All the New Order’s pilots and lightships will be needed in this war.’
At the centre table in the Hall of the Lords, Lord Nikolos Sar Petrosian sat fingering the silken folds of his yellow robe. He liked to believe that he was the most self-controlled of men, and he usually disdained such fidgeting, preferring to keep his body motions precisely directed at all times. But Bardo’s story had clearly shaken him; despite himself, he reverted to nervous habits he had thought long since overcome.
‘Is there anything more that you need to tell us?’ Lord Nikolos asked.
‘Ah, well, there is one more thing,’ Bardo said. ‘The Order – under Hanuman’s direction – is building something. In the near-space at the first Lagrange point above the city. Hanuman calls it his Universal Computer. It’s a huge thing, and ugly, like a great, black moon. And someday, if the Ringists have their way, it will be as big as a moon. Even now, the Ringists are using disassemblers to mine the moons above Neverness for elements with which to build this hideous machine.’
He did not add that the Old Order’s eschatologists were afraid that the making of the Universal Computer, in using elements from Icefall’s moons, might inhibit and retard the growth of the Golden Ring.
Lord Nikolos gasped in outrage then, and his face fell red with blood. What Hanuman – and the Ringists – had done in using assembler technology to mine the moons above Neverness and build a possibly godlike computer violated the Law of the Civilized Worlds. After managing to get his breathing under control, he looked at Lord Morena Sung sitting next to him as she tapped her plump lips. Even the Sonderval seemed taken aback by this news, for he forgot all protocol and spoke in Lord Nikolos’ place. ‘Will you inform us, Pilot, as to what the Ringists might be doing with this computer?’
Although Bardo was no longer of the Order, it pleased him to be called Pilot, especially by his former rival and the greatest pilot of the Order, New or Old. He said, ‘I know what Hanuman has told the Ringists. You all know how damnably difficult the Elder Eddas are to remembrance. Few have had a clear memory of them. I, myself, almost, and Hanuman li Tosh much more so, and Thomas Rane. And, of course, Danlo wi Soli Ringess, who’s had perhaps the clearest and greatest memory of all.’
Bardo turned in his circle to bow to Danlo, and suddenly Danlo became aware of a hundred lords looking at him.
‘Because only a few geniuses could remembrance the Eddas fully,’ Bardo said, ‘we were forced to copy our experiences of them and store them in the remembrancing computers. In the heaumes that we placed on our heads. How else could we share this wisdom with the multitudes of Ringists who knew nothing of the remembrancers’ art?’
To counterfeit the experience of remembrance, Danlo thought. He held himself very still, gazing at Bardo as he touched his flute to his lips and recalled how Bardo had once asked him to make a copy of his great remembrance. But such an act would only mock true remembrance, and Danlo had refused, thus straining his friendship with Bardo and making an enemy of Hanuman li Tosh altogether.
Despite all that Bardo has said, he is still angry with me for not supporting his cybernetic illusions and lies.
As if Bardo had a private window into Danlo’s mind, he stared into Danlo’s dark, blue eyes and suddenly snapped his fist into the palm of his hand. And then he called out, ‘The Eddas should be for everyone, by God! For anyone. And anyone can put a goddamned computer on his head and interface a simulation of the Eddas. Ah, it’s not exactly remembrancing, too bad, but it’s as close as most will ever come. And Hanuman always said that as we made better and better simulations of the Eddas, the experience would more closely approach that of true remembrance. And if the simulation could be made detailed enough, as well as deep and profound, well, then even the One Memory might be faced by all. This is the reason for Hanuman’s computèr. A universal computer – he’s promised that it will hold a whole universe of memories. If it’s vast enough, the simulation of the Eddas can be made infinitely refined. Ah, infinitely powerful. When it’s finished, if you believe Hanuman, every Ringist on Neverness will be able to look up at this goddamned machine floating in the sky and fall into a rapture of the One Memory.’
Truly, Hanuman would almost die to interface such a computer, Danlo thought. The power of it would be almost as if he were a god.
After a long pause in which the attention of the lords was drawn back to Bardo, Lord Nikolos stared at this huge harbinger of doom and asked him, ‘Have you finished now?’
‘I have finished,’ Bardo said with a bow.
Lord Nikolos drew in a slow breath, then said, ‘What you’ve told us is beyond bad. This is the worst thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘Ah, well, it is too, too terribly bad, which is why we must decide—’
‘That is true,’ Lord Nikolos interrupted. He looked at the lords and masters of the New Order all around him, and said, ‘We must decide what is to be done.’
At this implied rebuke of Bardo’s abandonment of the Order, Bardo ground the toe of his nall-skin boot against the floor. As nall is almost the hardest thing there is, it left scratches in the smooth black diamond. But Lord Nikolos was devoid of neither compassion nor good sense, and so he said, ‘You know that it’s our way to decide such questions among ourselves. But since you were once