Requiem Of Homo Sapiens - The Wild Part 39

'Yes, possibly I would,' Danlo said. 'But it would be far worse to be shut away in one of your hospices down on the thirteenth level of the city. I'd rather die ... beneath the stars.'

This talk of death obviously distressed Harrah, for she wrung her hands together and smiled at Danlo in terrible sadness. For any Architect, the fate that Danlo proposed he might suffer was the worst possible: to die the real death alone, violently, painfully, without any hope of being vastened in an eternal computer.

'Is this what you really wish, then?'

'Truly, it is.'

'Very well. But you must promise us that you won't dwell upon this future. You must think only of success.'

'I ... promise.'

Harrah bowed her head in honour of the promises that they had made to each other.

Then she reached behind her neck and undid the clasp of the necklace she wore. For a moment, she held the steel chain between her fingers. The little black cube of the devotionary computer swung back and forth, describing a lovely arc through s.p.a.ce.

'This belonged to my husband,' she said. She placed it in Danlo's hand, then, and smiled kindly. 'Would you wear it?'

'If you'd like,' he said, even though the giving of this unusual gift astonished him.

With a few deft motions of his fingers, he snapped the strand of steel behind his neck.

'Thank you, Blessed Ivi.'

'You're welcome. Please wear it as a token of all the trust and hope that we have in you.'

Danlo bowed his head, then looked at Harrah in deep silence.

'As soon as the tests are arranged,' she told him, 'we will call for you to come to the Temple.'

'Until then, Blessed Harrah.'

'Until then, Danlo wi Soli Ringess.'

Their breakfast having been successfully completed, Harrah walked him to the door and bade him farewell. All during Danlo's return to his room, as he walked down the silent halls lined with paintings of the most famous Holy Ivis of the Cybernetic Universal Church, he brooded upon the nature of these strange tests and wondered what it would be like, once again, to walk with the dead and look upon the blessed light inside himself.

CHAPTER TWENTY

In The House of The Dead

From the unreal lead me to the real.

From the darkness lead me to the light.

From death lead me to immortality.

- Brihadaranyaka Upanishad.

The communication of the dead is tongued with fire beyond the language of the living.

- T. S. Eliot, from Little Gidding.

For the next few days Danlo kept to his rooms, doing little other than eating, meditating and playing his flute. Sometimes, when he wished for conversation, he would turn to the devotionary computer which he had set out next to the facing heaume upon the room's altar and talk with the imago of Nikolos Daru Ede if such a tiresome and mechanical exchange of words could be dignified as true 'talk'. More than once, however, this glowing ghost of the man who had become Ede the G.o.d surprised him. After plying Danlo with the usual questions concerning the recovery of his frozen body and warning Danlo of possible plots against his life, the Ede imago forced a smile to his luminous lips and observed, 'These Architects have made a mockery of all that I once discovered. Of all that I once taught them. It's enough to make me sick. If I could vomit, I would.'

The only real person with whom Danlo spoke during this waiting time was a man named Thomas Ivieehl, one of the many keepers of the Holy Ivi's palace. Thomas was a spare, suspicious man, and at first his communications with Danlo were guarded.

Every day he would appear in Danlo's rooms after the evening meal to make sure that the altar and the tabletops and all plastic surfaces were spotless and that Danlo had every possible comfort. At first he wouldn't deign to exchange more than a few words with a naman such as Danlo, but as the days wore by and Danlo always greeted him in generosity and kindness, his att.i.tude softened. It was from Thomas that Danlo learned that Malaclypse Redring, the deadly warrior-poet, was a guest in another wing of the palace. Danlo learned something else as well. It seemed that Bertram had demanded the right to visit Malaclypse in his rooms, and Harrah Ivi en li Ede, out of fear of prematurely alienating the Iviomils and much of the Koivuniemin, had a.s.sented. Five times Bertram had called upon Malaclypse. What the two men discussed together, no one knew, not even Harrah, who refused to hide listening robots in Malaclypse's rooms or otherwise spy upon him. This was her great weakness, that she always tried to display leniency and love, even toward her enemies.

One day, on a day of stale air and artificial lights much like any other day in the city of Ornice Olorun, Harrah sent word to Danlo that he should prepare himself for the second of his tests. Keepers escorted him through the palace, and a choche met him outside on the palace steps. The Holy Ivi met him at the foot of these steps and announced that she would ride with him in the choche. To share s.p.a.ce with the Holy Ivi was a great honour, and the throngs of Architects lined up outside the palace cheered to see Danlo take his place by Harrah's side. News of Danlo's test seemed to have spread much more quickly than the choche could travel. Architects seemed to issue out of the nearby buildings like termites, a great swarm of pale men and women dressed in their pale white kimonos. When the choche rolled slowly past Ede's Tomb and the Temple to the place where Danlo might live or die, the surrounding grounds for a mile in any direction were packed with people. All along their short journey through the city, Architects crowded the streets in order to view the astonis.h.i.+ng spectacle of Harrah Ivi en li Ede sitting next to a naman who might very well be the Lightbringer. Danlo counted half a million of them before he gave up and concentrated on the building before him. This was a large black cube made of nall, a plastic so dense and hard that it was far stronger than steel. The walls of this building, it was said, were thirty feet thick. Thus had the Architects built their House of Eternity, to withstand the slow fire of time, no less the blast of hydrogen bombs. For the House of Eternity held the greatest treasure of the Church, greater than gold or firestones or Gilada pearls. In its cold, dark vaults were stacked many banks of cold computers, the Cybernetic Universal Church's eternal computers that held the souls of all Architects who had ever died and been vastened. The Architects on the streets called this terrible building the House of the Dead, and dreaded it even as they longed to take their places in the cybernetic heavens believed to exist eternally inside.

When Danlo stepped outside his choche, he was greeted with an immense cheer issuing from hundreds of thousands of throats. Twelve keepers from the House of Eternity greeted him as well. Two hundred grim temple keepers formed a cordon around Danlo and Harrah and escorted them up the House's long, black steps. The fear of a.s.sa.s.sination hung in the air, as heavy as the smells of death and disease that Danlo found wherever he went in this endless city. It seemed that not everyone welcomed his arrival. Almost drowning out the voices of acclamation (and the sound of his own pulsing heart) were catcalls and jeers and demands that he should leave Tannahill forever: 'Naman go home! Death to namans! Pilot man, die the real death in the House of the Dead!'

Along either side of the House's steps, the keepers had set up a light-fence of blazing ruby lasers designed to keep back anyone so foolish as to attack the Holy Ivi.

Behind this fence, at the very edge of the black, nall steps, stood Bertram Jaspari and Jedrek Iviongeon and Fe Farruco Ede and Honon en li Iviow and many other Elders.

Although Bertram, with his sour little face and pointed head, remained deathly silent, he did not discourage any of the swarms of Iviomils standing behind him from casting threats at Danlo. Some of these desperate men even cast at Danlo rotten fruit or wads of spittle, which burnt up in the laser light in quick hisses of steam. Their blue-tinged faces were ugly, their mood bellicose, perhaps even rebellious. Danlo thought that in proposing his tests, Harrah skated a dangerous path along thin ice. While his survival today truly might empower her to make sweeping changes in the Church, the very act of suggesting that he might be the Lightbringer could give the Iviomils a cause for schism. Danlo well remembered how many billions of people had died when the Cybernetic Universal Church had last fallen into schism and war; he could never forget that as a result of this war, his people, the Alaloi tribes in the wilds west of Neverness, were dying still.

At the top of the nall steps, on a portico too narrow to accommodate very many people, the keepers had set up Harrah's reading table a ma.s.sive thing of ironwood, inlaid with gold from the Hall of the Koivuniemin. With slow, studied motions, Harrah took her place in the chair behind this table. Danlo stood before her clutching his shakuhachi in his left hand; on his right hand, around his little finger, his diamond pilot's ring shone with a fierce, dark light. He wore his formal black pilot's robes, black leather boots, and around his neck the little black cube of a devotionary computer that Harrah had given him. And he wore something else as well. Once a time, years ago during his pa.s.sage into manhood, he had won the right to display the wing feather of the snowy owl. Once he had thought of this rare, white bird as his other-self, the magic animal which held half his soul. Now he was far from such primitive beliefs, but strangely, even so, he sensed the rightness of wearing this relic from the past. And so that morning while dressing he had fastened Ahira's white feather in his long, wild hair. As he readied himself to enter the dark building before him, he reached up to touch the imakla feather. Silently he called to that part of himself that he had turned away from for too long. Ahira, Ahira, he whispered inside himself. Lo los barado. He stood before Harrah's golden desk listening for the answer that he had sought for so long. There were no owls on the planet of Tannahill, nor even any wild birds, but even so there was a moment when he heard a high, deep cry.

And then, coming to his senses, he realized that this sound was only the screeching of a hundred thousand voices calling his name. Or perhaps be was scrying, turning his face toward the future and hearing himself scream in madness and pain.

Ahira, Ahira, he prayed. Ahira, Ahira.

Just then Harrah nodded at one of the keepers and the man called out for silence.

Such were the programs and the discipline that the Church wrote into one's spirit and flesh that the manswarms crowding the Temple grounds obediently fell silent. Not even Bertram Jaspari or any other Iviomil dared to shout down the Holy Ivi when she wished to speak. And speak Harrah Ivi en li Ede certainly did. In truth, she chose this occasion to make a rather long speech. In her clear and compa.s.sionate voice, she reminded all the a.s.sembled Architects of their duty toward G.o.d, as well as their dream of a future in which the universe would be remade and all worthy men and women redeemed from the black and bottomless deeps of time. 'This is a time of great changes in our Holy Church,' Harrah told the mult.i.tudes gathered below her. 'Perhaps this is even the beginning of the Last Days when all the universe will be new. We Architects must always be ready for the future, even for such astonis.h.i.+ng and unforeseen events as a naman pilot falling out of the stars. We are met here today to determine if this man, Danlo wi Soli Ringess of Neverness, is truly the bringer of the future. Is he the bringer of light who will show the way towards what is possible? Is he the man without fear who will walk with the dead? We shall see.'

So saying, Harrah nodded at two old keepers who opened the nall doors behind her reading desk. Danlo looked into the building where he would spend the next few hours or perhaps the rest of his life. It was dark inside, almost as black as the air deep within a hole in the ground. As had been arranged, Harrah would keep a vigil at her reading desk while Danlo underwent his test inside the building. One last time, Danlo bowed his head to Harrah, then smiled. He looked out into the huge crowd below him. There, just to the side of the nall steps, standing next to Bertram Jaspari, he saw Malaclypse Redring staring up at him. Malaclypse wore a bright, rainbow kimono around his body and an intense curiosity on his face. Danlo stared into his deep, violet eyes, and it seemed as if the warrior-poet was telling him that to prepare for death, he must first learn how to live. Danlo remembered a saying of his father, then. To live, I die. He touched the feather in his hair, touched his pilot's ring and grasped his bamboo flute tightly in his hand and with these little affirmations of life, he turned away from the city of Ornice Olorun and walked into the House of the Dead.

When the doors banged shut behind him, Danlo found himself in a s.p.a.ce that seemed as black and vast as the Greater Morbio. But of course it wasn't. In truth, the interior of the House of Eternity was not at all expansive and open, but rather packed full of many stacks of eternal computers. There were thousands of these little black boxes, each built exactly into the shape of a cube and no larger than the devotionary computers that all Architects carried with them wherever they went. So dense were these stacks of computers that there was little room for walking about the black floor.

The House of Eternity was the one Church building closed to most Worthy Architects and the millions of pilgrims who swarmed into Ornice Olorun each year; it was a cold, dark place constructed more for the care of computers than the comfort of human beings. Indeed, it was so cold that one of the House keepers met Danlo at the door and gave him a babri, or cloak, of soft, quilted plastic, probably some kind of furine or ester, to wear. After Danlo had swaddled himself up like a new-born babe, the keeper led him through the stacks of computers deeper into the building. It was very quiet in this strange place. Although he tried to step softly, the slap of his leather boots against the floor seemed almost as loud as the crack of an iceberg breaking away from a glacier. Once again he heard the beating of his heart and smelled cold sweat and ketones and dust, as well as the close, oily reek of nall. At the centre of the building was a square area almost completely enclosed by four walls of computers.

Entering this area was like stepping into a little room. There the keepers had thrown together a thin, old mat and a few babris and had prepared a kind of bed upon the floor. One of these keepers an old man who introduced himself as Cheslav Iviongeon bade Danlo to lie down on this bed. Any other man would have been insulted at these mean preparations for such an important test. But Danlo was only estranged. As he settled himself down on the hard floor, he knew immediately that he did not want to be there. Although he tried to lay as still as a corpse, the coldness of the nall floor below him instantly penetrated his body and caused him to s.h.i.+ver violently.

'Would you please bring another babri?' Cheslav Iviongeon said to one of the other keepers. 'We don't want the pilot to be too uncomfortable.'

It was dark in this little room, and Danlo could almost feel the dark blue irises of his eyes dilating to let in more light. He stared up at Cheslav Iviongeon and considered Cheslav's last name; he remembered Harrah warning him that he was Jedrek Iviongeon's brother and one of the city's most prominent Iviomils. It seemed that the old man suffered from the mehalis for his skin betrayed the telltale cyanine colour of that disease. He was cadaverously thin, and his shaved head gleamed like a skull. In truth, he was nothing but loose flesh and bones; when he motioned with his hands and spoke to Danlo, it was as if a skeleton had come to life and was clacking around above him.

'Welcome, Danlo wi Soli Ringess,' he said. His voice was strained and hoa.r.s.e as if he'd been coughing at the cold air. He was a grim man with a grim and gruesome sense of humour. 'Most people only enter the House of Eternity after they've died, but we haven't quite reached that glorious state, have we? Soon enough, though, we'll leave the blood and bones behind. You even sooner than I, Pilot.'

Here he shook his old hand at Danlo and laughed, and so loud was the creaking of his joints, it was almost as if he were shaking a rattle.

'When do we begin?' Danlo asked, looking up at the black ceiling.

'Soon, soon,' Cheslav said. 'But first we must make a copy of your soul.'

As Danlo watched the various keepers moving about the building intent on their various duties, he thought about the Architect word for 'soul'. In modern Church Istwan, this was the pallaton, that almost indestructible form of the self that could be preserved in an eternal computer. The pallaton was pure program and information; the pallaton was a model of the mind encoded as bits of ones and zeros and stored as perfectly arrayed electrons frozen onto diamond discs. When a man or woman died, he would enter into a vastening chamber, a cold room full of computers and robots, drills and lasers and microscopes and needle knives. There his brain would be pulled apart, neuron by b.l.o.o.d.y neuron down to the webwork of once-living wires called dendrites and axons. Scanning computers would then make a model of the brain's trillions of interconnections. After this model had been stored on a diamond disc (and after the body had been consigned to the crematorium's plasma fires), the disc would be taken to the vaults of the House of Eternity. Danlo, lying in his makes.h.i.+ft bed, turned to watch the many keepers scurrying about, tending to these very diamond discs. Each disc was the size of a s.h.i.+h leaf, though perfectly round in shape. It was the keepers' task to bear the glittering discs from the vastening chamber to their place of permanent storage inside the black, eternal computers. Although the discs were mostly made of diamond, the keepers carried them as if they held living eyeb.a.l.l.s in their hands. In truth, a single disc could hold the pallatons of thousands of dead Architects, and so the keepers bore the discs as if they were the most precious objects in all the universe.

'A copy of my soul,' Danlo said. 'My selfness, my ... pallaton, you say.'

One of the keepers another unhealthy old man brought Cheslav Iviongeon a glittering silver heaume. Cheslav, who was a master programmer as well as Elder Keeper of the House of Eternity, looked at Danlo and smiled coldly. He said, 'We'll try to create a temporary pallaton. Unless, of course, you're willing to make the Pro- fession of Faith, be cleansed, and die the real death?'

'No,' Danlo said, smiling. 'Not yet.'

Cheslav rattled his knuckles across the heaume's metallic surface. 'Then will you allow me to place this computer on your head? It will scan your brain while still alive.'

Danlo considered as his heart beat ten times, then finally said, 'Yes.'

For a moment, Danlo sat up to allow Cheslav to perform his dreaded task of enclosing his head inside a computer. With much puffing and grunting, Cheslav managed to force the heaume down over Danlo's thick black hair. In the closeness of the room, Danlo smelled the old man's fetid breath coming in huffs and spurts.

'Ah, there you've a large head and long,' Cheslav said. 'You may lie back, now.'

As if a signal had been given, five of the other keepers gathered around Danlo's bed and stood staring down at him. Their faces were as pale as the flesh of snowworms; their unfriendly eyes were like black holes sucking at his soul. These men (and one woman named Ramona Iviessa Ede) were all programmers who believed in the teachings of their Church. They were curious to see what would happen when the workings of Danlo's living mind were modelled and copied by their scanning computer. If they had been permitted to gamble, they might have made wagers as to whether Danlo would live or die right then. Three of them thought that nothing would happen. Because Danlo was not truly dead and this scanning computer could only paint a rudimentary picture of his mind at least when compared to the eternal pallatons written by the much more powerful scanning computers of the vastening chambers they argued that a temporary pallaton was not a true pallaton, and therefore this procedure posed Danlo no risk at all. But the others, including Cheslav Iviongeon, were not so sure. They looked down at Danlo, three death's-heads fairly floating in the dim light, and a terrible uncertainty marked their grim faces. It was almost as if they were afraid that the mere modelling of Danlo's mind would somehow 'steal' his soul and render his flesh lifeless and cold. If a man's very selfness could truly be copied onto a diamond disc, then what life of the body could remain?

Could a man have two souls? Or two times ten thousand as many copies as a machine could make? Could a man simultaneously exist both as mind in the flesh and as informational bits and pulses of light inside an eternal computer? Surely, Danlo thought, these were questions for the theologians. But even as he lay back on his mat and felt the hard heaume crus.h.i.+ng his head, he wondered for the ten thousandth time in his life about the nature of consciousness. He wondered about himself, about his own soul and the coldness of these thoughts, no less the icy chill of the floor, sent waves of fear s.h.i.+vering through his body.

'This will take some time,' Cheslav Iviongeon told him. 'From time to time, I may ask you questions, and you must please tell me what you feel.'

In truth, during this part of Danlo's test he felt almost nothing. He lay against the hard floor trying to control the violent tremors tearing through his body. After some time had pa.s.sed perhaps two tenths of an hour, he thought he succeeded. There were bad smells in the air, ketones and sweat, the faint reek of the mehalis disease as well as the black thickness of nall, but he tried not to concentrate on these. He lay with his eyes closed, clutching his flute against his belly. He breathed steadily and deeply as he tried to remember all the songs for the shakuhachi that he had ever composed. Thus engaged, time seemed to flow swiftly but invisibly, like water rus.h.i.+ng through a gla.s.s tube. He waited for Cheslav Iviongeon to ask him questions, and he was surprised when the first words out of Cheslav's mouth were a request to sit up.

'Would you please let us remove the heaume now, Pilot? It is done.'

Danlo sat up straight and two of the keepers grasped the heaume with their bony fingers and pulled it from his head. With great relief Danlo felt the cold air as it found his sweaty, matted hair.

'So soon?' Danlo asked. 'Then your attempt to model my mind was a failure, yes?'

Cheslav shook his head as he smiled grimly. 'We've been here two hours, Pilot.

And no, I don't believe our attempt was a failure. We'll soon see, however.'

With this, he nodded to one of the keepers, a thin man who bore the heaume away into the darkness of the building. Danlo was given to understand that this keeper would entrust the heaume to a cadre of programmers in the vastening chamber. There its information would be downloaded into a great compiling computer. There, in this huge black machine almost the size of a house, a model of his soul would be encoded and put together. His pallaton or rather a temporary realization of his selfness, which would then be copied onto a diamond disc.

'How long must we wait?' Danlo asked. Usually he was as patient as stone, but he dreaded the next phase of his test, and he wanted to begin it as soon as possible.

'Soon, soon,' Cheslav told him. His creaky old voice fell off the banks of computers like metal against metal. He turned suddenly and looked over his shoulder. 'Well then, the Worthy Nikolaos returns now.'

Danlo looked up to see the same gaunt-faced keeper make his way toward them down the dark aisle. Soon, the Worthy Nikolaos approached Cheslav Iviongeon, and into his outstretched hand he placed a diamond disc.

'Here we are,' Cheslav said, holding up the disc. 'Or should I say, here you are?'

With a tight, unreadable smile, he held the disc toward Danlo. Danlo put down his flute and took the disc carefully.

'We made this just for your test. Yours is the only pallaton on it.'

'I see,' Danlo said. The little slice of diamond in the palm of his hand was cold and glittering and hard, and he stared at it for a long time. In its gleaming surface he could see faintly the reflection of his own face.

'As far as I know, no Architect has ever held what you hold, Pilot. Or seen what you see.'

'I ... see,' Danlo said again.

'Of all the acts of our Holy Ivi's architetcy, this has been the strangest. And the most dangerous.''Truly?'

'You can't imagine the feelings that your test has aroused.'

'Many people ... have objected to this test, yes?'

'Many times many, Pilot. To be vastened while one is still alive I can't tell you how offensive such covetousness is to any Architect.'

'I see.'

'Such an act is really unthinkable the Algorithm explicitly warns against such acts.'

'I am sorry.'

'Of course, there is one exception to this rule.'

'Yes?'

'The Algorithm permits such a vastening in times of facifah when the Worthy might be killed in battle. As a safeguard against one dying the real death.'

'Have I truly been vastened, then?'

Cheslav Iviongeon looked at Danlo sharply, coldly. 'Some will say that you have.

But I think not. We've only made you a temporary pallaton.'

Danlo looked away from Cheslav and stared back at the mirror in his hand. His reflection was so faint that he could not see his own eyes, the deep blue inside blue colour that had always astonished him. 'But you believe that my selfness ... has been carked onto this disc, yes?'

'Many people believe many things,' Cheslav said evasively. 'But those most faithful to our Holy Ivi will distinguish between a temporary pallaton and one which is eternal. Indeed, they'll leap to grasp at the difference. They'll split words like the theologians. Thus they'll argue that no abomination has been created here today; they'll proclaim that the spirit of the Algorithm has been observed. This, I believe, is what our Holy Ivi will hope. This is her gamble, her plan.'

'Then you believe that I have been vastened only temporarily, yes?'

'We do not speak of vastening as merely the creation of a pallaton.'

'No?'

'One is not vastened, properly, until the disc containing the pallaton is loaded into an eternal computer. And then, when the program runs, the pallaton comes virtually alive. It's said that heaven opens up, and there is lightning and light and all information, and ... and it's really impossible to speak of such things, Pilot, because only the dead know what it's like to be dead.'

'How am I, then, to know ... what only the dead truly know?'

At this, Cheslav Iviongeon smiled grimly and said, 'Because you'll behold the alam al-mithral. That is, we will create a simulation of our cybernetic heaven. And you will interface this holy s.p.a.ce.'