"What are you talking about? War with whom?"

"With what what might be a better phrasing," said Prospero. might be a better phrasing," said Prospero.

"Are you talking about the voynix? We're already fighting them. I brought Noman-Odysseus to the Bridge at Machu Picchu primarily to fetch more weapons."

"Not the voynix, no," said Prospero. "Nor the calibani, calibani, although all these slave-things have been tasked to kill your kin and kind, the minutes of their plot come 'round at last. I am speaking of the Enemy." although all these slave-things have been tasked to kill your kin and kind, the minutes of their plot come 'round at last. I am speaking of the Enemy."

"Setebos?" said Harman.

"Oh, yes." Prospero placed his aged hand on the broad page of the book, set a long leaf in as a bookmark, closed the book gently, and rose, leaning on his staff. "Setebos, the many-handed as a cuttlefish, is here at last, on your world and mine."

"I know that. Daeman saw the thing in Paris Crater. Setebos has woven some blue-ice web over that faxnode and a dozen others, including Chom and..."

"And do you know why the many-handed has come now to Earth?" interrupted Prospero.

"No," said Harman.

"To feed," Prospero said softly. "To feed."

"On us?" Harman felt the cablecar slow, then bump, and he noticed the next eiffelbahn eiffelbahn tower surrounding them for a second, the two-story structure of the car fitting into the landing on the thousand-foot level just as it had on the first tower. He felt the car swivel, heard gears grind and clank, and they slid out of the tower on a different heading, traveling more east than north now. "Has Setebos come to feed on us?" he asked again. tower surrounding them for a second, the two-story structure of the car fitting into the landing on the thousand-foot level just as it had on the first tower. He felt the car swivel, heard gears grind and clank, and they slid out of the tower on a different heading, traveling more east than north now. "Has Setebos come to feed on us?" he asked again.

Prospero smiled. "Not exactly. Not directly."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, young Harman human, that Setebos is a ghoul. Our many-handed friend feeds on the residues of fear and pain, the dark energy of sudden terror and rich residue of equally sudden death. This memory of terror lies in the soil of your world-of any warlike sentient creatures' world-like so much coal or petroleum, all of a lost era's wild energy sleeping underground."

"I don't understand."

"It means that Setebos, the Devourer of Worlds, that Gourmet of Dark History, has secured some of your faxnodes in blue stasis, yes-to lay his eggs, to send his seed out across your world, to suck the warmth out of these places like a succubus sucking breath from a sleeping soul-but it's your memory and your history that will fatten him like a many-handed blood tick."

"I still don't understand," said Harman.

"His nest now is in Paris Crater, Chom, and these other provincial places where you humans party and sleep and waste your useless lives away," said Prospero, "but he will feed at Waterloo, HoTepsa, Stalin-grad, Ground Zero, Kursk, Hiroshima, Saigon, Rwanda, Cape Town, Montreal, Gettysburg, Riyadh, Cambodia, Khanstaq, Chancellorsville, Okinawa, Tarawa, My Lai, Bergen Belsen, Auschwitz, the Somme-do any of these names mean anything to you, Harman?"

"No."

Prospero sighed. "This is our problem. Until some fragment of your human race regains the memory of your race, you cannot fight Setebos, you cannot understand Setebos. You cannot understand yourselves."

"Why is that your problem, Prospero?"

The old man sighed again. "If Setebos eats the human pain and memory of this world-an energy resource I call umana umana-this world will be physically alive but spiritually dead to any sentient being...including me."

"Spiritually dead?" repeated Harman. He knew the word from his reading and sigling-spirit, spiritual, spirituality-vague ideas having to do with ancient myths of ghosts and religion-it just made no sense coming from this hologram of a logosphere avatar, the too-cute construct of some set of ancient software programs and communication protocols. dead?" repeated Harman. He knew the word from his reading and sigling-spirit, spiritual, spirituality-vague ideas having to do with ancient myths of ghosts and religion-it just made no sense coming from this hologram of a logosphere avatar, the too-cute construct of some set of ancient software programs and communication protocols.

"Spiritually dead," repeated the magus. "Psychically, philosophically, organically dead. On the quantum level, a living world records the most sentient energies its inhabitants experience, Harman of Ardis-love, hate, fear, hope. Like particles of magnetite aligning to a north or south pole. The poles may change, wander, disappear, but the recordings remain. The resulting energy field is as real-although more difficult to measure and locate-as the magnetosphere a planet with a hot spinning core produces, protecting the living inhabitants with its forcefield from the harshest realities of space. So does the memory of pain and suffering protect the future of a sentient race. Does this this make sense to you?" make sense to you?"

"No," said Harman.

Prospero shrugged. "Then take my word for it. If you ever want to see Ada alive again, you will have to learn...much. Perhaps too much. But after this learning, you will at least be able to join the fight. There may be no hope-there usually is none when Setebos begins devouring a world's memory-but at least we can fight."

"Why do you care?" asked Harman. "What difference does it make to you whether human beings survive? Or their memories?"

Prospero smiled thinly. "What do you take me for? Do you think I am a mere function of old e-mails, the icon of an ancient Internet with a staff and robe?"

"I don't know what the hell you are," said Harman. "A hologram."

Prospero took a step closer and slapped Harman hard across the face.

Harman took a step back, gaping. He raised his hand to his stinging cheek, balled that hand into a fist.

Prospero smiled and held his staff between them. "If you don't want to wake up on the floor ten minutes from now with the worst headache of your life, don't think about it."

"I want to go home to Ada," Harman said slowly.

"Did you try to find her with your functions?" asked the magus.

Harman blinked. "Yes."

"And did any of your functions work here on the cablecar, or in the jungle before it?"

"No," said Harman.

"Nor will they work until you've mastered the rest of the functions you command," said the old man, returning to his chair and carefully lowering himself into it.

"The rest of the functions..." began Harman. "What do you mean?"

"How many functions have you mastered?" asked Prospero.

"Five," said Harman. One had been known to everyone for ages-the Finder Function, which included a chronometer-but Savi had taught them three others. Then he had discovered the fifth.

"Recite them."

Harman sighed. "Finder function-proxnet, farnet, allnet, and sigling-reading through one's palm."

"And have you mastered the allnet function, Harman of Ardis?"

"Not really." There was too much information, too much bandwidth, bandwidth, as Savi had said. as Savi had said.

"And do you think that old-style humans-the real real old-style humans, your undesigned and unmodified ancestors-had five such functions, Harman of Ardis?" old-style humans, your undesigned and unmodified ancestors-had five such functions, Harman of Ardis?"

"I...I don't know." He'd never thought about it.

"They did not," Prospero said flatly. "You are the result of four thousand years of gene-tampering and nanotech splicing. How did you discover the sigl function, Harman of Ardis?"

"I...just experimented with mental images, triangles, squares, circles, until one worked," said Harman.

"That's what you told Ada and the others," said Prospero, "but that is a lie. How did you really really learn to sigl?" learn to sigl?"

"I dreamt the sigl function code," admitted Harman. It had been too strange-too precious precious-to tell the others.

"Ariel helped you with that dream," said Prospero, his thin-lipped smile showing again. "We grew impatient. Would you like to guess how many functions each of you-every one of you 'old-style humans'-has in your cells and blood and brainstuff?"

"More than five functions?" asked Harman.

"One hundred," said Prospero. "An even hundred."

"Teach them to me," said Harman, taking a step toward the magus.

Prospero shook his head. "I cannot. I would not. But you need to learn them nonetheless. On this voyage you will learn them."

"We're going the wrong way," said Harman.

"What?"

"You said the eiffelbahn eiffelbahn would take me to the coast of Europe where the Atlantic Breach begins, but we're heading east now, away from Europe." would take me to the coast of Europe where the Atlantic Breach begins, but we're heading east now, away from Europe."

"We will swing north again two towers hence," said Prospero. "Are you impatient to arrive?"

"Yes."

"Don't be," said the magus. "All the learning will happen during the trip, not after it. Yours will be the sea change of all sea changes. And trust me, you do not want to take the short route-over the old Pakistan passes into the waste called Afghanistan, south along the Mediterranean Basin and across the Sahara Marshes."

"Why not?" said Harman. He and Savi and Daeman had flown east across the Atlantic and then over the Sahara Marshes to Jerusalem, then taken a crawler into the dry Mediterranean Basin. It was a place on Earth he knew. And he wanted to see if the blue tachyon beam still rose from the Temple Mount in Jerusalem. Savi had said it carried all of the coded information of all her lost contemporaries from fourteen hundred years ago.

"The calibani calibani are loosed," said Prospero. are loosed," said Prospero.

"They've left the Basin?"

"They are freed of their old restraints, the center cannot hold. Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world. Or at least upon that part of it."

"Then where are we going?"

"Patience, Harman of Ardis. Patience. Tomorrow we cross a mountain range I believe you will find most enlightening. Then into Asia-where you may behold the works of the mighty and the dead-and then west and west enough again. The Breach will wait."

"Too slow," said Harman, pacing back and forth. "Too long. If the functions don't work here, I don't have any way of knowing how Ada is. I need to go. I need to get home."

"You want to know how your Ada fares?" asked Prospero. He was not smiling. The magus pointed to a red cloth draped over the couch. "Use that. This one time only."

Harman frowned, went to the cloth, studied it. "A turin cloth?" he said. It was red-all turin cloths were tan. Nor was the microcircuit embroidery the same.

"There are a myriad of turin-cloth receivers," said Prospero. "Just as there are a myriad of sensory transmitters. Every person can be one."

Harman shook his head. "I don't give a damn about the turin drama-Troy, Agamemnon, all that nonsense. I'm not in the mood for amusements."

"This cloth tells you nothing of Ilium," said Prospero. "It will show you your Ada's fate. Try it."

Trembling, Harman sat back on the couch, adjusted the red cloth over his face, touched the embroidery to his forehead, and closed his eyes.

45.

The Queen Mab Queen Mab decelerated toward Earth on a column of nuclear explosions, the ship kicking out a Coke-can-sized fission bomb every thirty seconds, the bomb exploding and driving the pusher plate back up to the stern of the thousand-foot-long ship, the huge pistons and cylinders in the clockwork engine room cycling back and forth, the next can-bomb being ejected... decelerated toward Earth on a column of nuclear explosions, the ship kicking out a Coke-can-sized fission bomb every thirty seconds, the bomb exploding and driving the pusher plate back up to the stern of the thousand-foot-long ship, the huge pistons and cylinders in the clockwork engine room cycling back and forth, the next can-bomb being ejected...

Mahnmut was watching on the stern video channel. If anyone on Earth didn't know we were coming, they must know now, If anyone on Earth didn't know we were coming, they must know now, he said to Orphu on their tightbeam channel. The two had been invited to the bridge for the first time on the voyage and they were in the largest lift now, rising toward the bow of the ship-which during deceleration, of course, was aiming back toward space rather than at the rapidly growing Earth. he said to Orphu on their tightbeam channel. The two had been invited to the bridge for the first time on the voyage and they were in the largest lift now, rising toward the bow of the ship-which during deceleration, of course, was aiming back toward space rather than at the rapidly growing Earth.

I don't think the idea is to be subtle, tightbeamed Orphu. tightbeamed Orphu.

Obviously not. But this is about as subtle as a stomach pump, about as subtle as a pay toilet in the diarrhea ward, about as subtle as...

Do you have a point? rumbled Orphu. rumbled Orphu.

It's too too unsubtle, unsubtle, said Mahnmut. said Mahnmut. Too obvious. Too visible. Too precious-I mean, mid-Twentieth Century spaceship designs, for God's sake. Fission bombs. Ejection mechanisms from the Atlanta, Georgia, Coca-Cola bottling plant circa 1959... Too obvious. Too visible. Too precious-I mean, mid-Twentieth Century spaceship designs, for God's sake. Fission bombs. Ejection mechanisms from the Atlanta, Georgia, Coca-Cola bottling plant circa 1959...

So your point is? interrupted Orphu. In the old days, his eye-stalks and video cameras would have tracked toward Mahnmut-some of them, at least-but those had not been replaced since his optic nerves had been burned out. interrupted Orphu. In the old days, his eye-stalks and video cameras would have tracked toward Mahnmut-some of them, at least-but those had not been replaced since his optic nerves had been burned out.

I have to assume that less obvious moravec ships-modern ships, stealth-activated and stealth-propelled ships-are following us, sent Mahnmut. sent Mahnmut.

That has been my assumption as well, said the big hard-vac moravec. said the big hard-vac moravec.

You never mentioned it.

Nor have you, until now, said Orphu. said Orphu.

Why didn't Asteague/Che and the other Prime Integrators tell us? asked Mahnmut. asked Mahnmut. If we're being put out ahead of the real fleet as the obvious target, we have a right to know. If we're being put out ahead of the real fleet as the obvious target, we have a right to know.

Orphu sent a subsonic rumble that Mahnmut had learned was the Ionian's equivalent of a shrug. It wouldn't make any difference, would it? It wouldn't make any difference, would it? said the big moravec. said the big moravec. If the Earth defenses fire on us and breach our rather modest forcefield defenses, we'll be dead before we have time to complain. If the Earth defenses fire on us and breach our rather modest forcefield defenses, we'll be dead before we have time to complain.

Speaking of Earth defenses, has the voice from the orbital city said anything else since the message two weeks ago? The maser broadcast had been succinct; the recorded female-human voice had simply said "Bring Odysseus to me" over and over for twenty-four hours and then had cut off as quickly as it had begun. The message had not been broadcast at random-it had been aimed precisely at the The maser broadcast had been succinct; the recorded female-human voice had simply said "Bring Odysseus to me" over and over for twenty-four hours and then had cut off as quickly as it had begun. The message had not been broadcast at random-it had been aimed precisely at the Queen Mab Queen Mab.

I've been monitoring the incoming channels, said Orphu, said Orphu, and I haven't heard anything new. and I haven't heard anything new.

The lift whirred and stopped. The broad cargo doors opened. Mahnmut stepped onto the bridge for the first time since before their launch from Phobos and Orphu repellored after him.

The bridge was circular with a diameter of thirty meters, the ceiling dome-shaped and ringed with thick windows and holographic screens serving as windows. From a spaceship-spaceship point of view, it was almost completely satisfying to Mahnmut. Although the unnamed spacecraft that had brought Orphu, the late Koros III and Ri Po, and him to Mars had been centuries more advanced-accelerated to one-fifth light speed by magnetic scissors accelerator wickets, carrying a boron light sail, fusion engines, and other modern moravec devices-this strangely retro atomic spaceship and spaceship grid looked...right. Instead of purely virtual controls and simple jack-in stations, more than a dozen tech moravecs sat in old-fashioned acceleration chairs at even more old-fashioned metal and glass monitoring stations. There were actual switches, real toggles, physical dials- Instead of purely virtual controls and simple jack-in stations, more than a dozen tech moravecs sat in old-fashioned acceleration chairs at even more old-fashioned metal and glass monitoring stations. There were actual switches, real toggles, physical dials-dials!-and a hundred other eye-and vid-camera-pleasing details. The floor looked to be of textured steel, perhaps lifted straight out of the hull of some World War IIera seagoing battleship.

The usual suspects-Orphu's irreverent term-stood awaiting them near the central navigation table: Asteague/Che their central Prime Integrator from Europa, General Beh bin Adee representing the Belt fighter-moravecs, Cho Li their Callistan navigator (looking and sounding far too much like the dead Ri Po for Mahnmut's comfort), Suma IV the brawny, buckycarbon-sheathed fly-eyed Ganymedan, and the spidery Retrograde Sinopessen.

Mahnmut walked closer to the map table and stepped up onto the metal ledge that allowed smaller moravecs to look down upon the glowing table surface. Mahnmut floated over.