With a sigh, Danlo turned and crossed back into the meditation hall behind him. He stepped past the gyres and kevalin sets and the rack of wooden flutes. When he came to the gla.s.s jar encasing the blue rose that he had noticed earlier, he smiled at the sacrilege that he was about to commit. After damping his palms on the cold gla.s.s, he lifted off this dome-like container and set it carefully on the floor. Then he reached out and grasped the rose's stem. It was narrow and hard, with an almost woody feel to it. He wanted to examine the rose in the light of flame globes, and so, at arm's length, directly in front of his eyes, he held up this symbol of the impossible. Its petals were light blue and as lovely as those of a snow dahlia. He looked at the flower for a long time. Then he returned to the grand doorway of the facing room, where the devotionary projecting the hologram of Nikolos Daru Ede sat waiting on its little stand. Ede was waiting, too. He was floating in the air, watching with intense suspicion as Danlo presented the sacred rose to him.

'Do you see this pretty flower?' Danlo asked.

'Of course I see it. I see many things.'

'Here,' Danlo said, holding out the rose. 'Take it.'

The hologram of Ede extended one of his diminutive hands, but because his body was not made of flesh, he could not take it. However, the interference of the holo- gram's coherent light with the flower's blue petals highlighted the rose and caused it to glow brightly.

'I can't hold the flower, of course,' Ede said. 'I can't touch it.'

'No,' Danlo said. With a sad smile, he reached out his finger and stroked the flower's many petals. They were as cool as silk and felt as fine as gossamer. 'I am sorry.'

'Why?'

'Because it will be so hard for you to truly know whether or not this flower is real.'

'It looks real,' Ede said.

Danlo looked at the striations, veins, and the pattern of tiny filaments lining the rose. He said, 'Yes, it does.'

'But I would deduce that it's artificial. It would have been too difficult to have kept a real flower alive in my temple, even in a clary cold chamber, even in krydda sus- pension.'

Again, Danlo touched the rose. He let the whorls of his fingertip linger over the petals' lacy surface. The cells of his skin slowly slid over the smoothness of gossilk, and instantly he knew that the rose was not real.'In truth, it is artificial,' he said.

'You see we both knew this.'

'No,' Danlo said. 'I knew that the rose was not real, but you only deduced it.'

'I don't see the difference.'

'There is ... all the difference in the universe.'

At this, Ede's face froze into an unreadable mask, and for the first time he fell into silence.

'Talking to a computer's imago is like looking at an artificial flower,' Danlo said.

'You seem real, only ...'

'Go on.'

'Only, I cannot touch you. Your consciousness. Your ... soul.'

Ede waited a moment before saying, 'But I am as real as you.'

'No, you are only an ai program that causes electrons inside your brain circuits to move.'

'I am as conscious as you are,' Ede said.

'But ... how can that be?'

'I am as aware as any man.'

Pain is the awareness of life, Danlo remembered. He stood there staring at the many-hued lights of Ede's little face as he brooded over this saying so close to his heart. He realized, then, that this was his own private Turing test of consciousness: the ability to feel pain.

He told this to Ede, who said, 'There are many kinds of pain.'

'Yes,' Danlo agreed as he held his hand over his eye, over the familiar pain shooting through his head. 'But pain is always just pain. Pain always ... hurts.'

'Once, I was a man much as you,' Ede said in his high, whiny voice. 'And I had pains of the body much as any man. When I carked my mind into my computer and left my body behind, I'd thought to escape pain forever. But the pain of the mind is greater than any body pain. Infinitely greater.'

'Others ... have said that to me before.'

'Do you think it didn't hurt to cast off my body and become vastened in the light storms of my computer?'

'How ... could I know?'

'Do you think I haven't suffered for three thousand years at the fear that some essential part of my humanity of myself was lost in this vastening?'

'I do not know.'

'And in my battle with the Silicon G.o.d, as I pruned my programs smaller and smaller do you suppose this diminishment of myself wasn't pure agony?'

'Perhaps,' Danlo said. 'Or perhaps you are only programmed to call it agony.'

'Can you imagine what it's like to be a G.o.d?'

'No.'

'It was like this,' Ede said. 'In less than a millionth of a second, if I wished, I could have thought all the thoughts that were ever recorded in all the libraries of man.'

'I ... am sorry,' Danlo said.

Ede's face fell into an expression of grief. 'I've lost almost everything. Even the great simulation with which the Silicon G.o.d destroyed me. Especially that. I can't tell you how perfect this simulation really was. The vision. The beauty. The detail. It was a surreality of all surrealities: I saw the galaxy remade, almost down to the configuration of every molecule. I saw myself transformed, ever vaster. I saw how I would be folded, connected, and how I would build ecologies of information that had never before existed in this universe. I knew what it would be like, someday, really to know. To know almost everything. And now I've forgotten it all. Only the faintest memory of a memory remains.'

As Danlo stood there twirling the stem of the blue rose between his fingers, Ede told him about other things that had been lost. Once, Ede said, he had reconstructed the history of the Milky Way galaxy, from the firing of the first stars to the rise of the rainbow star systems and alien races such as the Shakeh and the Elsu and the divine Ieldra. All that was now forgotten, as was the secret of destroying the Silicon G.o.d, which he had apparently learned only toward the end of their battle. Forgotten, too, were the words to a poem that he had been composing for a thousand years. All he could remember was his reason for creating this great poem: it was his fancy to woo a G.o.ddess in the centre of the cl.u.s.ter of Valda Galaxies some fifty million light-years out toward Yarmilla Cl.u.s.ter. All the words were gone from his memory. This, he said, was not surprising, since each of the poem's sixty-six trillion 'words' was really a complex of information compressed as beautiful fractal images. A word might be a theory of the universe or the condensation of all the acc.u.mulated knowledge of a hundred alien civilizations over a hundred thousand years. Some words were symbols for G.o.dly philosophies, or symbols for whole arrays of symbols, down through thousands of layers of abstraction. Ede thought that many of the words he had once written were metaphors for beautiful mathematical constructions existing only in the manifold; he was almost sure that one of the poem's most poignant words repeated again and again through the many cantos encoded the pattern of supernovae across a billion galaxies over the last three billion years.

'To lose pieces of oneself is a great agony,' Ede told Danlo. 'But it is not the worst of it.'

'What is, then?'

'Not knowing is the worst pain there is.'

'Not knowing ... what?'

'Not knowing if I am really I. Not knowing who I really am.'

'I am sorry,' Danlo said again. He studied the convincing grimace formed by Ede's facial programs. He thought that Ede certainly looked as if he were suffering a great deal of pain.

'The Silicon G.o.d was killing me,' Ede said. 'I had only nanoseconds to write the final program of myself. The program that is myself, that must be I, if anything really is.'

As Danlo nodded his head and pressed the petals of the artificial flower to his lips, Ede told him of some of the difficulties in hurriedly writing such a program. He described his frustration in forcing his great self into a personality type that couldn't quite capture the essence of who he really was. But he had had no other choice, he said. From descriptions of various human traits out of sources such as the Enneagram as well as the cetic system of universal archetypes and the old, Earth-centred astrol- ogy he had cobbled together a persona, an ident.i.ty, a self. For an ai program, it was a subtle piece of work, even if somewhat incomplete and crude. And Ede, of course, was unhappy with it. He was unhappy with himself, with what he had become.

'Where is the mirror in which I can see my own face?' Ede asked. 'How can I ever know that I really am I, Nikolos Daru Ede?'

Danlo looked down at the blue rose in his hand and said, 'Truly, I cannot know what you are. Conscious or not, aware of your own awareness or only a program run- ning a machine. But you are only you, yes? This is the marvel. You cannot be other than what you are. Isn't this enough?'

'No, it's not enough.'

'Then ... I am sorry.'

'There is something I want, something I programmed myself to want above all other things.'

'And what is that?'

Ede's bright eyes flashed as he looked at Danlo and said, 'I want to be human again.'

'Oh,' Danlo said in astonishment. 'Oh, no.'

'I want to be a man again, to have a body, to breathe real air.'

'But you said-'

'I have said that existence as pure mind is infinitely greater than being a mere human. But what if I am wrong?'

'Then you-'

'I want to know,' Ede said. He looked at the flower clasped in Danlo's hand. 'I want to feel myself alive again. I want to smell roses again. I'm afraid that I've forgotten what it's like to really live.'

Danlo shook his head, slowly, sadly. 'What you desire ... is impossible.'

'Perhaps,' Ede said. 'But on Old Earth, blue roses were also an impossibility until the botanists engineered the first one at the end of the Holocaust Centuries.'

'A human being is not a rose.'

'I believe that the Solid State Ent.i.ty has learned the secret of incarnation.' Ede's face, as he said this, was full of hope. 'I believe that She can incarnate human beings as easily as a cartoonist creates his characters.'

'Perhaps,' Danlo said. He looked down at his hands. He did not want to tell Ede of the Ent.i.ty's failed incarnation as Tamara.

'And there might be another way. It is a far possibility, but still possible nevertheless.'

'Yes?'

'You've said that you seek the planet Tannahill. The Architects of the Old Church.'

'Many pilots of my Order seek Tannahill.'

'The Architects have always worshipped me as G.o.d,' Ede said. His smile was now as radiant as the sun. 'At my vastening, when I carked my mind into my eternal com- puter, what do you suppose became of my body?'

'I ... do not know.'

'Shall I tell you?'

'Yes, if you would like.'

'The Architects, of course, usually burn their dead after the vastening ceremony.

But I believe that my body was preserved. On Tannahill, displayed in the temple there, lying frozen in a clary crypt.'

'But your vastening occurred nearly three thousand years ago!'

'Has it really been so long? My followers must be very faithful.'

'But why?' Danlo asked. 'Why this ... shaida burial?'

'Because the Architects revered everything about me, in life and in death. Even my old and very human flesh it serves as a perfect reminder that the body is just an empty husk without the program of the soul to animate it.'

'But three thousand years!'

'To me it seems like yesterday. Only a moment ago.'

'But the freezing, over the centuries, the molecular drift ... and then there is the process of vastening itself. The scanning of the brain, of the synapses this destroys the brain, yes?'

'Perhaps.'

'In vastening, the pattern of the brain's synapses is modelled as a computer program but the brain itself dies. This is the price of carking one's mind into a computer, yes?'Ede smiled wickedly for a while, then said, 'It would seem so. But in any brain that has been vastened, it may be that molecular traces of the synapses remain. It may be that the synapses, and thus the brain itself, could be reconstructed.'

'Do you believe this, truly?'

'It's my hope.'

'Then you hope somehow to recover your body?'

'I do.'

'To raise the dead,' Danlo whispered. He pressed his hand to his navel as a sudden shiver ran through his belly. 'You would cark your consciousness back into your old body, yes?'

'I want to live again. Is that so wrong?'

Danlo closed his eyes a moment before saying, 'But you are here, on this lost earth.

And your body lies on Tannahill.'

'My body, Pilot,' Ede said.

'And Tannahill lies ... further into the Vild.'

'I would like to see my own body again. To touch it, from inside.'