Earth, I said. Then I remembered. Old Earth.
Old Earth? said one of the goons. This is fucked. Im getting out of here.
There came the frying-bacon sizzle of a weapons laser. I smelled something sweeter than frying bacon, and there was a heavy thump.
Diana Philomel said, John, are you talking about your persona templates life on Old Earth?
No.
Youthe cybrid youwere on Old Earth?
Yes, I said. I woke from death there. In the same room on the Piazza di Spagna in which I died. Severn was not there, but Dr. Clark and some of the others were
He is crazy, said Hermund. Old Earths been destroyed for more than four centuries unless cybrids can live for more than four hundred years ?
No, snapped Lady Diana. Shut up and let me finish this. John, why did the Core bring you back?
I dont know for sure.
Does it have something to do with the civil war going on between the AIs?
Perhaps, I said. Probably. She asked interesting questions.
Which group created you?
The Ultimates, Stables, or Volatiles?
I dont know.
I could hear a sigh of exasperation. John, have you notified anyone of where you are, of whats happening to you?
No, I said. It was a sign of the ladys less than impressive intelligence that she waited so long to pose that question.
Hermund also let out a breath. Great, he said. Lets get the hell out of here before
John, said Diana, do you know why Gladstone manufactured this war with the Ousters?
No, I said. Or rather, there might be many reasons. The most probable is that it is a bargaining ploy in her dealings with the Core.
Why?
Elements in the leadership FROM of the Core are afraid of Hyperion, I said. Hyperion is an unknown variable in a galaxy where every variable has been quantified.
Who is afraid, John? The Ultimates, Stables, or Volatiles? Which group of AIs is afraid of Hyperion?
All three, I said.
Shit, whispered Hermund. Listen John do the Time Tombs and the Shrike have something to do with all this?
Yes, they have a lot to do with it.
How? asked Diana.
I dont know. No one does.
Hermund, or someone, hit me sharply, viciously, in the chest. You mean the rucking Core Advisory Council hasnt predicted the outcome of this war, these events? Hermund growled. Are you expecting me to believe that Gladstone and the Senate went to war without a probability prediction?
No, I said. It has been predicted for centuries.
Diana Philomel made a noise like a child being confronted with a large mound of candy. What has been predicted, John? Tell us everything.
My mouth was dry. The truthtalk serum had dried up my saliva. It predicted the war, I said. The identities of the pilgrims on the Shrike Pilgrimage. The betrayal of the Hegemony Consul in activating a device that will openhas openedthe Time Tombs. The emergence of the Shrike Scourge. The outcome of the war and the Scourge
What is the outcome, John? whispered the woman I had made love to a few hours earlier.
The end of the Hegemony, I said. The destruction of the World-web. I tried to lick my lips but my tongue was dry. The end of the human race.
Oh, Jesus and Allah, whispered Diana. Is there any chance that the prediction could be in error?
No, I said. Or rather, only in the effect of Hyperion on the result. The other variables are accounted for.
Kill him, shouted Hermund Philomel. Kill it so we can get out of here and inform Harbrit and the others.
All right, said Lady Diana. Then, a second later. No, not the laser, you idiot. Well inject the lethal dose of alcohol as planned. Here, hold the osmosis cuff so I can attach this drip.
I felt a pressure on my right arm. A second later there were explosions, concussions, a shout. I smelled smoke and ionized air. A woman screamed.
Get that cuff off him, said Leigh Hunt. I could see him standing there, still wearing a conservative gray suit, surrounded by Executive Security commandos in full impact armor and chameleon polymers.
A commando twice Hunts height nodded, shouldered his hellwhip weapon, and rushed to do Hunts bidding.
On one of the tactical channels, the one I had been monitoring for some time, I could see a relayed image of myself naked, spread-eagled on the bed, the osmosis cuff on my arm and a rising bruise on my rib cage. Diana Philomel, her husband, and one of the goons lay unconscious but alive in the splinter and broken-glass rubble of the room. The other enforcer lay half in the doorway, the top part of his body looking the color and texture of a heavily grilled steak.
Are you all right, M. Severn? asked Leigh Hunt, lifting my head and setting a membrane-thin oxygen mask over my mouth and nose.
Hrrmmmggh, I said. Argh. I swam to the surface of my own senses like a diver coming up too quickly from the deeps. My head hurt. My ribs ached like hell. My eyes were not working perfectly yet, but through the tactical channel, I could see Leigh Hunt give the small twitch of thin lips that I knew passed for a smile from him.
Well help you get dressed, said Hunt. Get you some coffee on the flight back. Then its back to Government House, M. Severn. Youre late for a meeting with the CEO.