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space-elevators, rising like beanstalks out from the unthinkable gravity of
the sun, extending upward, endlessly, past the orbits that had once held
Mercury and Venus. From the cities at the "tops" of those towers, more towers
reached out, these made of energy, not neutronium, and ran entirely across the
system. These rivers of light ran to positions in the ice belts and Oort
clouds, where truly massive spheres, more than planets in diameter, housed
Sophotechs of new design. These Sophotechs were utterly cold, constructed of
subatomic particles held in superdense matrixes in vast blocks of "material"
in the state of absolute zero temperature. Only this icy perfection was dense
enough and rigid enough and predictable enough to house the new generation of
thinking machines.
Along these towers was more surface area than the present of the whole Golden
Oecumene. Land cubic was cheaper than air. The cores of the towers would
contain Second Oecumene singularity fountains, so that energy was cheaper than
either. Helion, looking up, was able to "see" the great vessels of gold,
hundreds of kilometers in length, piloted by his further scions, braver
versions of himself, Bellerophon and Icarus. The sons of Helion were eager to
follow into the abyss of space their eldest brother, Phaethon, of whom no
report had yet returned, for Phaethon maintained strict radio silence during
his many long voyages.
The shining ships of the sons of Helion each held worlds in their memories,
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endless menageries, transcripts of all minds and souls of any in the Golden
Oecumene who volunteered to be recorded. In this way. should enemy assault
somehow elude the complex protections, and the Solar System be destroyed, the
Golden Oecumene, as long as a single ship survived, would live again. And what
Helion of that day and age used for eyes turned outward again, seeing distant
stars and constellations, hearing the pulse of music, the mathematics of
rational conversation, not from one, but from scores of worlds.
Some colonies were decoys, entire invented civilizations, dreamed to the last
detail and nuance, but existing only in Sophotechnic imaginations. These were
decoys meant only to lure Silent Oecumene soldiers down to worlds that seemed
populated but which were, in fact, merely Atkins, Atkins in endless numbers,
waiting with endless patience to destroy any who dared make war.
But other colonies were colonies in truth, called by fanciful names: the
Silver Oecumene and the Quick-Silver, founded at Proxima and Wolf 359; and the
Oecumenes of Bronze or Orachilcum near Tau Ceti; or the warlike Oecumene of
Adamantium, circling the dragon star Sigma Draconis; and the Nighted Oecumene,
founded by the Neptunians in the deep of space, far from any sun, but seething
with activity, noise, and movement.
These colonies were those brave enough or foolish enough to taunt the Silent
Lords, by revealing their locations in signs of fire, allowing to escape into
the void the radio noise and activities of industry, of planetary engineering,
and the establishment of further Solar.
But there would be more colonies than this, several civilizations younger
artificial worlds and systems, not yet ready to face the Silent Lords in
combat.
Each younger, quiet Oecumene relied, at first (not unlike her foe) on silence
to mask her activities; she would wait for some future day to erupt into a
First Transcendence of her own. On that day, the new Oec-umene would end her
long childhood, raise her radio arrays, and sing out to the surrounding stars
of what accomplishments, arts, sciences, and advancements she had made during
her long centuries of quiet. And she would have her version of Atkins, as if
with trumpets sounding from a battlement, send out a general challenge to the
Silent Lords, daring them to combat, warning them away. But each would also
have their version of Ariadne Sophotech singing like a siren to the stars,
inviting the Silent Ones to give up their sick, insane crusade, to rejoin the
body of mankind, to rest from the weariness of war and hate.
As Helion stood and looked out, an image of Rhadamanthus stepped up quietly
behind Helion on his balcony, appearing like a color sergeant from a regiment
of British riflemen. Rhadamanthus asked: "Well, sir, Ferric Sophotech will
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