The Architect of Aeons by John C. Wright Page A

to deduce that was opaque to him.
    Amphith ö e bowed yet again. “Both of you, Master that Was and Judge no Longer—”
    â€œCall me Meany, Mom. Call him Blackie.”
    â€œâ€”Meany, both of you suffered from revenant friction back in your earliest years, the Master that Was from direct attack by space pirates when he approached Earth from the long-lost and legendary Diamond Star, and you, from, ah—”
    â€œDirect attack by Blackie,” supplied Montrose.
    Amphith ö e said, “—from the difficult situation in which Black-ye was perhaps required, either forgivably or not, to place you.”
    Del Azarchel said, “Perhaps the style The Elevated Nobilissimus del Azarchel would be more apt—”
    Montrose pursed his lips and raised both eyebrows. “Watch your tongue, sir! Would you stand on ceremony with Ma?”
    She finished, “—it is to avoid additional situations like yours, where those who wake find no place in a world grown strange to them, that our custom of proxy adoption was founded.”
    Del Azarchel said, “Unless I mistake the spirit of my compatriot, madam, we are not to remain long in this world. We must soon return to our tasks in the outer Solar System.” He looked at Montrose quizzically.
    Montrose said, “What the hell you talking about, Blackie? No more tasks for us to do.”
    â€œHow so?” Del Azarchel arched his fine black eyebrows.
    â€œThe aliens ain’t never coming back, the human race was not advanced enough to live as slaves, and the prediction of history says we are going to be wiped out long before Rania returns.”
    Del Azarchel laughed like a golden bell. “Lies! If any of that were true then neither you nor I would triumph. Our endless duel ends in a draw. Ha! Let us not contemplate self-evident absurdities, my friend!” He shook his head wearily, but flashed a bright smile. “What weakness has entered your wavering soul?”
    â€œGlad you are in a chipper mood, you maggot-ridden skunk,” said Montrose, standing now straight and shoulders wide, a smolder of spirit in his eye. “So, do you have some plan?”
    â€œNot as such. But I think speaking to Tellus is now inevitable. I am convinced his mind and mine will find a strange sympathy.”
    â€œWe would have to augment our brains up to the Archangelic level. I ain’t about to do that. So what do you think Tellus will say?”
    â€œWho knows? He may say that once mankind is dead, it falls to us to create new races, and people the Solar System in preparation for Rania’s return. Will not the Star Colonies flourish? We can re-people Old Mother Earth from any of these fourteen Stepmother Earths to which the deracination ships now sail. And when Jupiter arises…”
    â€œPshaw and pee-shaw. You mean find a way to wake up the Jupiter Brain before the predicted twenty bazillion years from now? You and your goddamn Great Work. Ain’t gunna happen. The Swans said so.”
    â€œThe Swans also made this world you see. Do you trust them?”
    Del Azarchel raised his arm and gestured grandly toward the ship and its sails, the wide ocean beyond. There were icebergs floating in an equatorial sea, broken from pack ice which could be glimpsed as a white line on the horizon of the south. The sky was afire with curtains of purple and green auroras. There was a too-black cloud of an odd liquid consistency, as unnatural as an inkblot on a portrait, unearthly, the product of the Domination technology from Hyades, far off in the atmosphere to the stern of the white-sailed ship with her masts of fiberglass and diamond. “Is this what you envisioned when you set all the First and Second Human Races free from my sovereignty and power? To free them from the Hyades? Are you happy with the result?”
    Montrose, as if struck by the thought, turned and looked at Amphith ö e. “There is one thing I sure