The third moravec in the small, pressurized control room—the tiny Callistan, Ri Po—situated himself at the third point of the moravec triangle.

Are you hearing this? subvocalized Mahnmut on his private line to Orphu. The huge Ionian was visible outside the forward windows.

Oh yes.

“Why are you telling us now?” Mahnmut asked Koros III.

“I thought you and the Ionian had a right to know. Your existences are at stake here.”

Mahnmut looked at the navigator. “You knew about the weapons?”

“I knew about the defense weaponry built into the ship,” replied Ri Po. “I didn’t know until now that there would be weapons brought to the surface. But it was a logical assumption.”

“To the surface,” repeated Mahnmut. “There are weapons in The Dark Lady ’s hold.” It was not really a question.

Koros III nodded in that age-old humanoid signal of confirmation.

“What kind?” demanded Mahnmut.

“I am not at liberty to say,” the tall Gaynmedan said stiffly.

“Well, perhaps I’m not at liberty to transport weapons in my submersible,” snapped Mahnmut.

“You have no choice in the matter,” said Koros III. His voice sounded more sad than imperious.

Mahnmut seethed.

He’s right, said Orphu and Mahnmut realized that the Ionian had spoken on the common line. None of us have any choice at this point. We have to go ahead.

“Then why tell us?” Mahnmut demanded again.

It was Ri Po who responded. “We’ve been monitoring Mars since we came over the sun. From this distance, our instruments confirm the quantum activity detected from Jovian space—but the intensity is several magnitudes greater than we estimated. This world is a threat to the entire solar system.”

How so? asked Orphu. The post-humans experimented quantum shifting for centuries in their orbital cities around Earth.

Koros III shook his head in that quaint humanlike way, although “quaint” was not a word that came to Mahnmut’s mind when he stared at the tall, shiny-black figure with his gleaming fly’s eyes. “Nothing to this extent,” said their mission leader. “The amount of quantum phase-shifting occurring on Mars right now amounts to a hole torn in the fabric of space-time. It’s not stable. It’s not a sane exercise of quantum technology.”

Does it have something to do with the voynix? asked Orphu. All most Jovian moravecs knew of the fabled voynix was that the planet Earth had radiated unprecedented quantum phase-shift activity when the creatures had first been mentioned in monitored post-human neutrino communications more than two thousand e-years earlier.

We don’t know if the voynix are involved, or, indeed, if they are still on Earth, Koros sent on the common band. “I’ll repeat that I felt it ethically imperative to inform all of you that there are weapons aboard this ship and aboard the submersible on which Mahnmut will be transporting me. The decisions to use these weapons will not be yours. The responsibility lies solely with me when I am aboard this ship, and with Ri Po for ship defense when Mahnmut and I have dropped to the planet’s surface. The decision to use deadly force on Mars itself will be mine alone.”

“The ship’s weapons are not offensive then? Not to be used against targets on Mars?” asked Mahnmut.

“No,” said Ri Po. “The shipboard weapons are defensive only.”

But the weapons aboard The Dark Lady include weapons of mass destruction? asked Orphu of Io.

Koros III paused, obviously weighing his orders against the crew’s right to know. Finally, he said, “Yes.”

Mahnmut tried to decide what these weapons of mass destruction might be. Fission bombs? Fusion weapons? Neutrino emitters? Plasma explosives? Antimatter devices? Planet-busting black-hole bombs? He had no idea. His centuries of existence gave him no experience with weapons outside those nonlethal nets, prods, and galvanizers needed to ward off kraken or capture Europan sea life.

“Koros,” he asked softly, “did you bring weapons on your mission to the rocks some decades ago?”

“No,” said the Ganymedan. “There was no need. However warlike and ferocious the asteroid moravecs have become in their recent evolution, they posed no threat to the existence of all sentient beings in the solar system.” Koros III projected the time; they had forty-one minutes until the fusion engines fired. Any other questions?

Orphu had one. Why are we wrapped in ultrastealth if we’re approaching Mars behind four fusion trails that will light us up like a supernova, visible day and night for sols to anything with eyes on the Martian surface? Wait . . . you’re trying to get a response. Trying to make them attack us.

“Yes,” said Koros. “It was the easiest way to assess their intentions. The fusion engines will shut off while we are still eighteen million kilometers from Mars. If they have not attempted to intercept us by then, we will jettison the engines, the solenoid toruses, and all other external devices, and enter Martian orbit with passive countermeasures hiding our location. Currently we do not know if the post-humans—or whatever entities have terraformed Mars and are currently residing there—have a technical or post-technical civilization.”

Mahnmut considered this. They would be jettisoning every form of propulsion that could get them home.

I would say that massive quantum phase-shift activity is a sign of something pretty technological, said Orphu.

“Perhaps,” said Ri Po. “But there are idiot savants in the universe.”

With that cryptic statement, the meeting ended, atmosphere was drained out of the control room, and Orphu hauled Mahnmut back to his submersible in the ship’s hold.

The four engines fired on cue. For the next two days, Mahnmut was pinned to his high-g couch as the ship decelerated down onto the plane of the ecliptic toward Mars at more than 400-g’s. The hold around The Dark Lady was again filled with high-g gel, but his living compartment wasn’t, and the weight and lack of mobility grew tiring to Mahnmut. He couldn’t imagine the stress on Orphu out in his hull-cradle. Mars and all forward images were obscured by the four-sun glare of the engines, but Mahnmut passed the time by checking on video of the hull, the stars astern, and by rereading parts of À la recherche du temps perdu and finding connections and disparities with his beloved Shakespearean sonnets.

Mahnmut’s and Orphu’s love of lost-age human languages and literature was not all that unusual. More than two thousand e-years earlier, the first moravecs to be sent out to Jovian space to explore the moons and to contact the sentients known to be in the atmosphere of Jupiter were programmed by the first post-humans with elaborate full-sensory tapes of human history, human culture, and the human arts. The rubicon had already occurred, of course, and before that the Great Retreat, but there had still been some hope of saving the memory and records of the human past even if the last 9,114 old-style humans on Earth could not be saved by the final fax. In the centuries since contact had been lost with Earth, human art and human literature and human history had become the hobbies of thousands of the hardvac and moon-based moravecs. Mahnmut’s former partner, Urtzweil—who had been destroyed in an icefall under the European ice crater of Tyre Macula eighteen J-years before—had been passionate about the King James Bible. A copy of that bible still sat in the cubby under Mahnmut’s stowed work table, next to the gel-insulated lava lamp Urtzweil had given his partner as a gift.

Watching the filter-dimmed flare of the forward fusion engines on his video monitor, Mahnmut tried to connect his image of the historical Marcel Proust—a man who took to his bed for the last three years of his life, in his famous cork-lined room, surrounded by his always-arriving galley proofs, old manuscripts, and bottles of addictive potions, visited only by the occasional male prostitute and workers putting in one of the first opera-delivering telephones in Paris—with the Marcel-narrator of the exhausting work of perception that was In Search of Lost Time. Mahnmut’s memories were prodigious—he could call up the street maps of Paris in 1921, could download every photograph or drawing or painting ever done of Proust, could look at the Vermeer that caused Proust’s character to faint, could cross-check every character in the books with every real human being Proust had known—but none of this helped that much in Mahnmut’s understanding of the work. Human art, Mahnmut knew, simply transcended human beings.