The Blue Astrocyte, as the hotel was called, proved to be an enjoyable stay. Makishima had been given a suite of rooms on the top floor, and his view overlooked Tokyo from almost precisely the same angle as did his penthouse in the real world. He suspected that this was by design, a way of ensuring that he settled in more comfortably, grew psychically attached to his surroundings. He didn't mind their presumption, though he did ask Yamato during one of their friendly cafe lunches if the simulation was updated in real-time.

"It is Tokyo, accurate to within fractions of a millimeter," the politician boasted. "The Hue check scanners in every neighborhood double as depth sensors and high-resolution 3D cameras, so it's quite a simple process to generate a virtual Tokyo to give us something to fix our minds to. We learned about the importance of mind-body perception in the early days of the program, when we had foolish ideas of providing each brain with its own idealized environment."

"What happened?" Makishima asked.

"As you might expect, nothing good." Yamato shook his head and gestured at the skyline. "For a short time we thought of ourselves as transcendent beings, unhindered by biology. We are divine, I am not arguing against that, but in order to receive this gift we must always remember our human origins. We are augmented souls, not of a different order than mankind, but simply a step higher on the ladder of perfection."

Aware that he could say nothing that wouldn't be taken offensively, Makishima settled for a peaceable smile. He brought the conversation back to their meal, and the exquisite flavors therein, and found in Yamato an ardent admirer of the culinary arts.

Why is he so bent on shepherding humanity into a bodiless future? Makishima wondered. We can't enjoy eating smoked salmon if we're all just brains floating in jam.

Indeed, for advanced lifeforms confined to mason jars of nutrient solution for all eternity, the Sibyl brains certainly indulged in their share of earthly pleasures. Kurou Yamato spoke of the glories of being a god and how extraordinary it was to be free of the flesh's prison—while chomping down on seared mushroom burgers and smacking his lips over the latest craft beer to be uploaded into Sibyl. For all their proclaimed independence, they certainly seemed to be reliant on the outside world.

"And how are you getting on with your newfound godhood?" Yamato inquired between courses, as they sipped Turkish coffee and munched on chocolates. "Is Mr Chambers' hospitality to your satisfaction?"

"I have no complaints," said Makishima. "I haven't had the pleasure of meeting Mr Chambers in person yet, however."

"I expect you will see him in due course," said Yamato. "Mr Chambers is the conductor of our orchestra, so to speak, and at times he must be everywhere at once."

"And what does that make you?"

"Me?" Yamato laughed. "I am a humble public servant. I serve the people from inside the Sibyl System in the same way that I served them from elected office."

"Well, you do seem to have a lot of influence within Sibyl," said Makishima. "It appears that you are its most powerful member—from my perspective as an outsider, anyway."

Yamato winked. "One learns how to make friends in public office, Shogo. I expect you'll learn some of the same skills in your new position."

"Oh?"

"Just as the Sibyl System governs Japan, we have our own governance structure within the System, too. We call it the Diet for the sake of convenience, but really it bears little relation to the Japanese Diet. It is simply a chamber where each member may state his opinion on matters and put forward motions for consideration of future action. There is a chairman—Mr Chambers—and a vice-chairman, yours truly. Each member has one vote."

"I have a vote?"

"You do."

"Splendid," said Makishima. "I'll be sure to use it judiciously."

"To be frank, it isn't terribly important. Most of the time we vote on relatively minor issues—Recreation Lottery winners, changes to the Hue check software, member recruitment matters, and so forth."

"The Recreation Lottery? What's that? A raffle?"

Yamato chuckled. "I think you'll enjoy the Lottery, Shogo."

"Let me guess," he said. "Each month the winner gets to choose the temperature on the Sibyl thermostat."

"Better than that." Yamato pushed saucers and cups out of the way and rested his elbows on the tablecloth. He spoke in a low voice. "Around six years ago, one of our newest members had the idea of bringing new servers online and creating a space for rest and relaxation. As mankind's eternal judges, our burden is a heavy one. We lead stressful lives. We deserve a chance every now and then to feel sunshine on our faces, to walk under the stars."

"You said before that the Blue Astrocyte contained all of Sibyl's environments."

"Yes, but since the Hue check scanners placed around Japan are in primarily urban environments, and they are used to generate our surroundings, the Blue Astrocyte is the same. City living is invigorating, don't get me wrong, but sometimes two hundred brains living in close proximity can feel a bit crowded. We need a chance to stretch our muscles every now and then."

"Go on."

"We directed Public Works to place Hue check scanners in some of Japan's forests. Officially it was billed as a test of the scanners' ability to function in wilderness environments, but really it was about generating content for the Recreation Node."

"I remember hearing about those scanners," said Makishima. "It was in the news. The Ministry of Welfare gave a press release about 'forest trials.'"

"That's right. Anyway, Mr Chambers used the data from the new scanners to generate a place that we call Caneworth. It's modeled after a sixteenth-century German castle. Surrounding it is fifty square kilometers of forests, rivers, lakes…" Yamato shook his head and grinned. "Ah, Shogo, you wouldn't believe how beautiful it is. The resolution is very high—you can smell pollen in the air."

"I confess I was never the outdoorsy type, but it sounds quite nice. And a trip to this untouched paradise is the prize of the Recreation Lottery, I suppose?"

"Not only that. The Lord or Lady of Caneworth—the prize has some theatre around it, you see—has at their disposal no fewer than one hundred latent criminals as servants and retainers."

Makishima blinked. He can't be serious. "Are you saying the Sibyl System has broken the Japanese Constitution?"

Yamato waved away his objections. "The Constitution is a human legal document for humanity to adhere to. We are no longer human, Shogo. We follow a higher law. Our law."

"What are these latent criminals used for?"

"They are groundskeepers, manservants, maids… They keep the castle functioning."

Makishima shook his head. "It surprises me, I must say. Even I believed the public statements. I thought Sibyl was unjust and incompatible with mankind's destiny, but not outright corrupt. What separates the Sibyl System from any totalitarian regime? Are your judgments backed by anything but personal avarice?"

Yamato smiled. "You sound like many of our new members when they first ascend to godhood. It will take time for you to grow into your position. You will come to realize the necessity of our actions, Shogo."

Makishima shrugged, but inside he was seething with rage. In the animal kingdom there was a hierarchy, composed of predator, prey, scavenger, herbivore, carnivore, and more besides; there were niches upon niches, and ecosystems everywhere relied upon such variety to thrive. It was the way of nature; there was a place for deception. But he was deeply offended by Yamato's yearning cowardice, his desire to sit safely behind the big screen and play the rest of the world for foolish puppets. He knew with a certainty that went to the core of his being that one day he would have Kurou Yamato's life—probably someday soon.

"Would you like dessert?" the politician asked, and signaled for the waiter. "We have a few minutes before the next Diet session. When we enter the chamber, I'll show you to your seat and introduce you to the rest of the assembly. Don't worry, you won't have to speak. Acquiring the great Shogo Makishima has been on Sibyl's agenda for quite some time. I'm sure you'll find many friends among your fellow gods."

"I will have dessert," said Makishima, coolly.

"Its nickname is the Stadium," said Yamato as he led Makishima from the Blue Astrocyte's cafe to the wide, steel-doored express elevator at the far end of the room. "You will understand why presently." He peered at Makishima. "When you were still human, did you see the Sibyl Sphere up close, by chance?"

"No."

"Ah, then it must have been your compatriot. Mr Chambers mentioned that during your unsuccessful attack on Nona Tower, one of you managed to breach the armored door of the Sphere, which is where all of Sibyl's brains are stored and networked." Yamato pressed the call button for the elevator; there was a soft chime and a green arrow appeared above the elevator doors, facing down. "The latent criminals of the Recreation Node are not located there—they have a separate chamber, connected by Cymatic Grid to the Sphere."

Choe almost succeeded, then. That makes one of us. Despite his unsentimental nature, Makishima felt the first stirrings of loss. The depth of his feelings for Choe surprised him—not a romantic feeling, of course, but one of powerful connection to a close friend. I will not fail again. I will destroy this cancerous place.

"For technical reasons I'm sure Mr Chambers will be glad to share with you at some later time, the Stadium that we perceive within Sibyl is precisely the same size and shape as the real Sphere in the basement of Nona Tower. While inside the Stadium, we are able to access our Judgment Aspect, allowing us free entry into the Cymatic Grid. That will be disorienting to you, at first—it's a bit like skydiving, accompanied by a weightless feeling in your gut. You will learn to flow through the Cymatic Grid like the rest of the digital data being passed throughout Japan. It will become second nature in time, and you'll feel like a god."

At that moment the elevator doors opened, and the two men boarded the car. To Makishima's surprise, the elevator held another occupant, a woman of striking appearance in her mid-thirties. She wore simple workout clothing and was covered in a sheen of sweat, her skin glistening under the harsh overhead lights. She was in the middle of tapping out a message on her cellphone, which she lowered when she noticed Makishima watching her curiously. Yamato leaned over and pressed the largest button on the control panel while Makishima and the nameless woman sized each other up.

"Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" she asked, after the silence had stretched beyond a polite length.

"No," said Makishima.

Puzzled, the woman looked at Yamato, who held back a smile and shook his head. Then he cleared his throat and gestured to them each in turn. "Miss Sawaki, I have the pleasure of introducing Shogo Makishima—who I'm sure needs no introduction! Shogo, I have the great pleasure to introduce to you Miss Evelyn Sawaki, one of our newest members. We anticipate great things from her."

The elevator jolted into motion with scarcely a sound at all, only a faint falling sensation in the stomach region.

"Evelyn Sawaki," Makishima repeated. He looked keenly at her face, as if memorizing her features. They weren't conventionally pretty, but there was something about her large, liquid eyes and serene expression that practically demanded a second look. You could get lost in those eyes.

The woman smiled. "You know me?"

"Sawaki," said Makishima, softly, eyebrows furrowed. Then he snapped his fingers. "Oh, of course. I remember now. You were responsible for the pharmacy killings of 2118. You poisoned at least a dozen pensioners by tampering with their medications. You were sentenced to life imprisonment, but before the trial you mysteriously disappeared in what was presumed to be a suicide. I'd say it's more likely that Sibyl offered you their usual deal—godhood in exchange for the services of a criminally asymptomatic."

"Seventeen," said Miss Sawaki with a bright, friendly smile.

"Pardon?"

"I killed seventeen pensioners," she said. "You said 'at least a dozen.' I wanted to set the record straight."

"You are quite the monster," Makishima observed. "No remorse, even from here on high, where I presume your divine qualities would be most evident."

Sawaki winked at him, then turned to Yamato, who was watching their exchange with unfeigned interest. "You never said he was cute, Kurou."

Yamato grunted. "He isn't, my dear."

"You know what they say about opinions." Sawaki turned back to Makishima, who was studying the lights above the elevator doors as they neared the basement level. "Well, Mr Makishima, what is your type? I have to admit that I find you attractive. I'd like to invite you out for dinner one of these days."

"My type?" He tilted his head. "I admire those people who fulfill their function in life with grace and economy." He looked her up and down. "I admire effectiveness, strength, and resilence. Those qualities can exist independently of a pleasing shape, but it helps if they go together."

Sawaki began to smile.

"You are effective, I suppose, but you are not strong or resilient. I see it in your face. Violence can be a useful tool when employed appropriately, but you use it for your own gratification. I have little interest in that." Makishima turned back to the elevator doors. "I doubt you would enjoy my company, Miss."

Sawaki blinked several times and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could get any words out the elevator doors opened and the echoes of many conversations spilled into the car. Instantly her face hardened, and with a cool nod to Makishima and a warm smile to Yamato she departed the elevator. Yamato held the doors for him, so Makishima followed her into the bright light.

The Stadium was as grand as Yamato had promised. Enclosed by stark white walls like the inside of a gigantic egg, it featured curving rows of desks facing a central platform upon which sat a large reclining seat. Almost like a throne, Makishima thought. I wonder who sits there. The estimable chairman, I suppose. Next to the throne, and a step lower, was a smaller seat only slightly less resplendent. That was probably the vice-chairman's. The Stadium was filled nearly to capacity—men and women of all walks of life were milling about, discussing whatever subject was the topic of the hour in Sibyl, like high school students gossiping during a lunch break. It was a very ordinary vista; it could have been any company courtyard anywhere in Japan.

So these are the gods and goddesses who terrorize the people of Japan. How disappointing. Makishima had expected something majestic and otherworldly. Instead, it reminded him vaguely of an insurance company convention.

Yamato was watching him take in the sights of the Stadium, so he tried to look suitably impressed. He pointed to the vastness of the chamber and said, "It's a breathtaking sight, Yamato-san. You weren't lying when you said that gods reside within these walls."

Beaming, Yamato ushered him down the aisle, introducing him to various personages along the way to his desk. Upon hearing the name Shogo Makishima, nearly everyone did a startled double-take before babbling excited greetings. He must have had quite the reputation in Heaven. Not that that was a bad thing. In fact, it might make his ultimate goal—destroying Sibyl from the inside—a good deal easier to carry out. He was the soul of politeness to everyone he met, even going so far as to bow to his elders. Judging by the commotion, he was a smash hit.

"That's Shogo Makishima? He's so young!"

"Are we sure Yamato isn't having a spot of fun? I wouldn't put it past him."

"I heard he was dead."

"He'll be the Vice Chairman in no time, just you wait."

"Oh, I agree."

"He's handsome."

"Is this Yamato's successor?"

Yamato's expression became less enthused by degrees as they fought their way beyond the thickets of people, pushing through the crowd like holiday shoppers during an outlet sale. Makishima gladhanded like a politician, smiled until his face hurt, and tried his best to be likeable. He was relieved when Yamato finally deposited him into a desk with the name Shogo Makishima - #200 affixed to it in gold lettering.

"This is your desk," said Yamato brusquely, and continued down the aisle toward the central dais. A bell rang, and the Sibyl members started to take their seats. One of them, a young man with purple highlighted hair and a sharply-cut dark blue suit, bowed to Makishima before taking the desk next to him. He held out his hand, and Makishima reluctantly shook it. He looked at the man's desk. His name, according to the plaque on it, was Hiroki Masuda.

"Hello," the man said. "You're Shogo Makishima."

"Am I?"

Masuda exhaled. "Sarcasm," he said knowingly, as if he'd just discovered the concept the day prior and was delighted to be able to put his newfound knowledge into practice. "Evelyn did say you were—how shall I put this?" He looked down at the desktop, thoughtful.

"Abrasive," Makishima offered. "Rude. Mean."

Masuda shrugged. "It was one of those. I suppose we shouldn't be surprised, though. You were one of the Japanese people just a short while ago, in the thick of things, living life. That's got to make you hotblooded."

For the first time, Makishima gave the strange Sibyl legislator his full attention. "What do you mean by that, hotblooded? Are you a reptile?"

Masuda laughed. "No, it's just that some of us Sibyl members have been inside for a long time. Decades. Our very oldest members have experienced the burden of centuries of godhood."

That can't be right. "The Sibyl System was created in 2084," said Makishima. "Even the Karma Network, its predecessor, was only online for ten years during its initial trials."

"Time doesn't run at the same perceived speed here. It… varies." Masuda made a face. "If you ask me, it's a bug, not a feature. I want to keep up with real world trends, keep my finger on the pulse, you know? But that's impossible here. Even with the scanners giving us updated imagery, it doesn't update what's going on inside people's heads. That's what we need to know, if you ask me."

"It's not enough to judge humanity's actions and to know their emotional states," said Makishima. "You want to read their thoughts, too."

Not catching Makishima's tone, Masuda nodded eagerly. "Exactly. You get it. Well, from one optimist to another, let me just say that what's in the R&D pipeline will please both of us."

He's friendly with Sawaki, which implies a social link with Yamato. And Yamato is Vice-Chairman. Why is he telling me this? Is it a message from Yamato's faction? It was frustrating to be completely ignorant of the intricacies of Sibyl politics. Every man and woman in this room was jockeying for position, advantage, power, and influence. There were schemes going on even at this very moment, probably within earshot, and Makishima was blind to them all. For all he knew, Hiroki Masuda could be trying to enlist his aid in some kind of plot. But it was impossible to know for certain.

"Oh? That's quite interesting. Please continue."

"Well, the word is that Mr Chambers has some new tricks up his billowing sleeve. I swear, that fellow's shirt is like a circus tent. Could fit all of Tokyo inside it." Masuda grinned.

"Can he pull it off?" asked Makishima. He had no idea what it was.

Masuda looked astonished. He reared back and crossed his arms. "How can you ask that? I mean, after everything the old man has done for us. He's the Universe's gift to humanity. He'll never fail us. Frankly, I'm shocked you could even say such a thing."

"I'm new here," said Makishima by way of explanation. "I didn't mean to offend, Masuda-san. I apologize." And, still seated, he turned and bowed to the other man, very low.

"Oh, it's all right. You are new here. I should remember that."

"This new trick, though. It sounds too good to be true." Makishima put skepticism into his voice and manner. "How does it work?"

Masuda glanced around. Seeing that nobody was listening to their conversation, he leaned closer and whispered. "The Okaba Street Trials. You know? They were a complete success." He winked at Makishima. "Soon enough you and I could be free of this place."

Despite Makishima's best efforts, nothing more could be drawn out of Masuda. It occurred to him that this could be a calculated attempt to supply him with information—or misinformation. He didn't know what Hiroki Masuda's reputation was like within Sibyl. Was the man a purple-haired crackpot, ignored by everyone? Or was he privy to the mysterious Mr Chambers' ultimate plans?

But his musings were interrupted by another bell sounding, this one as clear and high as shattering icicles. Its sound rang throughout the entire Stadium and brought about instant quiet. Even Masuda, who had been murmuring to himself, fell silent. Makishima sat up straight and focused his attention on the dais far below, which appeared very small from this distance. The larger seat was empty. The lower was filled by Yamato's prodigious bulk.

Yamato was holding up a tiny silver bell and glaring around at the assembled members. "If it's all right with everyone, I'd like to begin today's proceedings. We have several matters on the docket. Mr Xu?"

A small elderly man with neatly parted gray hair stood. His desk was toward the center of the Stadium, nearest the dais. Apparently of Chinese ancestry, he wore an ordinary salaryman's suit and tie. He might have been the CEO of any modern company, judging from his appearance.

Mr Xu cleared his throat. "For today, the thirtieth of April, there are five motions up for consideration by the representatives of Sibyl. The first is the induction of our newest member. I will turn this matter over to the Chairman's representative. Vice-Chairman Yamato?"

Yamato climbed to his feet and seemed to glare up at Makishima. "You will all have heard many things about Shogo Makishima. I am here to tell you that all of them are true. He is as cold and logical as rumor suggests." He paused and looked around the Stadium. Rapt faces stared back. "These qualities make him exceptionally well suited for membership in our ranks. As gods and goddesses we cannot share in the emotional life of our charges; it is our task solely to judge such lives from afar. We cannot sympathize and so we cannot be swayed. I ask that you vote to accept Shogo Makishima as the Sibyl System's two-hundredth member as a replacement for the departed Mr Fujimoto. But first, I would like to invite Mr Makishima to say a few words."

Makishima climbed to his feet. The sensation of hundreds of curious stares fell upon him. He turned and swept his gaze over the gathered faces. Masuda was smiling encouragingly at him. Sawaki, he noticed, was the sole scowling face among a sea of welcoming smiles. He cleared his throat and began to speak, haltingly at first.

"I thank you, Vice-Chairman, for that warm welcome. I thank all of you, assembled deities, for the confidence you have placed in me. I cannot claim to have desired membership in the Sibyl System, or to be here entirely of my own free will, but now that I have it I will execute its duties faithfully and to the best of my ability. Thank you."

He bowed in the traditional style. He bowed again to Yamato as Mr Xu rose to his feet. Then he sat back down.

"Very nice speech," said Masuda. "Brief, and to the point. Not like that windbag Yamato."

Makishima blinked. So much for Masuda being one of Yamato's men. "Thank you, Masuda-san."

He accepted congratulations and welcomes from a few nearby Sibyl members—who all seemed like genuinely polite, pleasant people—and returned his attention to Mr Xu.

"The votes have been cast. Tabulating." Mr Xu studied a hologram that appeared from a keyhole lens on his desktop. It contained a series of tiny revolving green and red symbols. Makishima was too far away to see what they signified. The green, however, far outnumbered the red. "By a vote of one-hundred-and-ninety-two to six, with one abstention, Shogo Makishima is hereby granted membership to the Sibyl System. Welcome, sir."

Makishima nodded.

"Our next order of business concerns the Recreation Lottery," Xu said. "As many of you have heard, we have our latest winner—and it is the second time that this particular Sibyl member has won." There were a few cries of "Recount!" and "It was rigged!" before Xu was allowed to continue. He gazed severely at the assembled members. "I would ask the members to uphold the decorum of this chamber. Thank you. As I was saying, the Recreation Lottery has a repeat winner—and it is Miss Evelyn Sawaki. Miss, would you care to make a statement?"

Sawaki rolled her eyes and made a rude gesture.

"Evidently not. As you wish." Mr Xu consulted his hologram. "Miss Sawaki will be departing for her six month term in the Recreation Node tomorrow. If anyone wishes to speak with her concerning any urgent matters before then, please do so without delay. I need not remind you all that departure to the Recreation Node is irreversible. Once accepted, you cannot return until the term has elapsed. Miss Sawaki, and any future winners that may be present, please keep that in mind.

"Our next matter concerns the recent malfunctions of the brain pods in Sector 8 of the Sibyl Sphere. It is thought that these malfunctions are due to a software error, and Mr Chambers believes that the most recent bugfix should solve the matter. If anyone has a complaint to file, please go through the appropriate channels, or speak to me after the session is over."

As Xu droned on, Makishima half-listened. He let his mind wander and began to study his new colleagues with a view toward making a comprehensive mental dossier on each of them. It would take some time—nearly two hundred people in all—but it was a necessary step for him to start developing influence. To outmaneuver Yamato and Mr Chambers would require careful planning.

It was amusing, but Makishima felt more alive than he had in years—and all it had taken was for him to die and be uploaded into a computer network.

They tried their hardest to get me into the Sibyl System for a reason. Someone has plans for me. I need to find out who they are. Was he meant to be somebody's tool, or something more—like a weapon?

He needed to find out, and fast.

"Some of our new members have trouble with the concept of Judgment," said Yamato later that day, his eyes on a contoured reclining seat that hung from the arched ceiling of the Judgment Room like a bat clinging upside down from a stalactite. It was one of dozens of such hanging chairs in the Room. Most were empty, the touchscreens on their armrests blank, but a few were presently occupied by Sibyl gods. Those chairs were raised higher than the unoccupied ones, and their touchscreens showed a vast quantity of data in small type, graphs, and the occasional image or video. Yamato gestured to the field of dangling chairs. "They have the idea that the people out there come to them. Not so."

"How do you mean?"

Yamato nodded toward one of the chairs that was not in use, and they began to walk toward it. "As a member of Sibyl, your brain resides inside the Sibyl Sphere, nurtured by the Nutrient Arms and protected by Nona Tower's considerable defenses. When we walk around the Blue Astrocyte, we are not actually moving, yes?" Yamato waited for Makishima's nod. "Our brains are immobile. We simply perceive new places, and our minds convince us that they are quite real."

"I understand," said Makishima. "This is basic stuff, Yamato-san."

"For a man like you, perhaps so," Yamato replied. "But trust me when I say that not all of your colleagues can grasp such technical ideas. Some have quite profoundly wrong ideas about the nature of their new universe. But that is beside the point. We were talking about Judgment."

Makishima nodded to the Sibyl members strapped into the hanging chairs. They seemed to be unconscious, or perhaps dreaming. One man sat slack-mouthed, drool running down his chin, even as scintillations of color shone from his touchscreen, indicating the passing of a powerful Judgment. "They are in the middle of their Judging duties, I take it?"

"Correct. They have a schedule—and a quota, believe it or not—but most don't adhere to it, and in all honesty, we are fairly lenient about such matters. It isn't the quantity of judging that goes on, we like to say, but rather the quality."

They had reached the chair, and Yamato went over to the touchscreen and tapped buttons in a well-rehearsed sequence. The chair beeped in acknowledgement, lowered itself, and lifted its armrest. Makishima raised an eyebrow.

Yamato smiled. "It's not intelligent, Shogo, don't worry. Sometimes a chair is just a chair."

"This is mine, then?"

"They aren't assigned, but this one will be yours for this session, yes. Take a seat and make yourself comfortable."

Makishima did so, lowering his body gingerly into the foam cushions of the Judgment Chair, half-afraid it would suddenly latch onto him and take off toward the ceiling, having sensed his designs on Sibyl. But it did no such thing, and in fact it was exceptionally comfortable. The foam backrest contoured itself to his body, and as he relaxed he could feel tiny motors shifting the segmented splines of the chair into place, more perfectly complementing his form.

"I feel like Captain Kirk, sitting in the big chair," said Makishima with a lidded smile.

Yamato blinked. "Is that an allusion to something? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Just an early television series. Few people have heard of it, these days."

"I'll be sure to look into it," said Yamato politely. "Now, are you at ease?"

"I am. This is quite nice."

"Very good. Now, I don't normally go to the bother of explaining the technical nature of Judgment to new members, but you are more promising than most." Yamato scratched his ear and frowned. "Let me ask my earlier question again, but this time in reference to the Judgment. Where does a Sibyl god's brain go when he's judging?"

"Nowhere," said Makishima. "It stays in the Sibyl Sphere. Only his perceptions change."

"Yes. What happens to his mind?"

Makishima opened his mouth, about to repeat what he had just said, but something made him pause. He wouldn't ask if the answer was the same. But how can it be different? Of course the mind stays with the brain—how can the two ever separate?

"I see that you've already guessed where I was headed," said Yamato, smiling. "Allow me to explain."

"Please do."

"The Cymatic Grid is a high-bandwidth quantum network capable of carrying vast amounts of information. You know this from the official government sources, perhaps, but probably more from your attempts to destabilize the government." Yamato gave him a mock-scowl. Makishima shrugged. "The crucial thing about Judgment that you must understand is that your intuitive understanding, in this case, is exactly correct. Your mind is leaving your brain; you as a thinking, conscious entity are no longer in the Sibyl Sphere, or Nona Tower, at all. You are out there, in Japan."

He must be joking, Makishima thought. How can that possibly be true? How can my mind leave my brain?

His expression must have seemed incredulous, for Yamato smiled and shook his head ruefully. "Bear with me, and I'll explain how it works."

"You mean that literally?" he asked. "The mind of a Sibyl judge is in Tokyo when the person they're judging is in Tokyo?"

"Yes. You see, the Judgment Chairs are not simply for your ergonomic delight. Rather, they contain quite sophisticated psychic machinery that works in tandem with the Nutrient Arms in the Sibyl Sphere. Your brain is the hardware that gives rise to your consciousness—but that consciousness is itself just energy, really. You, Shogo Makishima, are nothing more than a three-dimensional lattice of continually firing electrical impulses, arrayed according to the unique design of your own neural network. This network can reside in the skull, where it's mediated by the flesh, but it can also travel along the right kind of cable. That's where the Cymatic Grid comes in. The Grid's quantum nature gives it sufficient bandwidth to transport, whole, a person's simulated neural network. For all intents and purposes, this is your mind, since your brain goes dark after Judgment begins."

"Goes dark—what does that mean?" Makishima demanded.

Yamato scratched his chin. "Well, it means brain stasis. Total cecessation of all neuronal activity. Your brain becomes inert—but still alive, of course. Oxygenation and metabolism continues. But the essence of your personality, your mind, is no longer there."

"And there are no side effects from that?"

"There are a few. That's why Mr Chambers invented something called the Assembly, essentially a type of augmented virus with a degree of programmability that flows through your bloodstream, bypassing the blood-brain barrier, repairing tissues, modifying DNA, pruning neural connections. They keep the brain in good shape until the mind returns from Judgment."

Pruning neural connections. He makes it sound so simple. Just unleash a few billion tame viruses and tell them to destroy neurons, inject neural growth factors, do some brain renovations…

"You have the Assembly already, of course," Yamato added.

Makishima turned to look at the Vice-Chairman.

Yamato chuckled. "Don't let it disturb you too much, Shogo. The Assembly are one of the reasons we were able to save your life in the first place—they carried out some of the work on your arteries during your emergency flight to Nona Tower. Your gunshot wound was almost fatal. Whoever shot you certainly meant to get the job done."

Yes, Shinya Kogami is not one for half-measures.

"As I was saying, the Assembly keeps your brain in tip-top shape while you carry out your duties. When your mind has returned, it's restored to the brain good as new."

"Is there any time when the mind is on the Grid that the brain shows any activity by itself?" Makishima asked curiously. "In other words, are there ever two consciousnesses existing simultaneously?"

"We try to avoid metaphysical anguish as best we can, so no. The brain is devoid of activity."

"And what if Mr Chambers decides to use his Assembly to change my personality?"

Yamato looked at him strangely, then away. He cleared his throat. "You don't have to worry about that, Shogo. Such things happen very rarely in Sibyl."

"But they do happen."

Yamato sighed. "They have occurred once or twice. That is all I will say on the matter." He busied himself in the act of pretending to check if Makishima was seated properly. Then, having moved the armrest up and down, he tapped a series of commands into the touchscreen, which prompted a gentle vibration in the hanging chair. Makishima felt a sensation of motion and realized that he was being carried upwards. The ascent halted at the same height as the other Sibyl gods—about halfway to the ceiling. "I've uploaded your Judgment List into your chair's computer. You can select whichever citizen you wish, but the priority Judgments are those highlighted in red on your HUD. Please try to focus on those first."

A floating heads-up display projection appeared before Makishima's eyes, showing him the same content that was displayed on his touchscreen. He saw endless lists of names—there must have been at least a thousand—and the rainbow hues of wildly varying Psycho-Passes. Each hue was overlaid on a portrait of a Japanese citizen; one, a pretty young woman with glasses, was a light auburn color, and her note said Lied about cheating on her boyfriend; steals cash from the lockbox at work. Target Crime Coefficient: low-60s. Others, like Hiraku Akiyama, said Fantasizes about defrauding his investors and fleeing to Hong Kong; once hit a dog with his car. Target Crime Coefficient: 75. The notes were brief and usually interesting to read.

"These don't go into much detail," said Makishima, still peering into the swarms of data that floated past his field of vision like drifting cobwebs. "And most of them read like someone's petty gossip. Should I expand on them?"

"Don't bother," Yamato replied. "We haven't the manpower to develop detailed histories of our subjects. The breakthrough of the Sibyl System lies in harnessing humanity's own ability for leaps of logic and intuition and applying them to the problem of measuring Psycho-Passes. Observe someone for a few minutes, look into their past, rummage around their memories, but don't shillyshally. Go with your gut. Is this person likely to be useful to society, and in what way? Judge them."

Makishima poked his head out of the projection-cloud and frowned down at the Vice-Chairman. "That's it?"

"Yes. Why, were you expecting more?"

Makishima thought for a moment. "Well, yes. In my view, Sibyl would be free of bias, with a way of scanning citizens' potential without error or favoritism. I thought there would be a tool we could use to make sure our judgments are true and accurate."

Yamato shook his head. "It's accurate enough, Shogo. We make certain that our members have certain qualities that make their judgments reliable. Otherwise we wouldn't have chosen you in the first place."

It's exactly as Choe and I thought: nothing more than the power-hungry given the right to judge the naive and foolish. There is no validity to anything the System does. It hangs around mankind's neck like a yoke, keeping him from his destiny of true self-determination.

"Are you prepared to give it a shot?"

Makishima nodded.

"You're almost ready." Yamato pointed to an LED above his headrest, which was now yellow. "When it's ready, you'll hear a tone in your left ear and experience the subjective sensation of a fall from a great height." He hesitated. "And Makishima, try to stay calm, yes? Your first Judgment will be the worst. It may seem like a dream—or a nightmare. This will be the first time your mind experiences the Cymatic Grid. It can be… traumatic, yes?"

"Judgment beginning in ten seconds."

The computer voice came from somewhere above them, disembodied. Makishima looked at Yamato's broad smiling face and gave a thumbs up, though he felt apprehension at the idea of being paralyzed and having his mind forcefully ejected from his body. It would be like dying. What if he couldn't get back?

"Good luck!" Yamato cried. The LED flashed a forest-green signal of readiness.

Then a tone was sounding in Makishima's ear, a tone that became something sharp and vicious, like distortion from an electric guitar amplified a thousand times. The sound drove into his skull and clung to his frontal lobe, flowing like melting tungsten, finding each crack and entering it, seeking the identity within. He screamed in agony and clawed at his own face, trying to rip the mask off. His skin flamed like burning paper.

Then he fell, from the highest mountain that could ever exist. Down.

For some time he drifted in a soundless void, bobbing like a cork in a nameless sea. Paranoia overtook him, and for a time he was quite certain that he wasn't a real person at all, had never been a person; he was instead a fiction created for the purpose of deceiving himself. In some bizarre way, he was taking part in the fabrication of his own labyrinth, and the sole glimpse he caught of its subtle and twisting design made him absolutely certain that he could never escape it, not in a million years.

Next came rain. It didn't fall on him—he didn't have a body, or did he?—but he could hear and smell it, almost taste its sweetness, and he pictured a telephone booth on a lonely Tokyo street outside neon-lit shops. Then, as if he had willed it into existence, he was standing in front of that telephone booth, his hand poised over the handle, smelling the wet grass scent of the rain, and he wanted to make a call.

Who did he want to call?

He had a list, he seemed to remember, an important list of calls that simply must be made. He reached into his coat and searched his pockets. They were empty, save for the inner pocket above his heart, the one with the silk lining and the fancy zipper—so he opened it, feeling like a passenger in his own body, and saw that the pocket contained a knife, with serrated edge and wood-handled grip. He blinked and looked at it more closely.

Did it have blood on it?

I have to find the list, he reminded himself, and then it was in his hand, a fine list written on yellow notebook paper, with names that ran down the page and never seemed to end. He chose a name at random.

Saburo Takao.

He took the receiver into his hand and dialed the number. It was long and seemed to go on for longer than phone numbers usually did, but he paid no mind to that. After the twentieth digit, he placed the list of numbers into his pocket and zipped it back up. Then he drummed his fingers on the chrome payphone case, studying his reflection in its warped metal finish. He was a pale contorted figure, with long gray teeth and glassy marble eyes.

He looked away.

The phone began to ring, but the ring seemed to come from between his ears, as though it came from inside his skull. He put the receiver down and blinked in surprise. The view of the street outside the telephone booth had vanished and been replaced by… nothing? He was surrounded by a sea of blackness. Curious, he opened the door of the booth and went outside, and then—

He became something like a photon with indigestion. He saw indescribable colors and seemed to travel like a lightning-bolt across and along the Cymatic Grid, an arrowhead of data trodding the well-worn paths of commerce and entertainment. One moment he was in Setagaya, overlooking a crowded shopping plaza, his head humming with peoples' overheard thoughts about lunch, sex, and gossip, and the next he was in the countryside, humming like an electrical transformer at a Hue check scanner near a small footbridge leading into forested trails. He traveled across Japan with alacrity, a fiber-optic speed demon, and it was only after several stops that he realized he was headed somewhere in particular.

Then the world flashed into darkness again, but just for a moment, because seconds later he knew Saburo Takao. He knew him because he was Saburo Takao. He looked through the man's myopic eyes and saw: a line of customers staring at him, irritation etched on every face, sweat glistening on every pore. He listened through the man's slightly deaf ears and heard: his own breathing, soft and usually unnoticed; the coughs and rustles of fabric as impatient customers muttered under their breath; the elderly pensioner standing before him like a dried-up cactus, lips pursed with dislike, threatening to call his manager for being useless at his job…

"Yes," he heard himself saying, hesitantly, with a hand rising to touch his forehead, probing. "I apologize. I felt lightheaded for a moment there. Someone will be here to assist you shortly. Excuse me."

Takao turned away, giving Makishima a panning view of the interior of an ordinary Japanese bank branch. It looked like thousands of other banks, as if they all shared the same blueprints, or were designed by the same architect: tile floors interrupted periodically by squares of cheap gray carpet, brown imitation leather couches, tables holding brochures offering investment advice and bank services, and, pervading all, the stale indoor air of the early afternoon.

Takao walked down a small hallway in the back of the bank to a locked room, which he quickly unlocked with a key hanging from his belt and entered. Inside the room was a series of refreshments: armchair, coffee maker, and portable refrigerator with a small television on top of it. Saburo Takao sank into the armchair with a grateful sigh and massaged his temples.

"I nearly collapsed," Saburo murmured to himself. "That's odd. But I just ate lunch. Maybe a touch of food poisoning."

Hope I'm not getting diabetes. Dad was diagnosed with that… when? Forty-five? Impossible. I'm still thirty-eight. Never going to eat there again. Cook probaby doesn't wash his hands. Disgusting.

Makishima listened, a silent ghost, as Takao ruminated upon many possible causes for his attack of vertigo. He had a voluble mind, and entertained and dispensed with topics as diverse as the price of petrol in the outlying prefectures to the recent election results of the Japanese Diet in a span of time shorter than a quarter-hour.

He's in the wrong profession, Makishima thought. How did he get placed into customer-service? He talks endless nonsense to himself. He should have been a writer.

As Takao flipped on a local news station and enjoyed the restorative effects of oatmeal and cold tea, Makishima discovered that he could, with difficulty, view some of the man's most recent memories. If he concentrated hard enough and thought of himself as Takao, the mind offered the memories up, but in a vaguely distorted way, as if seen through a pane of glass.

The bank teller had spent most of the last week out on sick leave—but he hadn't been sick. Instead, he had taken a weekend trip to Tokyo and gambled away large sums of the bank's money at illegal betting-houses. Then he had toured the city's aquariums and eaten at its finest restaurants, before retiring to a five-star hotel with an on-again-off-again girlfriend. And he was planning to do it all again the next month, or as soon as he could siphon enough money from the daily deposit vault.

I've seen enough. His current Crime Coefficient is 58. I'd say he deserves a cloudy Hue. Let's give him 89.

Makishima made the changes without quite knowing how. He double-checked his work by waiting until Takao finally left the break room and passed by a Hue check scanner in the bank lobby. When he returned to his window with dozens of shocked eyes locked upon him, Takao looked surprised, then puzzled. But when a manager came over to touch him on the arm and point out the fact that his Psycho-Pass was now steel gray…

If he had a body, Makishima would have given a sharp-toothed smile. But then he called up his Judgment List and saw that, while the name Saburo Takao had disappeared, the List had not diminished in any perceptible way.

There was still a few thousand more people to judge.

"Is she coming through yet?"

"I don't know. The portal's not active. It lights up, doesn't it? That ring around the edge. It glows."

"Has she ever been late before?"

"How would I know something like that? You're the one who makes a special study of her habits."

Shusei Kagari cajoled his facial muscles into an approximation of a smile (it came out looking somewhat more like a pained grimace, but hey, at least he made an effort) and surveyed his men. The antechamber of Castle Caneworth was a vast, breathtakingly craggy room with vaulted ceilings, fanciful iron sconces, huge archways, and a pervading odor of mold and moisture. It looked something like a dank, mildewed medieval fortress. The Awakening Portal sat upon a dais at the far end of the room, where Kagari and his lieutenant, Starvale, stood. His men, numbering thirty-five, were arrayed in a military phalanx facing the dais, their armor polished to a gleam so that the torchlight was caught and refracted every which way, as if the men were bedecked with gemstones. There was a tension in the air that made every breath seem to taste of anticipatory violence.

"You men know the drill," Kagari called out, hoping that what he said was true. If any of his squad leaders forgot their orders, or if their timing was off by even a few seconds, their plot held little chance of success. "The plan is a good one." He tried to think of something else to say, something more reassuring than try not to fuck things up, okay? He thought back to old man Masaoka, who always knew the right remark to defuse a hot situation. He even tried to summon his inner Ginoza—an asshole, to be sure, but the man knew how to make a rainy day seem full of sunshine. He drew a blank. No matter what Starvale said, he wasn't a leader of men. He was just a lowly Enforcer thrust into a situation that required unflinching action—his specialty. "Remember to watch out for each other. And don't be afraid. She's dangerous, but she's not a god, she's not immortal, no matter what they try to tell you."

His pep talk seemed to have the opposite of its intended effect. Kagari saw his men glancing at each other and frowning, and heard doubtful whispers rise up. The precisely regimented ranks of soldiers shifted as if he'd said some offensive thing. The tension was on the cusp of the breaking point.

"Oh, screw it," Kagari muttered. "I tried." He lifted his longsword from its scabbard and peered at the edge, scrutinizing its killing side. A habit dating from his first experience with combat in the Sibyl System, when he'd been an unwilling participant in Lady Sawaki's annual Caneworth melee. He had been a new prisoner, just uploaded from the real world, with no idea where he was or what had happened to him. It had been like a dream. He'd managed to survive the crucial first month, but only because a fellow prisoner by the name of Starvale had taken pity on him and offered lessons in swordsmanship. Over time, their bond became a friendship that led to other prisoners gravitating toward their nucleus, and they won their share of battles in the grand melee, eventually earning a place for themselves as members of Lady Sawaki's personal guard.

That had been nearly a year ago. Kagari could scarcely credit it. Time seemed to pass in strange ways in the Sibyl System. A day might last what seemed a week; another, a handful of hours. It was disorienting to those who were unwilling to mentally adapt. Kagari theorized that time elapsed in irregular sequences, and at other times not at all, as if they were programs running on a laptop and their owner sometimes closed the lid on their existence.

Starvale nudged him. "Listen. Hear that?"

Kagari stood still. He tuned out the ordinary sounds of breathing, coughing, the rasp of chainmail, all of which were as real as life, and strained his ears and listened.

There was a very, very soft hum emanating from the Awakening Portal.

"That's her," said Kagari. The relief of knowing lasted only seconds; the reality of the Lady of Castle Caneworth soon standing before him in the flesh made his heart jolt in his ribcage. He checked his longsword again.

He glanced at Starvale. The man was as pale and tight-eyed as Kagari felt. That makes two of us. What they were about to do was treason against the Sibyl System, punishable by death—the real death, meaning they disconnected the Nutrient Arms from your brain-jar and left you to perish without infusions of fresh blood. Death would come quickly.

"Relax," he said, and tried to take his own advice. He wet his lips with a dry lizard tongue. "She'll be here soon. We have to act normal. She'll suspect us."

"It won't work." Starvale closed his eyes and moaned. "She'll know. This was a foolish idea. Lady Sawaki controls the Authorship of the Dream, Shusei. This world conforms itself to her wishes. It will come to her aid."

"I know that," Kagari snapped. "But there's a loophole, you said. An opportunity. Kill her during that window and she dies for real. You said that."

Starvale laughed bleakly. "Did I say that? I'm a fool. Thirty seconds goes by so fast."

"Thirty seconds is a lifetime. It'll be long enough."

The hum that had been gathering volume at the edge of their hearing ceased. The Awakening Portal, a ring of stone about a foot in width and six feet in diameter—and looking a bit like a Star Trek transporter, Kagari thought—disgorged Castle Caneworth's newest master after each six-month term. The Sibyl brain lucky enough to win the Recreation Lottery was quickly ensconced in their new home and, as the reigning Lord or Lady of Caneworth, could indulge in whatever pastime they desired. The term of Lord Waybrook had expired three days ago and he had departed for the Sibyl System proper to resume his judging duties. He'd been a decent sort—loud and obnoxious, in Kagari's opinion, but kind to the workers. Under his Authorship Caneworth had been a place of endless feasts, hunting and revelry.

Kagari should have known it wouldn't last.

He had only experienced three months of Lady Sawaki's Authorship, which had preceded Waybrook's, but that three months was enough to last a lifetime. But somehow she had won a second Lottery and would be back for another term.

She was beautiful and intelligent, but also bright and cruel, too. Her humor was of the sarcastic sort, but with an undercurrent of charisma that had towed Kagari along in her wake. For a fortnight he had believed himself to be in love. His feelings, she said, were reciprocated, and she elevated him to his present station as head of Caneworth's garrison. Their relationship had been tempestuous and unlike any he'd known—more like a tropical squall, really. It had come to a screeching halt when she ordered Kagari to kill an injured worker. He'd told her to fuck off.

She made him watch the execution. It was rather long and messy, but he remembered being proud for not throwing up. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction.

Evelyn Sawaki was one of the bad brains of the Sibyl System: defective, cruel, with an unmeasurable Crime Coefficient and a taste for killing. And in a few short minutes, she would appear in the Awakening Portal, an unwelcome vision, her brain once again linked to Caneworth and its residents. Come to think of it, she would be linked to Kagari too, and to Starvale and everybody else, for that was how Caneworth worked—a sort of ad hoc neural network from which was generated their imaginary world. But therein lay the opportunity.

For a few seconds, as ancient code was executed on the Sibyl computers that functioned as intercessors between brains, she would not have Authorship of the Dream. She would be like anyone else; a participant in the Dream, one among many.

An equal.

She would appear in the flesh, probably smiling, and perhaps she would even be glad to see him again.

And Kagari intended to smile right back—just before he killed her.

In the end, their fears proved to be unfounded. The killing was simple. Trivial, even. Lady Sawaki appeared in the Awakening Portal like a lovely vision in a period-accurate floral dress, her hair flowing down her back in gentle curls. Kagari went up to greet his liege and kissed the back of her hand. They shared a brief smile that hinted of greater things to come.

Then, returning her embrace, he drove a knife between her ribs. She died in his arms, an uncomprehending look on her face. She never saw it coming, which relieved him. He wasn't good at betrayal.

Afterward, his men tried to elect him Prime Minister of Caneworth—with some hazy idea, he supposed, of declaring independence from Sibyl and defending their new homeland with weapons scavenged from the castle armory. They didn't seem to understand, nor could Kagari figure out how to explain it adequately, that Caneworth was not a place in space and time that was defensible through physical means; that it was less terra firma than an idea held briefly in the minds of the Sibyl mainframes for what was, in computer terms, a span much shorter than the average eyeblink.

The body they cremated in the castle ovens. Kagari didn't know what that act accomplished, but it seemed to fit the general atmosphere of revolution. He didn't—or couldn't—watch. Instead, he and Starvale broke open the lock on Lord Waybrook's wine cellar, where they found an astonishing collection of booze. The two repaired to the library, where Starvale read old books and tried not to notice Kagari weeping softly in the corner.

Daily life at Caneworth went on much as it had before. Perhaps it was because the Sibyl System had chosen exactly the right man for each job, but work continued in the vineyards and the olive groves, and despite the lapse in governance there was little in the way of discord between Caneworth's residents. Kagari was left nominally in charge, but killing Lady Sawaki had left him in a state approaching catatonia, and Starvale handled most issues in his place. For a while it seemed as if Caneworth would indeed go on as a self-sustaining entity, ignoring the past and trying its best not to think about the future.

That delusion was shattered on a morning that dawned with fierce spring rains—a message in itself, for Caneworth's weather was always beautifully tranquil—and the unmistakeable shriek of an air raid siren. It roused Kagari from a nightmare-plagued sleep, and he rolled to his feet with an easy grace that ended with him grasping instinctively for a nonexistent Dominator under his pillow. His eyes opened wide, then awareness flooded in. He stumbled over to the large window overlooking the gardens, and what he saw made his mouth fall open in disbelief.

High above Caneworth, written in the clouds by a brush the size of a jumbo jet, hung the following message:

ATTENTION CANEWORTH LATENT CRIMINALS. VIOLENCE COMMITTED SHALL BE ANSWERED. A DIVINITY HAS FALLEN, AND THOSE RESPONSIBLE SHALL BE BROUGHT TO JUSTICE.

And below that, in smaller cloud-script:

A NEW MASTER OF CANEWORTH WILL ARRIVE IN SEVEN DAYS. PREPARE FOR HIS ARRIVAL AND PRAY THAT HE IS MERCIFUL.

With that, the dream of Caneworth ended—and the nightmare began.