Free Magnificat (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) by Julian May

cat food and table scraps. I had turned on the fire, programmed a John Coltrane album, and found some Rémy Martin to liven up the coffee. For quite a while we just sat. “There’s something I might as well confess to you, Rogi,” she said eventually. “I’m no metaconcert designer, but my best calculations show that my brothers and sister and I probably won’t be able to crank the watts to overcome a paramount Fury through coercive redaction—even if we do manage to work out the proper program.”
    “There’s Ti-Jean,” I pointed out, “and Dorothée, of course. Surely they’d be willing to join in the concert. Two paramount minds would give you the edge you need.”
    “I don’t think we have the right to ask them to risk their lives. They’re both so young.”
    “Balls! They’d jump at the chance. And what about Marc?”
    “I don’t trust him. He’s too self-centered. Too—” She shook her head. “He’s such an arrogant, calculating bastard. I guess I’m half afraid he’d side with Fury …”
    “Now
that’s
the most ridiculous thing I
ever
heard!”
    “I’m not joking, Rogi. I know Marc very well. Better than any other member of the Dynasty does. Even better than Paul, his father. Marc’s a monumental egotist with a deficient affect, and unless I miss my guess, one of these days he’s going to cause the Galactic Milieu a shitload of trouble. There’s no way I’d let him participate in the treatment of Denis.”
    “Well, you may have a point,” I conceded. “But you don’t really have to use Marc in the metaconcert. Just get him to lend you some of his E18 CE brain-buckets. Solve your mind-wattage problem in one swell foop.”
    Anne frowned, but understanding was gleaming in her eyes. “Are you suggesting that we use cerebroenergetic enhancement equipment in Papa’s healing metaconcert?”
    “Why the hell not? Jack and the rest of them used those gonzo hats in creativity mode to chill the diatreme on Callie. Curing Denis couldn’t be any more humongous than that little caper.”
    “Dorothea nearly died from a dysergistic flashover during the Caledonia operation,” Anne noted grimly, “and none of the Dynasty are experienced in the use of CE. I’ve always had my doubts about the safety of mechanical brain-boosting and so have Paul and Philip and Maurie. To say nothing of the majority of the exotic Magnates of the Concilium.”
    “Tout ça c’est des foutaises! The Dynasty can muzzle its precious principles until poor old Denis is back on line and Fury-free. You could learn to use the CE hats. Other grandmasterly operants have.”
    I could tell Anne was weakening. “I don’t think Marc has ever considered augmenting coercion or redaction through his CE designs. There’s been no practical application.”
    “Until now,” I said. “It could be your answer. With metaconcerted CE and help from Ti-Jean and Dorothée the Dynasty could either cure Denis, or—” I broke off, appalled at the direction in which my thoughts were heading.
    “Or we could execute him, as a last resort, using the flip side of the healing metafaculty, and be rid of Fury that way. The creature has already been summarily condemned to death by Paul, just as the Hydras were.”
    “But the good part of Denis’s mind is innocent!” I protested. “You can’t kill him!”
    “If there’s no other course open to us, we
can
.” She toyed with her coffee cup, rotating it in the saucer with one finger pushing the handle. Her face was devoid of expression. “Both moral theology and the laws of the Milieu would give us the right to execute Denisif the First Magnate deputized us. But with God’s help—and yours, Uncle Rogi!—it will never come to that. We’ll cure Denis at the same time that we exterminate Fury.”
    I didn’t say anything for a long time. Anne was bound and determined to go ahead with the redactive exorcism, and I was going to have to cooperate. But I was damned if I’d give her free