I fell asleep?
Sleep is good, says Chase. Sometimes it’s nice to be able to just shut down and drift.
I’d be terrified, says Tommy. I still hate it when we hook up a new tree.
It’s not like that, says Chase. We black out when our roots aren’t connected with the tree I and I is using to emanate. It’s like we don’t exist. But when I’m sleeping, I’m still here. There’s a presence. A dream self.
It was exactly like when Chase sleeps, says Tarlach. We were aware. We just couldn’t reach you.
But while you were sleeping, we couldn’t interact with Tara, says Cillian.
It’s not as bad as it seems, says Tarlach. Generally, if there’s a threat, you’ll awake.
My ass, says Cillian. There’s a human phrase – caught sleeping. You’ll wake up, but it might be too late to react. Which brings me to the subject – when are we going to get back on track with the colonial project?
I’m not sure we should proceed with the colony, says Dermot. I’m not sure it’s the right time to grow another tree.
Maybe you missed the meeting, says Lorcan, but Suibhne just did.
If we don’t go ahead with the colony, we’ll have real problems, says Mickey. People will start to think we’re either delaying because there are some hidden issues we haven’t disclosed, or that we can’t do what we promised.
Maybe you missed the meeting, says Lorcan, but there are some hidden issues we haven’t disclosed.
There’s a gentle knock at the door. It’s Tara. “Are you awake? I told Lord Danak we’d meet him for dinner. He probably wants a status update on the colony.”
She sits on a chair near the bed. She’s downing a vodka and redberri, and she’s already a little tipsy. “Come on, sleepy-head.” She jostles me gently. I’m awake, but it’s so difficult to move. I haven’t felt so terrible since Goliath grew the mycorrhizae.
She puts her hand on my forehead. “You’re burning up,” she says. “But emanations never get sick. Are you doing something weird with mushrooms again?”
I shake my head. She helps me onto the couch and sits next to me. Her soft hands brush the hair from my eyes. My emotions are too big, too powerful, to be contained by my body. My head is throbbing, and I feel like I want to break out of my skin, but it’s an entirely different sensation than when I and I wants to swap emanations. Maybe I am ill. I don’t know how that could be, but I don’t know how I fell asleep, either.
I close my eyes. I can see Jamey signing something to me. It takes a moment before I understand his words. “Root bound,” I gasp.
“What?” Tara asks. Then she stands abruptly. “You mean that sprout?”
Wait, says Dermot. How can Davy be affected by what the sprout is feeling? Both Goliath and Yggdrasil were unable to communicate until the root systems linked up.
The sprout is part of Atlas, says Hurley. It’s from the same root. It dreams the same dreams.
I stand and stumble into the outer foyer. The sprout has grown into a sapling. It’s easy to see that it’s too large for its container.
Tara understands. “Where should I replant it? One of the gardens?”
But no, that’s not it.
“Not replant, repot,” I tell her. “I’ll make the pot and the soil. Just get clippers.”
Tara runs out of the room and down to the conservatory. I dislodge the sapling. As I expected, the root ball is thick, almost solid, with roots spiraling around where they met the edge of the pot. The distinctive nau’gsh taproot is split into branches extending in each direction where a crystal was positioned.
I feel a little better now that the tree is sitting on the floor, but I can sense those taproots aching for nul-energy. Tara returns with a box full of gardening tools. She sees the problem, expertly trimming the roots back into a neat and healthy root ball. In the meantime, I expand the pot, which proves to be quite easy since I can use the inlaid crystals to draw from the power grid.
Tara pours in the fresh soil and positions the tree. But we’re not quite done yet. I reach in and alter the soil composition radically, changing the rich topsoil and loam into tiny pebbles and chunks of rough, fired clay.
She pokes at the soil with her finger. “Why did you do this?” she asks. “It will grow faster with a richer mix…”
I reach into the tool kit and grab a small pair of hedge clippers.
“No!” Tara yells. She’s an expert botanist; she reads the clues and understands what I mean to do. Then everybody screams as I snap off all but the bottom half-meter of the tree. The towering sapling falls, leaves and branches askew, like a corpse onto the floor. What’s left is a gaping stump as wide as the coil of my fist, and one lonely, low branch.
That was awesome, says Suibhne. I wish I could have done that.
I almost came, says Lorcan. Let me love you.
“This was always Ash’s intent,” says Tara. “This is a penjing pot. You’re trying to miniaturize the tree. But for fuck’s sake, why?”
I shrug.
Tara looks helplessly around at the huge pile of root mass and foliage spread out on the expensive antique rug. “We’d better burn all this,” she says. “And what kind of emanations can I expect – Lilliputians?”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say crossly. “Emanations come from nul-energy, and there’s plenty in that pot.”
“The poor thing. You hacked off everything but the lowest branch.”
“It hasn’t emanated yet. It’s not like I destroyed anyone’s memories.”
My head is still throbbing, and if it isn’t bad enough, there’s a sudden scream from the doorway. Tara spins around to where Lady Lorma is standing, her face drawn and bloodless. “In all the years, you’ve learned nothing, missy!” she hisses. “Look at this mess!”