Time for another letter to somebody. Who? I don’t even know who I’m writing to anymore. I feel like I’m picking fallen leaves from the ground and pasting them back on the tree.
So Thomas had a point. When I slept with Manasseh, I honestly didn’t know there was a problem. Well, I did, but I thought it was the same kind of problem we had with Chase. There was no reason to suspect he wasn’t an Atlas emanation. But now I’ve slept with Valentin and Ari without thinking it through. Maybe Clive isn’t entirely wrong when he says I’m a slut. But I did have my reasons. The reasons were good, but they came with feelings, and I’ve never been good at feelings. Actually, I’m really good at one feeling – being angry. I’m so sorry, Ari.
And I should know better. After what I did to Aran – no, after what I did to Patrick, all those years ago. A human man would have a hard time dealing with my outbursts, but you’re not human. You seem so strong on the outside, so I forget what my disapproval does to you. I promise to be more careful. Wooden hearts are remarkably easy to break.
Ash, when you make these emanations, you know what you’re doing. Manasseh and Valentin, I could really fall for either of them. But if the circumstances had been different, there’s no way I would’ve slept with Manasseh right away. He’s the kind of man who should court me with long walks down the beach holding hands. Like Daniel did. Now Valentin is different; I could have a mad fling with Valentin.
Ari is in a class of his own. A part of me wanted nothing more than to stay on Dalgherdia with Ari, to just wallow in my infatuation. But the longer I stayed, the worse it would get. I’m not stupid. As intensely as I feel for Ari now – if I had to choose – don’t make me choose Ash – of course I’d choose Atlas. Staying longer would make it harder for me to let him go, and less likely for him to let me go. And then I’d end up hating him. That’s really why I left. It was better to deal with the pain of loving someone I couldn’t have than allowing that love to sour into hatred.
I’m starting to hate you, Ash. How could you do this to me? How could you do this to them?
Don’t blame it on Davy. We all know that he wouldn’t have been able to do anything if you didn’t allow – no, encourage it. What the fuck were you thinking? Maybe you did screw up this time – but then again, shouldn’t you have anticipated what would happen when you let Davy create the K’ntasari? And I’m not even talking about the fact that we’ve been dragged into a war with the most powerful government in the galaxy. I’m not going to entertain the possibility that Clive was right about your motivations. I’m not even talking about the unbelievable hubris that it took to create sentient life.
Do you understand what hubris is? Do you have a god, Ash? Did you ever wonder what created you? Or maybe the kind of ineffable god that humanity’s great religions imagine is all a kind of philosophical speculation. Maybe gods really are beings like you. Maybe humankind was created by some kind of berserk demiurge in the original Eden.
Ari. It means “lion.” But Ariel was the original name for the demiurge before he became the mad god Ialdabaoth. The names of the emanations always have meaning. What the hell are you on about?
You know what? I don’t care. Fix it.
*****
After what had happened, there was no way I’d forget my promise to Ari. We landed close to Goliath, the weight of the Victorious Tara making a deep depression in the blue-green grasses. A crop circle – well, more like a distorted rectangle. I’ve sometimes thought it might be fun to land at random places on Pegasus IX to see if the Bounders would develop a conspiracy theory. Fifty-five years old, and I still have the mentality of a juvenile delinquent. If I weren’t Matriarch, I’d probably get up to all sorts of trouble.
The first thing we did was lay the inanimate K’ntasari a distance to the east of Goliath. Clive’s prediction was accurate: the minute they touched the ground, they transformed, growing roots. They formed a grove in the field near Goliath, providing a kind of perspective. From a distance, they look like tiny flowers near the giant tree. I wonder how long it will take before they’ve absorbed enough nul-energy to become humanoid again?
During the procedure, Thomas was strangely quiet. Perhaps he just seemed quiet because I expected him to behave like Tommy. Despite what he said about Davy’s intent, he’s not an exact copy. Even in clones, there are variations due to the gestation environment, sometimes even spontaneous mutations. But I have a hard time believing that he, like all of this, isn’t exactly what you planned, Ash.
When we reached the tree, three branches were laden with fruit. Of course. It was easy to tell Ari’s branch from Valentin’s and Manasseh’s. I took fruit from all three. It shouldn’t matter which one I ate; the symbolic gesture applied to the entire tree. I was certain that Tommy was right, however; Ari would be another jealous one, like Ailann. Interesting, since neither Whirljack nor Suibhne were jealous at all. Another variation.
Thomas advanced towards Goliath, placing his palm against the rough, warm bark. “Tara,” he said. “Something is happening.” And then the mothman unfolded.
And folded again into a new man standing in Thomas’ place, facing Goliath. He knelt, retrieving something from the base of the trunk – a mirror. His movements were fluid and dignified. He turned slowly towards me. He was dressed in a dark formal suit with a square, short-brimmed cap and silk scarf replacing the tie – a pastiche of ancient Earth fashions that was popular amongst the Skarsian aristos some three-hundred years ago. He looked a lot like Davy, but with darker hair – and the playfulness was gone. He was still the type of man who seems eternally childlike, but his was the gravity of a serious boy. Davy’s handsomeness sparkled like moving water, but this man had the beauty of a still, dark lake.
He bowed stiffly, doffing his cap. “I am Malachi. An apt name, since I am the messenger of the gods. That is, I am half-Davy, half-Dermot. But also, the Mover has sent me with an answer. I shall need but a moment. Then I shall explain myself.”
He stooped to touch a spot where one of the massive trunks met the soil. When he removed his hand, there was a single mushroom. It resembled a fairy-cap, a white trunk, white specks flecking the cap, but the color was a rich blue-green instead of red. And then the field exploded with mushrooms, covering the roots, reaching out into the tundra where the roots extended.
“I have somewhat of Davy’s talent for creation,” he said. “Somewhat. Davy’s creations are perfect because they are a product of perfect inspiration, intuited from the Mover himself. My creations are limited. Unlike Davy, I am articulate – and therefore, can create only what I can fully explain. Alas, I could never realize something as poetic as a flower.”
“You’re saying…that the fact that Davy can’t explain himself is why he’s so powerful?”
“Exactly. I can only create when I can define the specifications – I could’ve made the javamelon, but not the firebird. Fortunately, the desired parameters for these were clear.”
“Mushrooms. Cillian will be upset. He thinks mushrooms are disgusting.”
“Then Cillian can – what is it he says? Suck my mulch. We need these.”
“For what?”
He stooped, plucking a mushroom from the base of the tree, and then holding it to the light, as if inspecting his workmanship. “Tara, surely you know the function of ectomycorrhizae? They form a protective root covering and also assist with the absorption of nutrients – the fine ectomycorrhizal fibers can reach where the larger rootlets can’t and provide more surface area for nutrient absorption. The tree provides carbohydrates, and the fungus, in return, provides access to minerals, especially phosphates.”
“Yes, but Nau’gsh don’t need mycorrhizae. They use alchemy instead.”
“In this universe, they do.”
Suddenly, I got the point. “You’re out of your tree. You’re going to try Jamey’s experiment again, aren’t you? There’s no way I’ll let him go through that again.”
“Jamey won’t have to endure anything, I assure you. I will. Well, I will, and then Davy. Which is only fair, considering that Davy and Dermot were the ones responsible for this situation – at least on the surface.”
“Wait – how did Dermot get involved?”
“Davy consulted him in the creation of Goliath. Much of the trouble we have been experiencing is a result of a certain insight of Dermot’s. That is, if you can attribute agency to us. Davy’s inspiration has a source.”
“Ultimately, this was all part of Ash’s plan. So what is that plan, O messenger of God?”
Malachi shrugged. “Beats me,” he said. “Try asking Dermot.”
“That’s just dandy,” I said. “I do realize that we’ve only just met, but I don’t particularly want you to go through what happened to Jamey either.”
“Don’t worry about that. If this works, there shouldn’t be any pain growing through the other universe at all. What will happen, however, is that I’ll have an initial reaction to the mycorrhizae. It will be similar to a human immune response. The tree will try to reject them as invasive bodies. If I’ve designed them correctly, Goliath will adjust.”
“And if not?”
“We may need an antifungal.”
“I’ll get Sir Kaman on it.”
“Well, we won’t try the mushrooms on Atlas until we’ve assured that they’ll work on Goliath.”
“How long before we know?”
“A few days – perhaps a week.”
That posed a problem. “Clive won’t be happy about that. We’re on our way to a war, you know.”
“Far be it from me to delay you. I’d assumed that we’d be departing immediately. You’ll need Ailann soon.”
“But what if it goes wrong? I won’t risk you.”
“A few mushrooms aren’t going to kill Goliath. And once Atlas takes over, Goliath’s illness will be a non-issue in terms of our functioning. Tara,” he stepped forward, taking my hand. “We have to take this risk. From a personal stance, and a political one, the Mover needs to be whole again.”