I remember. I’d been given memory. That’s a gift not to be taken for granted. Ari was never given memory. Manasseh was given forgetfulness.
The SongLuminants had built this station as our base of operations. They’d done it remarkably quickly – Cillian had taken weeks to plan the operation, and then suddenly the station was done. A matter of days. It meant that we had to act slightly before we expected. It meant that even now, the connection with Atlas was still being made.
One of the technical issues that Cillian had raised was the lack of nul-energy in Tucana, energy vital to our ability to function. The SongLuminants had dismissed the issue as simple to fix. Their simple solution was to drill a hole through the fabric of the universe.
The hole is deep. The taproot of Yggdrasil is enormous, much bigger than the ones anchoring Atlas and Goliath. It changed the proportions of the tree. All three trees are equal in mass and volume, but a greater proportion of Yggdrasil is underground – if you can call some 16,000 tons of soil transported to a space station “underground.” It is also quite different in that it has only seven sub-trunks, so tightly grown that from a distance they look like a massive unity. About 30 meters up, the branches veer apart from each other, spreading out in an equiangular fashion. Compared to the monstrous anarchy of Atlas or the elegant beauty of Goliath, Yggdrasil is stark and functional.
Stark and functional. There will be no dreamers, no Hurley O’Nialls here. There will be seven emanations with four-letter names declaring their purpose.
I touch the locket hanging around my neck. Tears come to my eyes because I remember.
*****
Tara had been surprised to see Dermot. She hadn’t seen him since her wedding night to Goliath, the night that Eden was incorporated into the Matriarchy. “I’m so glad to see you,” she said, touching his face. “Ash kept you away for such a long time because of what I said, didn’t he? But I’ve had a lot of time to think about it. The actions you took were out of your concern for my freedom of choice. I love you for that, for thinking of that.”
Tara pulled him down onto the bed. “Just promise me one thing,” she said. “You know I’m on your side. I want to become a worthy wife for Ash. So if there’s something going on, just tell me. Don’t ever lie to me again. I don’t ever want to be in the dark the way I was with Goliath.”
“We’re almost done with preparations for the colonization project,” Dermot said. “We were thinking that if you were to give us some token to pass on to the first emanation – if he had something of yours, it would help him enormously to adjust. He wouldn’t have the same issues that Ari and Manasseh experienced.”
“Of course,” said Tara. She took the locket from her neck. “I’ve always worn this, from the moment Daniel gave it to me. It’s the most precious symbol of our love that I have. I’ll want it back, of course…”
“It’s perfect,” said Dermot. “It will be a great comfort.”
Dermot was lying. The token was not intended for the first emanation of the colony tree in Draco. The token was meant for me.
At the time, Lorcan had mocked him. After this, he said, Tara will never want Dermot to emanate again. This is even better punishment for his crimes than hanging him from a rock and cutting out his liver.
*****
Of course Tara will never forgive this. Of course. Because even though the Great Dread is incapable of consuming the mothman, it is surely capable of consuming this tree, and all of its emanations.
Tara doesn’t know we exist. That’s because we’re disposable.
Dermot’s emanation was a covenant with Tara that no branch is expendable. In that case, Yggdrasil makes Dermot’s very existence into a lie.
But I understand the dilemma. The Great Dread is not a direct threat to the Cu’endhari, but if it is a threat to humanity, then it puts the Cu’enashti species in dire peril. Cu’enashti cannot survive without bonding to humans. Of greater import to me – it is a danger to Tara. Our priorities are clear. Tara’s safety comes before our own.
I flip open the locket. The picture there is only a reflection of what she is, but it’s enough to anchor my entire existence. Will I ever know her, touch her? Every part of my being aches to be with her, but she’s so far away. 15,000 light years away.
No, that’s not right. Yggdrasil’s roots are extending through a stable wormhole, taking a shortcut through another universe. In that sense, it’s only several kilometers to Atlas. The distance to Tara is really a metaphorical distance, a distance of life and death. To love her, I must survive. To survive, we must win.
The distance between myself and the other branches is a more concrete problem. It also hurts to think of that. There are thirty-nine of us now, but I’m alone. The roots are stretched thin between the trees, Atlas and Yggdrasil, firming the connection. A collateral bonus: the binding of Atlas and Yggdrasil is forcing root growth in Goliath, strengthening its bonds with Atlas also. Soon, we’ll be able to communicate.
I’m not entirely alone. For the first time I notice that the tree is planted in the center of a gigantic platform, and there are levels below it. On them, beings are scurrying back and forth, crustaceans covered with pink and green fur. I know what they are: Hreck, a species of sentient under the guardianship of the SongLuminants. In Lucius’ opinion, the Hreck are at the beck and call of their guardians, perpetually chasing the carrot of admission to the Combine. The problem is that the Hreck have no sense of humor, which disqualifies them from membership. Additionally, it prevents them from seeing that the joke is on them. Right now, the joke is that being here makes them likely to end up as a shrimp cocktail. The SongLuminants apparently have no problem throwing them under the antimatter emission stream.
I descend to the first level below Yggdrasil. It is a circular platform with a squared-off central hub. The hub is built around an axial chamber through which the taproot descends. A large monitor screen is positioned in the center of each wall of the hub. As I approach, they all flash cheerfully in unison. “Welcome,” they say. “We’re a team of Quicknode specialists put together for this mission.”
“I’m Quanta 82,” says one. “I’m a specialist in energy-matter conversions and particle exploitation.”
“I’m Eradicator 9,” says another. “I’m a specialist in military strategy. I’m afraid that I’m the youngest. The Quicknodes have never gone to war before.”
“I’m Taxonomist 106,” says the third. “I’m an expert in xenobiology.”
“Isn’t Thoughtful 45 here?”
The Quicknodes laugh, an odd, synthetic sound. “Why would we need a diplomat? We aren’t going to negotiate with the Great Dread.”
Of course. The Quicknodes are nothing if not logical, so it only makes sense that their naming conventions are entirely practical. Just like Yggdrasil’s.
The final Quicknode speaks. “I’m Archivist 1294. As you may have noticed, I’m very old. I keep the historical records for our civilization. We thought that a good way to begin would be to review the records of the conflict between the Great Dread, the SongLuminants, the Eer-gaaani, and the species which annoyingly refuses to identify itself.”
“Oh, we’ve taken to calling them the ELFF – Captain Noviik said they were empathic light flicker fairies, and the acronym stuck. It’s just easier to have a word to identify them.”
“ELFF,” says taxonomist. “An inspired choice. I will enter it into my database. The unwillingness of the ELFF to submit to classification strikes me as pretentious in the extreme. It is through proper classification that all things come to understand their place in the universe.”
“True. My own species has had a number of crises of classification, most recently my own. The question is whether to consider our personal trees as belonging to the species Pseudonau’gshtium somniare, or as a new species, Pseudonau’gshtium deus.”
“Prunus persica var. Mothman nectarine,” says Taxonomist. “If one strictly follows the Terran classification system. However, as a being, the Cu’endhari include a potential combination of three symbiotic species. The basic Cu’endhari entity consists of Cu’endharus nul-animus and the aforementioned peach tree. The two subspecies called the Cu’enashti and Cu’enmerengi also include a third component, Homo versatio.”
“This is fascinating,” says Eradicator, in a tone indicating the opposite. “But can we get down to business?”
I can’t agree more. The longer we are here, the longer we are away from Tara. And the fact that I am alone means that she is also alone – and unprotected.
*****
After several hours of reviewing the historical records, I need a break. My memory is perfectly capable of absorbing the data from Archivist as fast as she can provide it, but I want the time to reflect.
She. How odd that the Quicknodes are gendered, considering that their creators, the StoneStolids, aren’t. Archivist explained that since they were created as communications interfaces, it was considered expedient to create them in the modes of the four most common genders known to the Combine. Thoughtful 45 is male, as is Quanta 82. Archivist is female. Taxonomist is bley, and Eradicator is forhem. As it was explained to me, some species need three genetic contributors – bley is the third. And some species use a forhem, a gestation carrier who does not contribute genetic material. It would be wrong to say that the forhem is ungendered because fmee usually functions as an erotic facilitator. Fmee is the proper pronoun, as ble is for a bley.
It makes me wonder about myself. The human emanations are always male, in response to Tara’s preference. The nau’gsh – like many trees – is hermaphroditic, possessing both male and female reproductive organs in its flowers. The irony is that the flowers’ pollen-receptive female parts only become active when the male emanation of the corresponding branch is sexually aroused. As for the mothman – perhaps mothman is a misnomer. He doesn’t seem capable of mating at all.
The third level has a bathroom – provided especially for me. The Hreck use a rather different facility which involves some kind of vacuum-bidet to keep the fur clean. Outside the entry, their function is communicated through standard pictograms – a stick figure humanoid and a silhouette of a crustacean. On the wall opposite the bathrooms there is what seems to be an enormous wardrobe, mostly filled with small spacesuits formed to fit the Hreck body. Chances are, the suits were left over from constructing the station. Nothing has been provided for me. Well, alchemy could improvise if I need to go outside.
I look in the mirror, seeing myself for the first time. How strange. It’s in that first moment of self-recognition that an emanation knows his name, but I had already chosen my own. Or had I? It was the classic question posed of an omniscient deity. If Self knew in advance the name I would choose, could it really be considered a free choice?
Self.
Not “the Mover,” which seems to me a particularly bad misnomer. The term locates agency for our actions outside of Self instead of expressing that our motivations come from our deepest and truest nature. “I and I” is better, but inadequate. It posits a Self which consists of a mothman and a tree. We understand now that a single tree in incorrect, but thinking of the mothman as the sole controlling entity isn’t exactly right either.
Self consists – at this time – of the mothman, three trees, and thirty-nine personae capable of emanating into a human body. Self exists in what the Atlas emanations had called the pleroma, but again, that term referred to something which exists apart from one’s self. I am the pleroma; Self is me.
I examine my reflection. My hair is pale blonde, cut short except for the top, which is spiked. Of course, my eyes are Cu’enashti blue. I am wearing a cargo-style jacket, a t-shirt and jeans with roomy leather boots. The fabric is a synthetic, and although it appears at first glance to be black, it interacts with the energy in the environment to produce a faint reddish glow, similar to dying embers. The jacket has fine fibers of the glowing material twisted in with others of plain black in a denim-weave, so it appears that the highlights in the jacket are reddish. The trousers subtly pulse with a pattern of paisley flowers.
I know the style: ZG rave. The ZG (zero-g) ravers were a movement in the Fomalhaut Corridor around the 32nd Century. They moved from asteroid to asteroid, setting up impromptu festivals featuring loud music and excessive use of contraband. I understand why Self had chosen this pattern for my existence. The ravers espoused the ideals of innovation, individuality, and achieving a balance between organic and mechanized society.
This is the first time an emanation has ever worn clothing that did not reference the culture of Earth – or of the Domha’vei, which was entirely derivative of a somewhat distorted and romanticized version of Earth. And it is a conscious choice. To accomplish the task at hand – and beyond – we have to stop looking to Earth as our model.
The planning for Yggdrasil was much better than Goliath. Much better because Self was not divided, but rather in harmony concerning the necessity of our actions. Self knows that despite the cost, Tara must be protected, even if that means deceiving her. I clutch the locket.
I will do what I was created to do. But I don’t want to be expendable. I want to see and touch her, to give her locket back to her personally. I can only hope that she will not resent me as much as she is sure to resent Dermot.