« We need to know what direction to head in, » says Tara. « You can’t sense the runaways at all? »
I can tell from her tone that Tara’s really pissed off. Can’t say that I blame her. But why is it that I always face her anger? I think we deserve a romantic ski holiday together. « We can use the holoprojector in the temple to see invaders, but it’s accurate to only within the equivalent of one kilometer – Mickey would say that’s ridiculously bad, but who the hell knows if measurement in the pleroma is objectively accurate anyway? The best that we can do is note that the original eight have been moving through the State of Grace. There’s one on the outskirts of Rustbucket. There’s another one in uncharted areas northeast of the State of Grace, and two who look like they’re in the mountains north of Ouroboros. »
« That helps, but you’d think that Ash would have a better way of monitoring his own mind, » says Tara. « I mean, maybe not – I’d need a medical scan to know whether I had a brain tumor, but…you know, the way things work around here…the pleroma provides. I’ve got an idea. Julian, come here. »
He’s there instantly, looking like all the stars in the galaxy have been swept up into a cherry-blossom wind. I’d have that expression, too, if I thought that she wanted me by her side. A box appears in her hand marked “21.” She hands it to him, and he stares at it, like it’s taking him a minute to figure out that he’s supposed to open it.
Like Roan, his box contains an object, a metallic thing that I can’t immediately identify. But before I can search branch memory, he says, « A tuning fork! Now there’s something I can use! » There’s a mallet with it, and he taps it lightly. Then the moth flies out of the box and into his mouth. The look on his face is priceless – I’m surprised that nobody has put together a holo album of moth-swallowing moments. He taps the fork again; I can see him shivering, gooseflesh rising on the skin of his arms. « Now I understand what’s happening. It’s my spark, my own energy set to vibrating in sympathy with the tuning fork. More, I can feel manifestations of the other sparks, the perfect harmonics of the ones in the mandala, the wavering pitch of the unrecognized emanations, and two points of complete dissonance. Templeton is the one in the State of Decay, but judging from the rate of movement, he’s on a train, probably the one that goes through Rustbucket following the coast to the State of Emergency. The one heading northeast is Lennox; Bastien and Diego are making their way directly north through the State of Enlightenment. I’m also noting a few other points of interest. Vassali is in the north of the State of Matter, and he slipped slightly out of alignment again. And one of the remaining sparks is here in New Merenis. I’m guessing that it followed the group back from Moss Harbor. »
« Then we’ve got to go after Templeton, » I decide. « What the hell is he thinking? The State of Emergency is dangerous. »
Tara disagrees. « The most efficient thing will be to follow the airship. Templeton knows the score, and those boys don’t. And I’m pretty sure that he can take care of himself. »
I try to hide my relief. That means we’re going after Dominic and Alexander. That means I’ll get to see them again, and also for the first time.
Tara is pointing at a train map. « There’s an express train to a city called Noir on the border between the State of Emergency and the State of Play. It would probably distance the train Templeton is on, and Noir is between him and the airship. If X’khaim is right, they’ll all feel compelled to move towards it. »
It sounds like a good plan; conveniently, the Noir Express is leaving in just a few minutes. But I can’t help but wonder, « Why does Vassali keep drifting out of synch? »
« It’s probably because he’s a virgin, » Tara replies. « In the long run, that becomes more and more of a problem. »
Yeah, and she’s sizing up Julian, too. She’s been complaining about the expansion of her harem, but would the Mover really make all these guys if she didn’t want them? « Well, we’ve got a few hours to kill, » I say with a smile.
It was a very exciting ride for more people than Julian. There was one quest completion announcement after another, and every time, there was a mad scramble in the chatburls to check out the new guy.
“Granville of Seachange, Honorary Grand Commander of the Skarsian Sisterhood of the Vine. 86th to emanate, 34 in the color scale, resonates to 139. 1.778 meters tall, cock size 17.43 cm when erect, apparent age 32. Vintner. Totem is Plinia cauliflora, the jabuticaba or Brazilian grape tree, fixed star is Alaraph, the grape-gatherer. Esoteric symbol is the geomantic glyph Populus, the people. Dessert is nau’gsh baba with nau’gsh wine zabaglione. Function is facilitative release, proto-conscious tendency is intoxication, designated Wine. Blazon is Floatfish, a nightingale below a grapevine, argent.”
That was #38, “Make an alchemical potion, says Seth. When I found out that Granville was a vintner, it was only logical to show him how to distill Aqua Vitae.
“Beauregard of Seachange, Rex Mineralibus. 87th to emanate, 53 in the color scale, resonates to 241. 1.678 meters tall, cock size 16.79 cm when erect, apparent age 23. Trans-universal geologist. Totem is Plumeria alba, white frangipani, fixed star is T’Rasinn Holar, flowering begins. Esoteric symbol is the Etruscan letter 
. Dessert is chocumber and dirt ice cream tacos with nau’gsh salsa. Function is visionary release, proto-conscious tendency is earthiness, designated Ground. Blazon is sable, within a bordure quarterly chlorophyll and argent, a crystal schematic drawing, argent.”
Thomas guides me to a place in Ethan’s branch memory. Ethan is sitting in a café with Beauregard, who is wearing a beat-up old fedora, one of those travel vests with the infinite pockets, and torn old jeans. He looks like some hippie kid ready to take on the footpaths of the Great Xolon Forest.
Beauregard is pointing to a faintly glowing orb on the table. « That stone, » he says.
Ethan hands it to him. « Marius gave this to me. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’m a materials expert. I’m wondering if it’s some new form of Skarsium. The Lodehole Mines are full of it, so maybe the caves are, too. »
Beauregard shakes his head. « It’s not Skarsium, » he says. « In fact…this is an organic concretion. More like amber or maybe the aragonite shell of an oyster. »
« Organic? » says Ethan. « Are you sure? »
Beauregard, frowns, staring at it intently. « It’s an egg, » he proclaims. « Look. It’s starting to hatch. »
Beauregard removes a cup of javajuice from a saucer and sets the egg on it. It begins to tremble erratically, and a crack forms along one of the crystalline edges. A beak emerges from the crack, trying to force its way out. Beauregard picks up a teaspoon, and thwacks the crystal on the side, extending the crack in the mineral surface. « Here you go little fellow…um, big fellow…um… »
« Enormous fellow, » says Ethan. In fact, it grows before their eyes until it’s the size of a fully grown bloobird. It has feathers, though, not scales, which means it’s not an avion; it’s a real bird.
« It’s not a rock…it’s a roc! » says Beauregard.
Fuck me with a ski pole, I was carrying around the rogue spark the whole time? That’s embarrassing. « There’s a quest achievement for hatching a roc, » I explain to Tara.
« So that’s three of the stowaway sparks, » Tara replies. « But how strange is it that all of them manifested as folkloric animals? A dragon, Nightingale the Robber, and now a roc. »
“Isaac del Eden’d, Siderian Imperial Master of Honey. 79th to emanate, 26 in the color scale, resonates to 101. 1.753 meters tall, cock size 16.26 cm when erect, apparent age 28. Beekeeper and aircraft maintenance specialist. Totem is Ravenala madagascariensis, the traveler’s palm, fixed star is Feather. Esoteric symbol is the geomantic glyph Laetitia, joy. Dessert is Dolparessan honeycomb and chocumber beehive cookies. Function is adjudicative empowerment, proto-conscious tendency is joy, designated Laughter. Blazon is orange-yellow honeycombed sable, a bee, argent.”
Beekeeper and aircraft maintenance specialist, says Tarlach. He’s perfectly qualified to tend to the fokkerflies.
Yeah, that isn’t exactly a standard combination. Then again, Julian is an experimental luthier. Not exactly what I’d call a practical career, yet…it was practical. He made the spark-whistle. He can use that weird tuning fork. Hell, I’m a ski instructor. I’m one to talk. Maybe we should give the Mover more credit for knowing what He’s doing.
Look! screams Isaac. Look! Look! He hasn’t yet realized that he’s shouting to the entire pleroma. His branch memory is like an amusement park ride: colors are brighter, everything in motion. I feel a bit light-headed.
It’s like he’s breathing nitrous oxide, says Chase. Constantly.
He’s gazing at the ocean surrounding him in three directions, stretching east to the end of the world. On the shoreline are rattlesnakes, lovely rattlesnakes in a rainbow of iridescent colors, writhing madly towards a steep jetty extending out into the green waters. They fling themselves over the precipice and into the salty depths, where they shed their skins and transform into gallivanting sea-serpents.
It’s achievement #87, says Wynne. “Witness the ironrattle migration frenzy.”
There’s somebody with him. I don’t know him, but Isaac recognizes him as Prem. He is pointing towards the water at the playful beasts, a smile spreading across his face. « Amazing, » he murmurs. « The world is such a beautiful place. »
Isaac flings his arms around him. « I understand everything now. I can’t even explain. But wait until it happens to you. You’ll be so happy. We’ll all be so happy. There’s so many of us, and we’re so connected, and I really can’t explain Tara’s Destiny, but we’re all chosen to do the best thing in the universe together. »
Prem takes a deep breath. « I think watching those snakes disturbed your mental functioning. »
« Isaac is on the dirigible, » says Tara. « Maybe he can convince the others to return to New Merenis. »
« Maybe, maybe not. I don’t think they take him seriously. I can see why. » Isaac’s giggles are reverberating through the pleroma, making it hard to hear anything else. Tarlach is trying desperately to teach him how to get his chatburls under control.
Isaac – not a master of focus under the best of circumstances – is having a hard time simultaneously talking to us and explaining what has happened to his companions. Like Prem, they question his sanity, and they’re low on supplies. In the end, they decide to head up the coast towards the nearest sign of civilization. At least we have a means of knowing what’s going on with them, of knowing that they’re safe. I try to get a glimpse of Alexander and Dominic, but the train is pulling up to Noir station.
« If X’khaim is right, their impulse should be to come to me, » says Tara. « Maybe that’s why they won’t go home. Maybe we should stay in one place for a while, see what happens. »
We disembark and survey our surroundings. Half-lit neon signs sputter in the perpetual twilight. True to the idiom, it’s raining.
« Looks exciting, » I mutter. « I hope we don’t get mugged. »
Julian points down the street at a marquee. « How about a movid? I’ve never seen one before, and they’re playing one that won the Laurel Throne at the Pretentious Film Festival. »
Tara laughs. « Pretentious Film Festival – that sounds about right. One thing about the pleroma is that the naming conventions don’t beat around the bush: State of Decay, State of Emergency, no bullshit false advertising like Greenland or Paradise VI. »
I think it’s a waste of time, but…isn’t it a human custom to use the darkened surroundings as an environment for ritualistic courtship activities?
We aren’t more than ten minutes into the make-out session – um, critically acclaimed masterwork – when Julian interrupts. « To be honest, this is a bit disappointing. Flat. Well, it is holographic, but still, flat. Lacking the molecular composition of everything. Cord’s wholo is so much better. You know, maybe Cord should enter that film festival. »
Unfortunately, that observation gets Tara’s attention. « That sounds exactly like Ash’s logic, meaning that’s exactly what Cord should do. Let’s keep that idea in mind. » But something catches Tara’s attention, and she leans forward in her seat. « I knew this story seemed familiar. It’s an adaptation of one of Patrick’s fanfics about Whirljack. The two brothers are secret agents instead of rock stars, but the major plot points are all the same. »
« Don’t tell me you actually want to watch this. » Yeah, I’m bitter.
« I’ll get some popcorn, » says Julian hastily.
While he’s gone, the heroes are captured and bound. Then they’re brought to the lair of the super-villain, a beautiful woman with spangly fingernails and a mane of ice-white hair. “They call this a honey-trap,” she says in a mellifluous voice.
« This wasn’t in the original story, » says Tara. « Although it does provide an opportunity for some gratuitous hurt-comfort. But she reminds me of someone. Doesn’t she remind you of someone? »
« All that glitter? Maybe the ELFF. » Tara breaks into a fit of giggles. It was a cheap shot, but I knew it would score points. For a reason I don’t understand, Tara dislikes the ELFF. Of all the advanced sentients we know, ELFFs seem the most harmless, which make them all right by me. Maybe Tara is just jealous of the ELFF’s profound beauty. Time for some reassurance. « Look, the plot has completely jumped the dobergator. There’s no way that Whirljack or Blackjack – or any of us, for that matter – would be deceived by beauty alone. Cu’enashti pride themselves on knowing what’s beneath the surface. »
Julius slips back into his seat, handing me a container of popcorn and a cola as we watch the villain release an horrific dog-thing on the captive heroes. « This has turned into a ripoff of The Hound of the Baskervilles, » says Tara. « It’s kind of disturbing, though. Not so much the plot as the atmosphere – there’s a feeling of lurking menace. »
It seems that Julian agrees – his hands are over his eyes, and he’s shaking. No, this isn’t about a sensitivity to cinematography – he’s thinking about the tigron coming from out of nowhere, raking its claws across his flesh. « If this is bothering you, maybe we should go, » I suggest, placing my hand on his shoulder.
He shakes his head. « I’m not going to be much good to anybody if I let myself be triggered by past traumas. I have to see how the story plays out. »
I can feel a tiny chatburl poking in my branch. It’s Manasseh. He’s sharing the infamous dobergator incident with Julian. The damn thing bit off his finger. It hurt like hell and it was messy, but he fixed it with alchemy in a matter of minutes.
There are plenty of things in the universe to fear, says Patrick, but pain and damage to your human body isn’t one of them.
« What should I be afraid of? » asks Julian.
Being cut off from your fellows, like in a nul-box, says Briscoe.
The Staff of the Matriarch being stolen, says Blackjack.
Getting Tara upset with you, says Ari.
Damage to the trees, says Lugh.
The heat death of the universe, says Cüinn.
Really, when the ordeal comes, it will be much worse than you could possibly imagine, says Lorcan.
« I’m sorry I asked, » says Julian.
The film ends happily, but Tara was right – it was disturbing, and leaves me with a bleak mood that I can’t shake. Or maybe it’s just part of the local idiom. When we emerge, it’s still raining, and a chill settles into my bones.
A siren wails in the distance, gets closer. A car screeches to a stop nearby. It’s black and white; a pair of penguins jump out. Symbolic, I guess.
That’s a police car, says Mickey.
1951 Ford equipped with the more powerful Mercury engine, says Nash.
Before we know what is happening, the penguins grab Tara, push her into the car and drive away. I’m bellowing at the top of his lungs, chasing the car down the street, but I’m not fast enough to catch it.
You see? says Lorcan.