A setup. A total setup. A stupid game to fuck with our heads. And now that Templeton has been proclaimed Archon, the attacks have stopped.
What a sight we must be: Jesse sick and hallucinating, Mickey gripping his rifle so hard his hands are white – even though both he and I know he could never kill anything. Chase won’t even touch a gun – he out and out refuses. And there’s no way I’m letting Bastien have a firearm – who knows when he could twig out again?
Fortunately, I’ve got the droidfucking P-994 particle-rocket combo. I could probably take out the whole building.
I’m furious. I’m fucking blind with anger. Still, I’m dogged by the feeling that there’s something very wrong, that the Big Guy is panicking. The little hurt-comfort scene with Theo and Julian, that’s the kind of thing we would do to ourselves. The penguins too – the pleroma is like a collaboration between Jonathan Swift, Salvador Dali and a slash fanfic writer. But that bloodbath was a scene out of a late 20th century graphic novel. I understand this in my bones, as a soldier and a literary critic: the pleroma has only contempt for cheap character death.
Bastien creeps over to me. His face is flushed, his eyes, reddened by tears, are still wide and shining. « Admiral, just in case something happens, there’s something you should know… »
« Nothing is going to happen to you. You’re one of us now. Just protect Jesse. »
« I think I love you. »
Great. Oh, great. Totally blindsided by the one fucking thing I don’t know how to fight. « This is, um, sudden… » But back in the day, my decision to synchronize with Ailann took…well, I don’t know how long it took. I’m not a timekeeper. It was pretty rash, nonetheless. That’s the way Cu’enashti are.
What’s Callum gonna think? Fuck that, Callum will just have to suck it up, like when I was with Tommy. But the real question is what’s Ailann gonna think? Bastien doesn’t look like Ailann’s type, either.
Bastien is waiting for a response, but we’re interrupted by a load moan from Jesse. « The demon hound…a monstrous reflection…beauty is the ultimate weapon… » The kid is completely delirious.
« Maybe we should get him back to New Merenis, » says Chase.
« And go through this pit of decomposing compost one more time? We’re getting the job done. Which reminds me – Bastien, where’s Diego? »
« In the garden. We had a plan… »
We’re interrupted by Jesse is flailing and pointing and grunting. I think he’s having an especially bad hallucination until I notice the purple glow. It’s a magick circle, materializing Seth, Stavros and some goth poser dressed all in black and carrying a felinoid skull with enormous incisors. That must be Merrick, the demon. « What’s the skull for, kid? » I ask.
Merrick shrugs. « It’s my thing, » he says.
Right, another freakin’ weirdo.
« This magickal parchment has the potential to break the enchantment, » says Seth. « If only we knew the sigil which would fascinate the unicorn. »
« Sudoku, » moans Jesse.
What?
« Just trust me, » he says, wild eyed. « I know how to keep the tourists entertained. »
« Let me get this straight. You want to take a kinky ketchup sex magick parchment and put a Sudoku puzzle on it? For some reason, I’m not gonna bet the fertilizer factory. »
« We’re locked in dire struggle with a pink unicorn, » Seth replies. « Absurd problems require absurd solutions. »
« It’s all fun and games until one of your friends is felled with a broadsword, » I mutter.
« Look, it isn’t the stupidest solution I’ve ever heard, » says Mickey. « Do you have a better idea? »
« What is the stupidest solution you’ve ever heard? » asks Alexander.
« Out of a panoply of excellent choices, perhaps an alchemical urine attack while possessing Clive Rivers’ body, » says Mickey.
« Excuse me, sir, » says Bastien. « That was our plan. Diego creates puzzles. We were thinking we could get in good with the Unicorn King, and he’d give us safe passage out of here. »
Yeah, right, sure, of course. Seth proffers the enchanted parchment, and I realize that in this pleroma, I’m probably the weirdo. « Let’s do it, » I sigh.
Before we can act, I hear the sound of ancient hinges creaking. The mansion doors slowly open. Rainbow-colored dung beetles roll a carpet of pink velvet down the stairs, tossing pink confetti and glitter as they advance. A train of little blue penguins, bedecked in nemysses, waddles slowly forward, towing something which appears to be a Mardi Gras float version of an Egyptian barge. In the center, behind a flock of penguin dancers, is a cage bedecked with flowers. Of course, it holds the Unicorn King, an apparition of purplish-pink with flowing pink mane and tail, and a horn carved of rose quartz. He is wreathed in white roses, and tiny white daisies are woven into his mane.
Gag.
« You are strangers to the realm, » he says.
« Admiral Cillian Whelan, representing the Archons. We’ve heard a report that the Troll Army is interfering with the legitimate government of the State of War. »
« Legitimate? Are oppression and hardship legitimate? Is a government which continually ignores the needs of the little penguins legitimate? The State of War must be transformed into a realm of light, music and candyfloss. »
« Candyfloss sounds good, » says Chase. « But you’ve kind of made things worse. Listen, I love escapism as much as the next guy – well, probably a lot more, but you can’t start believing your own propaganda. »
« Hypocrite, » he says. « Are you not also interfering in a purely local matter? »
« There’s no point in even talking to this pinko, » I mutter.
« Look, political ethics aren’t exactly our strong point, » says Mickey. « As Seth reminds me repeatedly. »
Speaking of the devil, Seth emerges from the garden with Diego, enchanted parchment in hand. « Greetings, most magnificent majesty. We come bearing gifts. »
Diego approaches the barge of the Unicorn King. « I love numbers, don’t you? Which number is your favorite? »
« Fifty-one, » says the unicorn. « Or maybe 233. » Seth places the puzzle onto a pile of flowers. The unicorn’s eyes glaze over as he prods the puzzle gently with his horn. Wherever the tip touches a square, a number appears.
« You know, » says Diego, « wouldn’t you rather come with us to New Merenis? The State of War really isn’t the right place for a sensitive fellow like yourself. We could sit in the café and do crosswords and play chess. »
« I must admit…it has a certain appeal. The endless stream of violent trolls and nattering hobgoblins is wearying. Nothing grows here – did you notice that? But they have bedecked me in blossoms. »
« Come to the pleroma, and you could have a house covered in flowers! » says Jesse.
« And they said I was kinky, » Merrick whispers.
« We got flowers, we got Sudoku, » I add, « but more than that, we’ve got Tara. »
« What’s a Tara? » asks the Unicorn King.
Chase rolls his eyes.
« You know, these sparks that wandered in on their own weren’t given the indoct…ah, recruitment pitch, » says Mickey. « Stavros had the same problem when he was a dragon, but he was fine after he met her. »
« Solved it! » says the unicorn triumphantly. He blinks several times as though clearing his enormous and blue eyes, lifts his head, flaring his nostrils, and snorts. « This place is horrid. How strange that I didn’t notice before. »
The sky clears. The sound of shelling stops; in the distance, small birds begin to sing. A little blue penguin rushes out of the palace gates. « A cease fire! The Conservo-mechanisms and the Troll Army have signed a treaty to form an unstable and ineffective coalition government! »
“Diego of Seachange, Cryptic Hidalgo of Circinus. 88th to emanate, 37 in the color scale, resonates to 157. 1.717 meters tall, cock size 16.53 cm when erect, apparent age 39. Puzzle-maker. Totem is Tamarindus indica, the tamarind, fixed star is Megrez, the insertion point. Esoteric symbol is the Etruscan letter 
. Dessert is nau’gsh puzzle bread. Function is analytic inertia, proto-conscious tendency is coagulation, designated Solve. Blazon is argent, two bars tamarind, jiggy.”
« Let’s get the fuck outta here, » I command. « Mickey, go with Chase in the mecha. The rest of us can take the short way back with Seth. »
« Two minor corrections, » says Seth. « Strictly speaking, the power of teleportation is Merrick’s, not mine. I was merely borrowing it until his arrival. Secondly, our internal teleportation will only work on recognized emanations. »
That isn’t the best I could’ve hoped for. Jesse still looks a little rocky, and the mecha isn’t exactly a smooth ride. Then I realize I’ve got a bigger problem – quite literally. How is the fucking unicorn gonna fit in one of those mecha pod cockpits?
« The trains should be running again, now that the war is postponed, » says the unicorn.
« I hate to rain on your hovertrain, but have you seen the station lately? »
« Penguins are remarkably industrious. »
Callum helps Jesse onto the unicorn while I hoist the P-994 on my back. Truce or no truce, I don’t trust those fucking trolls.
Bastien decides to come with us, which kinda doesn’t surprise me. The once-deserted streets are now filled with penguins, rushing back and forth to recreate the crumbled buildings. It occurs to me that as Archon of the Rootball, Suibhne must be responsible for maintaining the entire pleroma. It figures.
Sure enough, the trains are running. The station is now labelled “State of Uneasy Compromise.”
If the pleroma is a visual landscape mapping the mind of I and I, my suspicion is that the State of War represents our inner tensions, says Dermot. An existential crisis could potentially shatter an uneasy peace, sending the area into conflict. Quite likely, the introduction of so many new emanations provoked that crisis.
Well and good, but we did it to ourselves. Despite the fact that Tara forbade it, the eggs just kept on coming. Thinking about it, the conflict with her was probably a bigger issue than the new emanations.
There’s a little ramp hoisted in place with ropes cordoning off the piles of rubble. Our friend the penguin refugee is there, tidying up the concession stand.
« Didn’t you want to go to the Ice Bar? » asks Jesse.
« Yes, but there’s so much work to do here, » he says. « Economic boom from reconstruction, you know. Lots of opportunity. »
« We gotta outgrow that, » I sigh, getting on the train. « War as an economic stimulus. About as healthy as Black Opium-27. »
Callum is on one side, Bastien on the other, sitting close to me, a little too close. The unicorn, obviously, stands. The train pulls out of the station and is soon rolling past a ruined oil field, where industrious penguins are putting a cap on the well which had burned.
« Such a terrible place, » murmurs the unicorn. « I’m so glad I got out of there. »
I close my eyes, settling into a nice chatburl. Would somebody tell me what the fuck just happened?
That oil well was the hole into the nul-universe, says Cyrus. Ugh.
I glance at the unicorn, unabashedly pink, covered in flowers and glitter. Looks like you’ve got a dirty past for all that, pal.
Diego got the achievement for defeating the unicorn king of the lost city, says Wynne, but you probably knew that. And Bastien got the achievement for defeating five hobgoblins on Midsummer’s Eve. Actually, he defeated a lot more than five. I’ll bet you didn’t know it was Midsummer’s Eve.
What was the fucking deal with Templeton?
He got #84, “Win the respect of your rivals.”
What rivals? I don’t get it.
Ailann butts in. The other Ophion emanations. He was being tested. It was probably the only way I and I could decide on the Ophion Archon, since we still haven’t collected all the necessary components. Because Templeton was the strongest, he was being saved.
But his death fucked things up, I protest. We’re still missing two of the sparks, so we’ll never know if he was the best.
Doesn’t matter, says Wynne. Probability dictates that if he’s better than the first 36.8% of the candidates, he’ll be better than the rest.
That sounds like complete compost to me.
No, he’s right, says Cüinn. It’s a famous case called “the secretary problem,” used to illustrate the principle of optimal stoppage.
Considering I and I’s perception of time, it’s likely to be more certain than just a favorable probability, adds Ailann.
We’ve got what, 98 emanations now, and I’m supposed to trust that we know anything about optimal stoppage? I open my eyes, scanning the guys around me. Bastien is looking at me hopefully and Jesse’s eyes are sunk in exhaustion. Does this have to be so fucking hard on the new guys? We had some real bad moments back there, real bad.
I wish I could answer that question, says Ailann. There’s obviously some purpose to it, as we can see. I suppose that we have to trust I and I.
We are I and I. We did this.
Then I suppose we have to trust in our collective, superconscious wisdom. I don’t mind if you bring Bastien into our entourage, by the way.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Callum, grinning. He quickly averts his gaze, but his expression does not change.
Geez.
« Come here, » I say to Bastien. « You’re a good soldier. » He rests his head against my shoulder.
There had better be a damn good explanation for all this.
Emanation Egg Scene 34a follows the path of the dirigible –>