I can’t stop thinking about Ethan. What to do, what to do. Probably keep sitting alone here in the diner, staring at a bottle of krunchy ketchup.
Ethan is scary. He’s hot, but he’s scary. I’m not stupid, so I did some research. He’s a member of Ace’s scene, but he almost never goes there – so joining them wouldn’t help me out. The thing he’s got going with Barnabas is scarier. Maybe they’ll get back together. Maybe they won’t. Nobody else will touch it with a ten-meter rootlet.
The world turns blue. What’s happening?
I’m physical. I can smell, feel, taste everything. It’s so different from the pleroma. There’s a roar in my ears that keeps me from thinking straight. I’m clutching at the arms of my chair so hard my hands are turning white.
Beauregard! Take it easy! You’re hyperventilating.
It’s Mickey, a chatburl from Mickey, a lifeline. I’m sorry to do this to you, he says. You’re having a rough time because Tara’s not outside. Just try to stay calm and keep her in mind. I need your expertise.
My expertise?
That thing on the desk. What is it?
The desk? I’m in the Ipsissimal Suite on Eirelantra, sitting at the desk in the study. In front of me is a cylinder, about 1.5cm in diameter, 8cm long. It’s made of rolled metal. No, layers of metal, rolled one after the other. There’s a steel-chromium alloy in it, about the 8th layer from the center. But most of the substances…
“Not from this galaxy,” I murmur. “A few not even from this universe.”
I can picture what they look like, picture the way the particles join up. Like electricity flowing through a copper wire, the electrons in level twelve are doing something to the thumagummies in level eleven, and it’s creating some kind of current or flow. The whacawhatties in level two are pulsing in a steady rhythm, which exerts maybe a gravitic or magnetic or some other attractive force on the neutrinos in level five.
“The fuck?” I say.
I thought it might be something like that. Any ideas on its manufacture?
“Someone conversant with at least three different universes. No, four. There’s some nul-stuff in here that’s hard for me to read. It isn’t either nul-matter nor pos-matter, though. Something different. I think it would react with the air and decay into one of them if it wasn’t painted with baryte.”
You wouldn’t have any idea what it’s for?
“That’s not my bag. I can tell you that level eleven is from a universe being used as a ra’aabit hole for Ashvattha’s roots. Level two, I have no idea.”
Fair enough.
Then the world is blue, and I’m back at the diner.
Where did you get that thing? I ask.
“Found it at SSOps HQ,” Mickey replies. “It was really hard to detect. Something about the way those metals interact. But what I don’t get is why it wasn’t just nul-shielded.”
That would probably fuck up what it’s doing. Whatever that is.
“You know, you’re welcome to hang out with us, me and Lens and Valentin and Lucius. We’re going to be forming a clade, but we haven’t thought of a theme yet. Or just go to Ace’s, Ethan or no Ethan. Those guys are down to Earth.”
It’s a strange old metaphor. The surface of the Earth is no longer worthy of much admiration.
“But in a way, it’s home,” says Mickey. “The origin of man and nectarines. We’ve got one root in this universe, one root in the other.”
Don’t remind me. I remember exactly what that universe was like.
« I think that’s the point, » says a voice from the doorway of the diner. It’s Solomon. « I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately. »
« I didn’t realize that you were there. »
« Sorry. I was riding along with Mickey when you changed – it drew my attention. Interesting device, whatever it is. Anyway, what I mean is that the older emanations, and by older, I mean not just emanated for a long time, but part of a Cu’enashti for a long time, can barely remember our origins. You literally decided to become part of a Cu’enashti within the past few weeks. And you’re green, which means that you could’ve been a Cu’enmerengi. I think a lot of us would like to know what went into that decision. »
« It wasn’t a decision so much as a sudden impulse. There was something shiny about the roots. Tara, Ashtara, impossible to put into words. I wanted to know what it was. »
His lips form a little smirk, mostly concealed by his mustache. « That sounds like a Cu’enmerengi, all right. Well, if you’re curious, you could try Club V/E, the clade Quennel is forming. »
Someone has attempted to seduce me twice in the last few minutes.
« I’ll think about it. » But I’m still thinking about Ethan. Ace made a pamphlet for his clade: The Stud Buffet. “Show up anytime,” it says. “Just bring dessert.” So basically, anybody there could eat you. That’s a little intimidating.
« V/E stands for Vicarious/Exhibitionist, » says Solomon. « It’s a really low-pressure environment. And Dermot is shy, too. no pressure. »
Yes, but…
Solomon sighs. « I’m going to be straight with you. You’ve got zero chance with Ethan until he clears the air with Barnabas. Get involved before then, and you’ll end up in the middle of a mess. If Club V/E isn’t your thing, fine, but don’t stick it out alone. »
The door opens. It’s Ethan.
Solomon places his hand on my shoulder on his way out. « The offer is always open, » he says.
« I’ve been monitoring the situation with Mickey, » says Ethan. « I’m pretty interested in the composition of that device. Do you mind if I look in your branch? »
Wow. It seems so oddly formal to ask permission. « Go ahead, » I reply.
It also strikes me if that’s all he wanted, he could’ve sent a chatburl. He’s there and gone quickly, but I feel the warm place where he touched my memories, and I begin to sweat.
He scratches the back of his neck. « Um, Beauregard, » he says. « Let’s not beat around the bush. Bushes have feelings, too. »
« Okay, » I murmur. « I think you’re really hot. » It’s nothing that he couldn’t have found out with the most cursory brush over my branch – but then again, would he?
« Yeah, something clicked between us when we first met. But I get what Solomon said to you. »
He heard that? Yeah, probably. In Universe Prime, he could’ve heard it easily, three, four rooms away. Inside the pleroma, it varies. Our sensory range expands and contracts. Cillian says that we can see, hear, feel, exactly what I and Us wants us to.
« Thing is, it wasn’t so great between me and Barnabas from the beginning. We only decided to go for the bromance because Tara likes it. »
Does he honestly believe that? I don’t.
« But does she even like it that much? Owen and Lugh don’t have a Gold Card. The truth is, there’s probably no point in trying to please Tara. Getting a Gold Card is impossible. »
That’s wrong in so many ways I don’t even know where to start. Let’s try the obvious: « Davy just got a Gold Card! »
« Do you know how old he is? » he asks.
« Um… » I do a quick calculation.
« Listen, a lot has been said about tree-bias, and this just confirms it. He’s on Atlas. But not much has been said about age. Here’s the facts: 80% of the first ten emanations have gold cards. That drops to 60% of the first 20. And then it plummets. There is no one outside of the first 50. The most recent emanation in the Gold Club is Rand. Now, let’s look at it a different way. If we take the emanations 30-94, only 3.125% of them have Gold Cards. »
Wow, is he bitter. Why does it make him even more appealing? « But isn’t that just saying that if you wait long enough, you’ll get a Gold Card? »
« With so many of us in the mix now? That’s just naïve. Look, I didn’t mean to say that we shouldn’t try to please Tara when she’s around or when she needs us. That always has to take priority. But we can’t live our lives based on what we think Tara would like. For most of us, she’s very remote. There are emanations who still haven’t met her. »
There’s a note of truth to that. Tara is the hand which chose me, determined that I would get a chance to live in this universe. But does she know anything about me? She’s really a kind of goddess. And yet I do believe we should live our lives the way the gods would want.
Ethan is in a very dark place. What would the gods want – what would Tara and Ashtara want me to do? They would want me to save him.
« Basically, what I’m saying here is I’ve got to move on with my life, » he says.
If I’m going to save him, I need to understand him. But I get the sense that he’s very private, much more than the other emanations. According to Tarlach’s theories, blue sparks are demanding in their need to love and be loved. It’s odd that someone as blatantly blue as Ethan would care so much about his individuality. But in the primeval mix, blue sparks can combine with yellow or green entities and become green. Is Ethan trying to reject his blues by choosing a green partner? I think that’s called a rebound relationship, a common human reaction.
In any case, if I look in his branch without asking, he’d see it as a betrayal. And if I ask, it could get awkward. But with no information, I’m headed for disaster. Well, forward is better than awkward, and he’s the one who made the first move. « Um, maybe you’d like to go get some dessert? »