I’m not even sure why I’m still writing this. It’s not like I can’t tell you what I’m thinking, Ash, now that you’ve gotten your head back together. As together as it will ever be, I suppose.
Or maybe…I can’t. Maybe some things are easier to write than to say to your face – one of your faces, anyway. If Tommy were around, I could tell him. I always felt comfortable talking to Tommy. Ross, not so much. I just don’t want to say the wrong thing. I know how fragile happiness can be.
I’m enjoying being with Ross. We went out on the strand yesterday, the long, lonely stretch between Court Emmere and the Atlas Tree. Lonely because I own it – it’s a private beach. Private – ha. There were pictures all over yesterday’s media push. Some papi has hidden a microcamera somewhere. I’m going to have to have Mickey go over that beach with a fine-toothed comb.
They were more interested in Ross than in me, though. I suppose that’s to be expected. And he looked damn good. He’s well-built, tanned skin, golden highlights in his hair. Like a corporate version of Apollo.
But sometimes you can see it in his face, all that he’s been through, and that’s when he’s most beautiful. Maybe “character” is another word for “suffering.”
But I know it’s coming. One morning soon, I’ll wake up with a different man. I’m in no hurry for that, but…I hope it’s Ari. And I know it won’t be.
Something I could never say to your face.
And it’s not like I don’t love Ailann or Driscoll or Davy. Maybe you don’t understand this, but falling in love is a kind of obsession. I love Ailann more than anything. But I’m in love with Ari, and I want to see him.
Or…maybe you do understand it, exactly. Maybe I’m the one who doesn’t understand. “Ross,” I said, “I’m in love with Ari.”
“Good,” he said.
He only looks human.
“Ari will be at the celebration, of course,” he said. “But once I’m done here, we’ll need Cillian to work out the details.”
“Of the celebration?”
“Of the war, silly. You do plan on winning the war, sooner or later?”
I stared at him. He’s so matter-of-fact. “You seem confident of it.”
“Tara,” he said, “I was cultivated for success. I was never intended to be a victim. Not like Callum.”
“There’s something I don’t understand. Cillian was grown to absorb the trauma of Patrick killing the assassin. And it worked. Patrick has no ill-effects at all. But Callum didn’t seem to have the same effect on you.”
“It’s because Patrick knew that what he did, as reprehensible as it was to him, was necessary for your sake. He could allow Cillian to take on his sin. But until recently, I didn’t understand that. I wanted to bear the weight of a guilt I was never designed to carry. I can finally let it go now. It’s actually helped Callum, too. He’ll be able to embrace his role with much more abandon.”
“What? Callum is a pain-pig. He can’t get enough of perverse bdsm scenarios. Every time he emanates, I have to do the most shocking kinds of research in order to dream up something exotic enough. The thought of a less inhibited Callum – it’s like saying that a tornado should be less inhibited. Are you trying to exhaust me?”
Ross laughed. I had never heard him laugh before. “If you need help dreaming up ideas – ask Lorcan.”
“Lorcan is such a sadist that he’d probably suggest taking Callum out for ice cream.”
“I don’t think so. Lorcan thinks Callum is hot. Not as hot as Jamey, though. Lorcan is in love with Jamey.”
“Whoa,” I said. “Why don’t you guys ever tell me this stuff?”
“Driscoll would. Or Tommy. Those two love to gossip. But you spend so much time with Patrick, Ailann and Cillian. Patrick is too diplomatic, Ailann thinks it’s beneath his dignity, and Cillian honestly doesn’t care.”
“I wish I could get inside of your head.”
“It’s cramped. Ari’s complaining because he’s so big. He could go back into the cave, but it isn’t very nice. The Goliath emanations have all taken to hanging out on our side.”
“Can’t you create something better? Why not a palace or something? I mean, it’s all in your mind.”
“We didn’t exactly create it, though. It’s a product of the mind of Atlas, which means it’s more like a dream than something you imagine. You can’t really control your dreams.”
“How…do you think? I mean, with all that going on…?”
“If I understand human thinking correctly, I’m not sure that we do. Human thinking seems to be a jumble of thoughts, words, emotions, images, symbols…strung together on a quasi-linear path. Meaning that it seems to be a linear progression when you’re immersed in it, but it makes a lot of jumps and loops if you look at it objectively. Atlas doesn’t think. Atlas – and Goliath – they dream in concentric patterns – they gyre. When we need to think in a human way, we talk to ourselves. Talking to each other is our way of thinking it through. I and I lets the human emanations handle the aspect of human thought.”
“How does the Cantor manage then, with only one emanation?”
“The same way that Daniel managed. He talked to himself a lot. But it wasn’t the best thinking when he was alone. It only considered one perspective on the situation. The Cantor does better because she’s so old. She has a lot of experience.”
“So you’re saying that human thinking is one-dimensional?”
“Not at all. Cillian has read vast amounts of human literature. The characters are always in conflict with themselves. In a certain way, it’s more efficient because not every point-of-view weighs in for every decision. In another way, it’s less thorough. As a lawyer, I’m amazed at how often I’ve heard people complain that they didn’t think of this or that possibility before they acted. Sometimes, it’s because they didn’t have the potential or the knowledge. But often it seems that they just didn’t stop to listen to all of their inner voices. Not that we always reach the right conclusion. I and I reaches the right conclusion, and totally by an intuition of a nature obscure to us.”
“You know,” I said, “there are times that you’re just too perfect.”
Ross looked at me quizzically.
“Right now, you’re adjusting the amount of solar radiation absorbed by your skin. You’ll never get a sunburn. Which eliminates the necessity of my rubbing your back with protective lotion.”
“That seems to be a serious design flaw. Don’t most people just mist themselves in the shower, though?”
“If they’re being efficient. Some even have genework to make their skin more resistant – very useful when working outdoors. I never did, considering how much time I spent on Volparnu, Dalgherdia and Eirelantra – not too likely to get a sunburn in those places. And lotion is an excuse to get a massage.”
“Why would you need an excuse? Why not just ask? Contracts would be so much easier if people would just be straightforward in their negotiations.”
“I failed to mist myself this morning,” I said, handing him the lotion.
“I suppose that saying I would never allow damaging radiation to mar your complexion is entirely beside the point?”
“You catch on quickly.”
*****
Ross stayed longer than I expected him to, longer than I suppose he had to. I don’t know whether it was because I was enjoying his company and you were reluctant to interfere with that, or if it was because you had decided to allow Ross to finally have some memories of happiness. It was a peaceful few weeks – strange in that we were in the middle of a war. But neither side was eager to make the first move. It was the sort of war that would be lost, not won, by aggression.
I knew before I opened my eyes that Cillian was there. He is larger, his chest more firmly muscled. I could feel the rock-solid firmness beneath my cheek. “Ah, the war’s on again,” I said, yawning.
“Maybe not. Consensus seems to be that we should negotiate. Call in a third party. The big problem is General Panic. She won’t let it go, and neither will we. As long as she’s alive, there’s gonna be a war.”
I sat up. The sun was streaming through our bedroom window. Outside, a bloobird flew by, flapping its scaly, reptilian wings. All was peaceful until a squirrel lunged from a Seville orange tree, launching itself onto the back of the bloobird and sinking in its pointy little teeth. “Did you see that?” said Cillian. “Those motherfuckers are vicious little bastards. Remember the one that used to live in Atlas?”
“I remember,” I said. “It bit my uncle once. Never bothered me, though.”
“It wasn’t dumb. It knew how much I and I would put up with. If it ever messed with you, it would’ve been evicted into the bottom of the sea.”
“Did the squirrels know you were sentient?”
“Duh? Does a dog know that you’re sentient? Of course they know who’s boss. Only humans were too dumb to notice. Or maybe dumb isn’t the word – arrogant might be better. Humans underestimate everything. You underestimate those fucking Floatfish. I tell you, they’ve got a fishy agenda of their own.”
“Right now, the Brrrrrrrrrrrrvvbh are the least of our problems.”
“No, they’re a problem. A bunch of them got stranded in the Domha’vei when the armada got here. And it is fishy because all the IndWorld merchants got out long before. Everybody knew what was going down once CenGov took Tasea.”
“But the Floatfish – do they even go to war? Maybe they just didn’t read the signs.”
“Don’t underestimate them, Tara. Anyway, maybe it’s something we can use. Get them to talk to Tellick. He’ll want to smooth things over. But first, we’ve got to get rid of General Panic.”
“I don’t know that we can. Clive was figuring that she’d only have one chance, one body – too expensive otherwise. But it looks like she had at least three. How many more? Apparently, she can just broadcast her memory from one to the next. It didn’t even look like her consciousness was interrupted.”
“Yeah, I was thinking about that. I was thinking we need a way to find that out. Things were great when we had Mickey undercover at the science station. He sent so much intel to Patrick.”
“The AI at RR-2 always used to monitor the computers there. Honestly, we were better off with Terrans on Dalgherdia. That’s why I let them stay, even after the incident with the black hole.”
“I gotta think it through.” He kissed me roughly. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll come up with something. We always do.”