Purpose:
To determine whether cross-fertilization can occur between two nau’gsh belonging to the same Cu’enashti grove but located in different galaxies.
Participants:
Harsh del Shambhah’d, Wynne Rafferty, Beat del N’stl’d
Materials:
Pollen swabs, stasis jars (non-standard; see report), vacu-pollinizer; fresh pollen collected from two nau’gsh in the same grove growing in different galaxies.
Hypothesis:
The Cu’enashti nau’gsh (Pseudonau’gshtium somniare var. ‘Mothman’) is self-fertilizing; however, cross-fertilization has been known to take place between the parent tree and a tree cultivated from its root stock. The Cu’enashti called Ashtara famously indwells a grove spread across three galaxies. Experiments performed at Shambhala Colony have proven that pollen in stasis remains viable through wormhole transport. The hypothesis is that pollen preserved from one tree of the Ashtara grove will be able to pollinate others located in separate galaxies.
Procedure [Reported by Harsh del Shambhah’d, Prince Consort of the Skarsian Matriarchy]:
I was surprised to find myself standing in the bathroom. Actually, I was surprised to find myself.
I tried to think of what had gone before. I found memories, but none of them were mine. The place where my memories should’ve been was occupied only by a vague sense of latency and waiting. Beyond that was nothing but the rustling of leaves, the ecstatic feeling of water giving life to wood, a feeling of something not quite stone beneath my roots past which I could not venture.
I looked in the mirror. Human, male, blond, thin with angular cheekbones. I touched my face, stroked my beard. The skin, the hair, were soft, the fingers sensitive. The sense of touch was pleasurable. “I’m Harsh,” I said.
I noticed a datapad sitting next to the basin of the sink. The screen was active, displaying a message: “Welcome to Lab Reporter ProXXX.”
« Harsh, » said a voice from within. « It’s Malachi. You have a mission. You have to tell Tara about the experiments. »
I could feel Malachi’s real mind within my human mind. I became aware that there were other minds there – so many! I attempted as best I could to comprehend, but I was overwhelmed with external impressions. I could sense new stars forming in distant nebulae; I could sense the Brownian movement of the molecules in the decanters of ethanol in the next room. It all vied for my attention equally, and I had no idea what was actually important. It was making me ill.
« You’re very sensitive, » said Malachi. « Just focus on Tara, and do the best you can. We’ll prompt you. It will take a while for you to assimilate the necessary memories, as well as getting used to your own existence. »
Tara again. The word prompted an electrochemical surge, a shiver, a dryness in my mouth. The word “Tara” meant “the second sun,” the term that the Cantor had coined for the Chosen. Then I knew what it meant, the warmth, the guiding radiance in the next room. Indeed, I had thought it to be the real sun, but now by orienting myself to it, I could sense the real placement of the star called the Domha’vei with its pale, utilitarian light. It was a mistake; they had the terms backward.
« Don’t forget that you are part of a tree. Trees rely on sunlight, » said Malachi.
A tree. I stared at my hands. I knew exactly what it felt like to be a tree, but I somehow couldn’t connect it to my current appearance.
« He’s a man also. We don’t think that oxygen is more important than Tara, do we? » This voice seemed louder, nearer, more familiar to me. Rand, his name was Rand. His branch was next to mine.
I looked in the mirror again. Which was more amazing, to be a tree or a man?
I emerged from the bathroom. Tara was seated on the couch. I could see that by human standards, she was a woman of reasonable, not exceptional, beauty and superior, but not stellar, intelligence; her most remarkable trait would have been her degree of physical conditioning and training. The Cu’enashti perspective was quite different. She was a shifting labyrinth of dreams and unabashed desires, a spinner of fantasies. She was unafraid of the unknown – more than that, she was drawn to it, enchanted by it. She was willful and curious.
In short, she was perfection. In order to exist, a Cu’enashti requires focus, needs to become someone’s dream. Tara’s dreams were the most outrageous in the universe, and they had made Ashtara into a god. At the same time, Tara was a pragmatist, a woman of action. Necessity had forced her outlandish dreams to grow down and backwards – into us.
I took a seat on the couch next to her. She looked only mildly surprised. She hadn’t been expecting me – but then again, she had. After all, I was only a piece of dreamstuff that Ashtara, my god, creator and truest self, had plucked from a forgotten corner of her unconscious mind.
I introduced myself. “Each of the three subjects is a branch on a different tree, in a different galaxy,” I found myself explaining as she handed me a drink. The flavor was exquisite; the effect most enjoyable. It seemed, however, to have the unfortunate side-effects of both minute amounts of cellular damage and root-growth retardation.
« Neurons are simple to alchemically regenerate, » said Rand, « and a RootRiot chaser will work wonders. »
Tara looked skeptical. “Cross-fertilization. Is that actually going to work?”
Her questions and objections had been anticipated. “There’s a reference chart.” I reached over her shoulder to indicate a pushpin floating above the datapad.
Inter-grove Pollen Receptivity
| Atlas | Goliath | Yggdrasil | Canopus | Ashvattha | |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Atlas | Pollinate emanated branch | Brothers of emanated branch become pollen receptive; Goliath branches pollinate | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollen released without pollination |
| Goliath | Brothers of emanated branch become pollen receptive; Atlas branches pollinate | Pollinate emanated branch | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollen released without pollination |
| Yggdrasil | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen released without pollination | Pollinate emanated branch | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollen released without pollination |
| Canopus | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollinate emanated branch | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity |
| Ashvattha | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen released without pollination | Pollen exchange occurs in physical proximity | Pollinate emanated branch |
“I get it,” Tara mused. “So you can always get off, but fruiting will only take place if the pollen can physically reach the receptive flowers.”
I felt a shove in my mind, information pushed upon me about the complex sexual cycle of my species, the Cu’enashti. The human body of the man Harsh would give itself completely to Tara’s use while the flowers of my branch would become receptive, a small opening forming in the center of the stigma as the pollen from the other branches rained down upon me. It was the perfect physical satiation, but also a moment of complete emotional satisfaction, the moment of belonging wholeheartedly to the Chosen, and yet of merger with the others of my tree. It was then I realized that Rand was destined to be my lover.
In the grove, in the depths of the most ancient hardwood, I felt a resistance, a shivering of leaves.
« Some of the older branches are sexually repressed, » said another voice. « I’m Tarlach, by the way. I’m your therapist. If we’re going to complete these experiments successfully, we’ll have to get over that. »
I’m not sure I understand what sexually repressed means.
« That’s because you’re the embodiment of the spiritual virtue of pleasure, » said Tarlach. « You don’t have a repressed molecule in your entire physical manifestation. »
As if to prove a point, the wind shifted and I found myself becoming aroused. The scent of nau’gsh blossoms had increased, telling me that one of our trees was very close. Canopus, the penjing, the miniaturized tree which made our grove portable. It was sitting on the verandah. I had to see it for myself – or rather, feel it. I was finding that the human eyes were the most limiting of my senses. Unlike my ears, my skin which so acutely perceived fluctuations of energy, and most of all, my nose, which allowed me to determine molecular composition, my eyes were miserably blocked by the presence of the wall.
Tara followed me as I wandered out onto the verandah. I stooped to inspect the tree. It had only two branches: Quennel and Ellery. Ellery’s leaves were so young, so tender. I stroked them, feeling their softness.
Tara came up beside me. It was a warm night; a gentle sea-breeze nuzzled the foliage in the glowing worldlight of Sideria, hanging low on the horizon. “It still doesn’t look like a nau’gsh,” she said. “It looks like an alder grafted on to an oak – except, of course, for the blue leaves.”
“Canopus is unique,” I replied, running my fingers up Ellery’s supple trunk. His flowers were delicate, their blushing faintly pink against the blue petals. Ellery was supposed to be Quennel’s concubine, but I wanted a piece of him.
« You’re not alone, » said Rand. « But Ellery won’t come out of his cabin on the swan boat. »
Before I could fully comprehend that statement, Tara placed her hand upon my shoulder. It carried more weight than the swirling of a thousand galaxies. “Why do I have the feeling that you’re an enormous pervert?” she asked.
“Define perversion.”
“Not only a pervert, but a sophist.”
I laughed. Probably in Tara’s eyes, I was.
« The purpose of this particular experiment, » Malachi resumed, « is to see if your choice of partners can be expanded. »
Cross-pollination. If it was possible, then it meant any of our branches was a potential partner. But…it really was perverse and unnatural. I could see why the older ones would resist it. Like the grove itself, it was something only Ashtara would do.
Ashtara! The entity called variously I and I, the Mover, Self. Finally I understood my sense that Malachi, Rand, Tarlach were all part of me. Ashtara was the grove, was all of us, a being of pure energy which combined our souls. I could feel His will now, all His remarkable power bent towards a shining vision of a future Tara, the thing we called Tara’s Destiny. Every part of us grew towards that as surely as a sapling grows towards the sunlight. We grew through time and space, we grew inside and out, the trees becoming enormous, multiple, the ranks of the human emanations swelling. But mere size and power weren’t enough. Fundamental change was necessary.
Evolution was necessary. And like everything else concerning Tara, the source and center of our being, nothing could be left to chance. Ashtara was not content to depend on happenstance, to wait for randomly fortunate mutations. More than any other of His species, Ashtara had assimilated the drives of His human elements. He’d understood the meaning of the political struggle of the past thousand years, the struggle between the Cybrids of Earth and the geneworkers of the Domha’vei. The struggle was about the most efficient means to control human evolution.
For the sake of Tara, Ashtara had sat at the table and been dealt a hand. These experiments were to be one more card to play, one more way in which He blatantly flaunted his intent to defy and control nature.
What glorious hubris.
« Tendency to overdramatize, » Tarlach murmured, typing furiously into his datapad.
I understood my purpose. I needed to talk Tara into the experiment for the sake of Ashtara’s n’aashet n’aaverti. She was so close to me now. Stars pulsed, molecules danced to the rhythm of her breathing. My human skin hungered for contact.
I turned back towards the sitting room, trying to sound casual as I addressed her. “We should get to work. The plan is for us to take our pleasure of each other, then collect the pollen produced by Wynne and Beat and transport it to my branch on Ashvattha.”
I was startled by my own boldness. « Cheeky bastard, » Tarlach typed.
“You’re forward enough,” she replied. “What if I’m not in the mood?”
“Then I’ll be heartbroken, and the experiment will fail.” She was lying; I could smell her arousal. I pretended to look downcast, but she saw the smile in my eyes. It had become a game.
“Why don’t you take off your clothes, and I’ll see if I feel particularly inspired?”
My tie first, then my trousers. I noted that my clothing was exquisite, not in the least stiff or uncomfortable. « You can thank Quennel for that, » said Rand.
I didn’t see a hanger for my suit, so I draped it neatly over a chair. For some reason Tara found this amusing. “There’s something which should be included on the trading cards. Emanations like you and Quennel are meticulous about what happens to your clothing. Tommy, on the other hand, just balls up his jeans and tosses them across the room. Patrick and Ari get so carried away with the moment that they don’t even remember where their clothes are when they’re done. Many women would find these facts far more relevant than cock size.”
Trading cards? Then I remembered – Suibhne had made a set of trading cards for Tara, each depicting one of the emanations and his vital statistics. For a moment, I was curious about my card, but then I recalled the cards’ peculiar property. The more experienced the emanation became, the more elaborate and ornate the card. The emanations Tara had fallen in love with were edged with gold.
No, I didn’t want to see my card. It would be depressingly gray. “Neatness is practical,” I said instead. “Our pollen is only active for a few hours. It would be a shame to waste the moment looking for a stray sock.”
“That’s a potential problem with the experiment,” she said. “It takes a few days to get to another galaxy, you know. I suppose we could put Wynne’s pollen in stasis, but we’ll never get to Beat’s in time.”
Malachi handed me the words to say to her. “If Ashtara withdraws your emanation, you can travel with him down the ra’aabit hole in a matter of hours.” He was talking about the trans-universal portals connecting the roots of the grove. They were similar to the wormholes used commonly for transportation between star systems, but since they opened from the nul-universe and not this one, they were completely stable. I was, however, very surprised to learn that Tara had an emanation.
« Her original body was destroyed in an explosion, » explained Malachi. « The Mover created a new one similar to the way He creates bodies for us. »
By this point, I had completely divested myself of my clothes. “Turn around,” Tara instructed me. “You have a nice ass. Probably the nicest ass of any of the emanations.”
I grinned, knowing that description had appeared immediately upon my trading card. “Does it inspire you?” I asked. At that moment, I knew that I was attractive, very attractive, and had been created to be so. I was a fool to not have realized it earlier; Ashtara would hardly fail to make the embodiment of pleasure an inherent source of delight. This was something I could use. I leaned forward slightly on one leg to stress the muscles in my flank.
“It seems like a considerable amount of effort has been put into your production,” Tara said. I realized then that she knew the will of, the wiles of, my maker far better than I. “I suppose that in the name of science, sacrifices must be made.” She sighed deeply, feigning ennui.
I was right. It was a game, and a game that they had been playing long before I arrived. I was nothing more than the newest card on the table.
My body moved by instinct, our lips touching, my tongue doing the most startling and innovative things. Without breaking the kiss, my hands found the laces on her corset, the hooks on the back of her skirt. I draped the clothes gently across the desk.
“Are you certain your name is Harsh? You’re about as smooth as it gets.”
“Harsh is an ancient Sanskrit name meaning ‘delight.’ It’s another testament to Ashtara’s love of ironic wordplay.”
I maneuvered her into the bedroom, onto our enormous bed, luxuriating in the softness of her skin, her hair, the fullness of her breasts and hips, concentrating on the sensation, running my tongue the length of her torso. Gradually, I became aware of another sensation, the feel of my blossoms waking into life. Instinct triumphed, and I reached out to move, to manipulate the thousands of stimuli in her body – blood flow, oxygen saturation, hormone production, the electrochemical response of just the right nerve endings. I remember the shock through my body, thunder of seed shaking my human form even as my blossoms yielded their treasures, parting to reveal my most secret and delicate places, a shower of sticky dust slowly descending upon me.
Tara settled against me. “You live up to your hype,” she said. “But we’d better get moving. I might fall asleep.”
I placed my finger to her lips. “Hush. I’m basking in the glow of pollination.”
“Too much pollination and there won’t be any receptive flowers left for the experiment. This was your idea, remember? I don’t much feel like dragging myself out of bed either.”
“Can’t a branch lose his virginity in peace?” I sighed, continuing to sprawl across the enormous bed.
“I’m going to shower. Be ready when I get back.”
After a few more minutes, I forced myself to rise. It was like waking from a dream. I could feel her in the shower, soapsuds against her smooth skin, and wondered why I was sitting there like an idiot.
« You let yourself get distracted, » said a gruffly unfamiliar voice. « That’s why the pollen-kink is a violation of n’aashet n’aaverti. »
« It isn’t, » Rand protested. « Cu’enashti fruit is far more than a seed-delivery system. It produces nau’gshtamine amide derivatives which allow the Chosen to experience our consciousness directly. The blue amrita. In the end, it’s all for Tara. »
« Cillian’s a hypocrite anyway, » said Tarlach. « Ask Callum. »
I dressed quickly, but I had a craving for some sensory stimulus to take the edge off. I grabbed a handful of facial tissues and rearranged their molecules into a cigar.
« Not bad, » said Malachi. « You’ve got alchemical talent. »
Tara returned, dressed more comfortably and casually than before. I offered to make a cigar for her, but she declined. “Are you certain?” I asked. “It’s an authentic Havana – and that’s pretty impressive considering that Cuba sank permanently into the Caribbean after Hurricane Barbarella in 3498.”
“Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand. “We have to stop down at the arboretum to grab some equipment: some collecting swabs and a few stasis cups.”
I sat bolt upright. “You can’t be considering putting precious pollen in stasis cups? How cold.”
“It’s the most certain way to insure it’s still active by the time we get to Shambhala.”
Even though I’d had no prior contact with Wynne and Beat, they were to be the fathers of my fruit. How could an act of such extraordinary intimacy be consigned to a stasis cup? There was no way I would disrespect them by subjecting their pollen to such clinical treatment. “These precious bodily powders should be kept in a velvet-lined pouch.”
She laughed at me. “Pollen is sticky. It would make a mess of velvet, and a lot of it would go to waste.”
Clearly, she did not understand. Perhaps she was thinking of human artificial insemination. In fact, this cross-pollination was quite different. A human female need have no contact with, or even knowledge of, the donor of sperm in such a situation. I, on the other hand, was connected to the grove at the root. The bond that would be forged today between myself and Wynne, myself and Beat would never be broken, even though it was an unnatural bond, a bond of a kind never before seen in Cu’enashti society.
“Let’s compromise,” I suggested. I took two empty glasses from the bar. I understood the principle behind the stasis jar, but something more elaborate was called for, something worthy of a courtship. I handed them to her after shaping them into the form of alabaster snuff-bottles. Each had a design in relief on the stone: a spinette wheel for Wynne, a drum for Beat. “Paraphernalia is important to the sense of ritual,” I said. “These will work as well as any stasis jar.”
“There’s one other thing I need,” she told me. “Get a hovercar. I’ll meet you.”
It was night; only a few lonely honor guards positioned at the Ipsissimal Park’s perimeter took note of our approach. Wynne’s branch was near the back of the Atlas Tree, and Tara had to squeeze past Driscoll, Cüinn and Ailann to reach it. All the branches were in bloom, and the air was sticky with pollen. I closed my eyes and let it settle on my skin. It was dizzyingly erotic.
Tara sneezed. “It’s a windfall for Mickey,” she said. “He’s emanated three times in the past month, so he still has receptive blooms. Mickey emanates a lot because we work out together. I may be sixty-five, but I still try to keep fit.”
“Cillian says that you haven’t aged a day since thirty-three, but you’ve just gotten lazy. He also says that Mickey isn’t the only emanation who can exercise with you.”
“Mickey’s the only one willing to fight me hand-to-hand. Cillian won’t, because Cillian can’t pull his punches.”
“He doesn’t want to hurt you.”
“That, and he can’t bear to let me win. Hmmm, in order to reach the flowers, I’ll need to climb up a bit. If I step on BJ, he’ll never let me forget it. It’s too bad Callum is on the far side next to the cliff wall. Callum would have liked it if I put my boot on his branch.”
“Use Owen. Owen says he doesn’t mind. As for the exercises, you haven’t explored all the possibilities. Constantine says he’ll fight you.”
“The last time I saw Constantine was inside the pleroma. He never gets emanated. I spent most of last year with Cillian and Balin, getting Shambhala on its feet.” She pulled Wynne’s container out of her jacket pocket and removed a sterile collection swab from it. “Collecting Cu’endhari pollen is quite the procedure. With most plants you just pull off the anthers and freeze-dry them. But Cu’endhari pollen won’t survive the process.”
PULL OFF THE ANTHERS?!?
She glanced down at me. She must’ve registered the expression on my face; she looked surprised. “Would you please not talk about castration so casually?” I gasped.
“You’re being dramatic. Trees have thousands of flowers over their lifetimes. Human males only get one set of testicles – unless they’re exceptionally unlucky and we have to induce bioregeneration.”
“It’s true that flowers have a short lifespan. But unlike other plants, the combination of our human perception with the sensorium of the tree makes our flowers quite sensitive.”
“Sensitive?” said Tara as she dislodged Wynne’s pollen onto the textured end of the swab. “Is Wynne getting off on this?”
“Wynne’s getting off on this,” I affirmed. “He says it would be nice if you could rub the tip of the anther with a sustained rhythm.”
I hopped up onto Driscoll’s branch to get a better view. “Hell, I’m getting off on this. But maybe you were right about me earlier – it is perverted, isn’t it? Unnatural. Although I suppose that anything the Chosen wants isn’t actually a perversion. Are you getting off on it?”
“I wasn’t, until Wynne asked me to pleasure his blossoms. It gives me a new perspective. Here, help me down.”
I grasped her just above the hipbones, lifting her lightly to the ground. I followed, jumping behind her. I ignored the pissy tirade by Driscoll. Someone’s branch had to be stepped on; it’s not like I damaged him.
I felt a sudden and uncontrollable urge. My body moved past my volition, taking me to a clear spot just beyond Owen’s branch. “Time to go,” I said, raising my arms, feeling myself lifted into the lightless light.
Procedure, continued [Reported by Beat del N’stl’d, Prince Consort of the Skarsian Matriarchy]:
I could feel the Denolin Turym gathering just before I emanated – they can sense the fluctuation in spacetime when a wormhole becomes active. The next thing I saw was dozens of furry pink and green carapaces scurrying in excitement: the Hreck, sentient crustaceans genetically engineered by the SongLuminants who built Nightside Station. Then I felt my body solidify. We were standing on the platform, Tara and I, in front of Yggdrasil.
It was good to be home, even when home was a forsaken outpost in a dying galaxy.
Tara turned to me. “Beat,” she said. “Let me look at you. We only met that one time in the pleroma – I’ve never seen you up close in the flesh.” She grasped my hand, touching me for the first time in my physicality. It felt good, so good, an infusion of the warm fire of life.
“How did you get chosen for this experiment?” she asked. “Is it just three random branches in different galaxies?”
I shrugged. “Well, for one, Wynne and I approve of the idea. There are some who don’t. Other than that, beats me.”
“Is your sense of humor always this corny?”
I shrug a bit sheepishly. “Seriously, Harsh seems a lot like Wynne, while I’m very different. So maybe it’s about performing the experiment with two extreme examples.”
“I guess that’s true,” she said. “Like Wynne, Harsh is a player.”
She glanced up to the blooming branches of Yggdrasil. “Problem,” she said. “Unlike Atlas, Yggdrasil has no branches near to the ground.”
It’s true that Yggdrasil is very different from Atlas. Atlas grew organically, in the fashion common to the Cu’enashti nau’gsh, producing the branches one at a time in reaction to some stress or need. In contrast, Yggdrasil was engineered – and engineered as a weapon. Its branches were produced all at once, seven sub-trunks that grow parallel and strong until some thirty meters up, where they diverge at equal angles. They were designed to most efficiently channel the energy from the nul-universe tapped by the powerful roots.
“We can deal with it,” I said, motioning to Bisque, the Hreck commander. She squawked shrilly in her native language. A few moments later, a group of Hreck appeared on the hilift, rolling a folding scaffold in front of them. “They routinely do hygienic pruning,” I told Tara. “It’s hardly the care of Sir Kaman, but they manage well-enough.”
We Yggdrasil branches were grateful to the Hreck. What they lacked as a species – a sense of humor and imagination – they made up for with their sincerity and diligence. There was a natural sweetness and compassion in their single-chambered hearts. Bisque was a high-status Hreck, high status because she was an officer, but more, because Lorcan had given her a name beyond the designator number assigned to her by the SongLuminants. Lorcan had intended his names to be a cynical jibe at his predicted fate for the Hreck assigned to this military outpost. It turned out to be supremely ironic. As we learned later, the Hreck eat their dead, and consider being a tasty delicacy the crowning achievement of their careers. The name Bisque was as complimentary as the names Duke or Beauty would be to humans.
I watched Tara climb the scaffold. I ran my hand along the bark, a sticky residue collecting on my fingertips. Pollen – my pollen, but also from Axel, Lens, and Till. Of all of us, Lens was the only branch who wasn’t a virgin. We’d made fruit together, Lens and I. But now there were no receptive blooms, and all of this pollen was going to waste. It seemed so unfair. “You might want to collect some from the other branches. We haven’t emanated in over a year, so we don’t have any receptive flowers.” It seemed bold, so bold to request that of Tara, especially since it was outside of the parameters of the experiment.
“Which one is yours?” she asked. “I know which branch is Lens’ – I’ve seen it in fruit – and I know which branch is Till’s since he emanated while I was here. That leaves two unidentified.”
It was embarrassing. Unlike Atlas, Yggdrasil’s branches were uniform, lacking in distinctive characteristics. We were created as soldiers, not as individuals, our names indicating a function, not a persona. Everything turned out much better than we’d expected, leaving the four of us to make our own destinies. In a way, I envied Harsh. He knew his purpose.
“The one on your right,” I told her. “My flowers are a little bigger than Axel’s.”
“It’s bad enough the way you guys always go on about cock size. The next thing you know, you’ll have flower size on those trading cards, too.”
“It’s tacky, isn’t it, to put it all out there? At least, I think so. The others don’t seem to have a problem with it.”
Tara opened the collection bottle and pulled out the swab. Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded the stasis jar, but it was considerate of Harsh to make nice containers. He was clearly a romantic.
She caught my glance, kept eye contact as she ran the swab down the length of an anther. It felt surprisingly good and very kinky. I wanted to ask her to stroke it with her hand, maybe even to touch her tongue to the tip, but I lacked the courage.
“I have a better idea,” she said as she placed the pollen into the vial. “Why don’t we put all that loose pollen to use?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a virgin. The idea appeals to me. Two virgins in one evening – that’s something I can put on my own trading card.”
My mouth went dry; I was deafened by an interior shout. The other emanations were hooting and howling as Axel shouted « YES! »
“As an accomplishment, it would have to rank significantly beneath ‘Center of the Universe’,” I stammered.
The Hreck had kept our unoccupied bedroom efficiently clean. It was unadorned, the only distinctive feature being the bed, a macabre creation of Lorcan’s. “The place needs furniture,” Tara muttered.
“It’s fine,” I said. “Unless you want to decorate it?” I added hastily.
“Not now,” she said. “But it’s something I mean to do. This place is my home. There’s an Ashtree here – that means it’s my home.”
It moved me. This was a desolate place; Yggdrasil was not a graceful tree. But she was sincere. She cared about us.
She was looking at me expectantly. I realized that she meant for me to remove my clothes. But I wasn’t like Harsh, smooth, tanned and wiry. My body was blocky, with muscles that were solid but not defined – the sort obtained from physical labor, not deliberate training. If Harsh had the best ass of all the emanations, I probably had the most chest hair – a rather dubious distinction. I wasn’t ugly, but I was well-aware that I wasn’t particularly handsome either. I belonged in a barracks, not a seraglio.
But she was waiting. I had never expected to survive, let alone be a lover. It was pointless to be concerned about my looks; I had to seize the opportunities that came my way.
There’s a thin line of hair extending from my chest to my groin. Tara ran her finger down it. “They call this the treasure-trail,” she said. “Let’s see what treasure it leads to.”
I had access to the same information Harsh did, plus I’d been around much longer. I had a sense of history; I had also vicariously experienced the sexual encounters of the other branches on many occasions. So why was I so lost? Perhaps because Harsh was built for pleasure, and my own body didn’t know the first thing about it. My body was good for only one thing: rhythm. I gave in to my instincts, climbing astride her, pounding into her flesh like a holepuncher opening a new universe.
I thought of Harsh, knowing that soon my pollen would penetrate the core of his flowers. I would take him, smooth and beautiful little Harsh, just as I was taking Tara now. The thought overwhelmed me. Blind instinct reached for her metabolism, flipped all the switches at once. She cried out thrashing, pounding her fists against me.
She nestled against me as her breathing slowed. “I can smell the leaves in your hair,” she murmured. “Mmm, you’re a hard man, like Cillian, but not as kinky.”
Perhaps, but at this moment, all hardness had drained from me entirely. It would not be an exaggeration to say that I was getting in touch with my feminine side – in fact, it would be a literal truth, as my swollen stigmas widened, exposing my ovaries. I closed my eyes, lost in the warmth of her body, the shower of love from Axel and Lens and Till. “Kinky? I don’t know. Do you want me to be?”
She rolled over on top of me. “Does tying me up sound good to you? Anal penetration?”
How was I supposed to decide something like that, especially now? Pollen was descending like fairy dust, and I felt like a princess having the kind of happy ending that always gets left out of the story. My mind blurred by bliss, I fumbled for something to say. “Actually, I, ah, like music. I’d like to dance.”
I knew it wasn’t quite an appropriate response when she snorted, her body shaking with giggles. “Maybe the Hreck could open up a disco.”
“That’s more Thomas’ thing. I was thinking of something sexier, maybe a tango,” I blurted out. “The Hreck could learn how to play. With all those legs, they’re remarkably dexterous.”
“Mithras help me,” she laughed, convulsing. “I can see it, dirty dancing to the sounds of dog-sized crustaceans playing little guitars and castanets. You can dance with a rose in your teeth.”
Now I was laughing, hard enough to feel lightheaded. “A nau’gsh rose from my own branch. I’ll present it to you.”
“All right. You can wine and dine me. Those Hreck make a mean Fettuccine Antares.”
Procedure, continued [Reported by Her Eminence Tara del D’myn, Matriarch of Skarsia]:
Regretfully, I took my leave of Beat. The more time I spend with him, the more I like him.
Ash deposited me next to Harsh, within the perimeter of Ashvattha. Of course, the guards had no warning that we were coming; they started in alarm. One of them pointed a rifle at my head before he realized who he was facing. Then he fell to his knees in abject terror.
“We’re chill,” said Harsh, motioning for the man to rise.
In a moment, Lieutenant Yarman Graysal was jogging towards me. “Your Eminence! We didn’t expect you. And we’ve been on high alert since earlier this evening when…” he pointed at Ashvattha, where the branches had gone into bloom – three of them.
Graysal stared at Harsh. “So is this…”
“I’m Harsh, 47th emanation of Ashtara, and third emanated branch of this tree.”
“Forty-seven,” murmured Graysal. “I’ll process the security clearance. It’s getting hard for us to keep track.”
“You think you’ve got it rough?” I asked. “You’re not married to him. Although the most I’ve ever done is two in one night. I tried for three once, but circumstances interfered.”
Harsh snickered at Graysal, who looked like he was going to swallow his tongue.
“And for your information,” I said, turning to him, “you weren’t the first.”
“Oh, I know. Patrick and Wynne. Wynne was a virgin, too, but Patrick was on, what, his 35 thousandth encounter?”
“A slight exaggeration. You can consult the trading cards. And you’re not counting Owen and Lugh, or Whirljack and Blackjack. They’re more like two-for-one-specials.”
“Um,” said Graysal, clearing his throat. “To what do we owe the pleasure…”
“We won’t be here long, Graysal. We’re just doing a little horticultural experiment.”
Of the three branches, Harsh’s was the easiest to access. Like Yggdrasil and Goliath, Ashvattha was symmetrically arranged, nine sub-trunks surrounding Balin’s enormous central trunk. But it was more organic, the individual branches having more character. Even if I hadn’t already known which branches were Balin and Rand, I’d have been able to identify Harsh. His branch was sinuous; his flowers spreading lewdly.
My eyes moved from Graysal to Harsh. “Would you like some privacy?”
He shrugged. “Not necessarily. A bit of exhibitionism might be fun.”
Harsh was incorrigible, so skilled, so professional, that any smart woman would know he’s a gigolo, and only a fool would hang her heart on him. But then I caught him looking with me with Ash’s eyes, and I knew that it was a game within a game; Harsh was another puzzle-box to hide my husband. Or maybe to reveal him. It’s hard to tell sometimes.
I pulled the flasks from my pocket. I’d also brought a piece of custom-designed professional equipment: it was more-or-less a souped-up eyedropper. It had a tiny vacuum to suck up the pollen; it could then be put into reverse to gently puff the pollen into the air. I had it fabricated to my specifications when I was a graduate student. It’s possibly the closest thing to an actual pollen poof.
“These are covered with pollen,” I said, inspecting his branch, so heavy with flowers that it almost touched the ground. “Didn’t those guys think to hold back a bit?”
“Rand did, but Balin couldn’t hold back if he tried. That’s why he’s Archon. But there are a few flowers on the very tip of the branch that might need some.” Harsh pointed them out. He remained close, watching my every move. “This is really perverted.”
“All right. Here goes.”
“Fuck!” Harsh cried, causing half a dozen guards to snap to alarm, pointing their guns at a non-existent threat. “Fucking father nectarine, that was good.”
I raised my eyebrow, giving the guards a chilly look. “At ease. Haven’t you ever seen a man getting off on his own pollination?” They turned away swiftly without answering. Most of them looked Volparnian, meaning they were likely to be prudish. Any Dolparessan would’ve jumped at the chance to see God having sex.
And then in a pulse of light Harsh was Ash again, reaching for my hand.
Procedure, continued [Reported by Wynne Rafferty, Prince Consort of the Skarsian Matriarchy]:
I know there will be a debriefing, so I wait for Tara in Daniel’s flat, outside of the door which leads into her bedroom, the space within the pleroma which simulates her childhood suite at Court Emmere. Ace goes with me, thrilled that I’ve been selected for this experiment. We haven’t spoken about it, but I think I know why. If this works, then maybe we can pollinate each other.
He grabs at the sleeve of my coat. « I can see it, bro, » he says. « Tonight’s your lucky night. »
I have to laugh. « Every night’s my lucky night, onii-chan. »
« Yeah, but that’s not what I mean. I mean tonight you’re golden. »
There is a knock on the door. « Is it okay for me to come in? » Tara asks.
« Sweetness, you don’t need to ask. »
« I heard that we’re supposed to have some kind of debriefing. »
« It’s at Harsh’s place. We have to go down to the basement and through the tunnel. »
« I can bring you in the boat. It takes longer, but it’s a scenic ride, » Quennel offers. He’s lying on the bed with Evan; it’s plain to everyone how much Quennel wants him. Evan is harder to read. Is he really that shy, or is he just playing coy?
I catch Tommy looking at us as we exit. I know damn well that the minute we’re out of eyesight, he’ll be watching the memories as they’re stored in my branch. Who can blame him? He’s been me, ridden along with me when I’ve emanated. We’ve pollinated each other countless times. Everyone said that Patrick was a pervert when he had the courage to admit the truth. We’re lovers. It’s stupid to pretend that we’re not. Almost all the branches on Atlas have impregnated me.
It doesn’t change how I feel about Tara at all. Standing next to her now, I’m dizzy with longing.
The three of us meet Beat in the lobby as he emerges from the walkway connecting the Atlas treedominium to the metallic tower which houses the Yggdrasil emanations. I’m ashamed to say that I don’t know Beat very well. The Yggdrasil emanations tend to hang together. He’s sexy, though. Funny that I never thought about him that way before. Goliath and Canopus are different. The Goliath branches are our brothers. Canopus is our scion – and very easy to pollinate when it’s beneath Atlas. Yggdrasil and Ashvattha, though, are so remote.
That’s the point, isn’t it? That’s why the experiment took one each from Atlas, Yggdrasil and Ashvattha. Fine by me: the more branches I can pollinate, the better. Especially hot little twiglets like Harsh.
Tara goes to the windows and looks across at the tower. « So that’s how Yggdrasil looks in here, » she says. « It’s gigantic. »
« It’s a little embarrassing, » says Beat. « It’s an enormous place for just the four of us. And there will only ever be seven branches. »
« When we have more time, I’d like to see the inside, » she says, as the swan boat glides into harbor, propelled gracefully by non-existent winds.
I quickly see the appeal of sailing. Tara stands close to me, the wind through her hair. The salt spray, the air, the light, is refreshing and soothing at the same time. « This is a pretty nice set up. Have you ever thought of putting a casino below deck? »
Quennel looks amused at my statement. « I suppose it might be entertaining on long voyages. We’ve only ever sailed as far as Ashvattha. Of course, Ashvattha is in another galaxy, but someday, we’ll even go beyond that. Outside of the grove, out on the open seas. That’s the whole purpose of Canopus. » Quennel points in the direction we are sailing, past Ashvattha’s island, into the sunset.
« What a beautiful sky, » Tara says dreamily. « I think we caught it at just the right hour. »
« Oh, it’s always like that, » says Quennel. « Ashvattha’s palace is an archetypal western paradise. »
Tara looks at him quizzically. « I would think that since it’s supposed to embody spiritual virtues, it would be in the east. »
« But you like sunsets better than sunrises, » says Quennel.
« That’s because she likes to sleep until noon, » I add, putting my arm around her.
We arrive at Ashvattha Island. Tara expresses her admiration at the breathtaking beauty of the palace and adjoining gardens. But if it’s here, it means that some part of her dreamed it.
Three emanations emerge from the courtyard: Balin and Rand made it a point to be at home when Harsh arrived. It’s strange to think that my pollen is inside of Harsh making fruit at this very moment, even though this is the first time I’ve laid eyes on him. He does remind me a bit of myself: charismatic, handsome, and just a little trashy. His eyes meet mine, and then he lowers them quickly, flushing. No matter how slick he seems, he’s just a green branch. I own him, and he knows it.
Rand gives Harsh a quick hug. « We’re going back to Atlas with Quennel. It gets too lonely out here, no matter how beautiful it is. »
« I understand, » says Beat. « Yggdrasil is like that too. It’s easy to feel isolated. »
« You guys are always welcome at our place. » Now I realize how lucky I was to be emanated when there were already twelve branches on Atlas. Beat and I have increased Harsh’s prospects by a third. But Quennel – he can go anywhere. It occurs to me that his generous offer to bring us here was probably to allow him to scope out the new branch. If the old wood on Atlas doesn’t stop being sticks in the mud, they’re going to lose out to the younger ones in a big way.
« If this experiment works, it won’t matter if you’re on a different tree, » says Quennel.
« The experiment works, » says Harsh, sidling closer to me.
The three of us wave goodbye to the ship and follow Harsh to his chambers. The décor is faux-Persian, marble bathed in golden light, like a Maxfield Parrish painting. Harsh bids us to make ourselves comfortable.
« All it needs is beautiful women to serve grapes, » says Tara.
« You don’t particularly care for grapes, and you don’t fancy women, » says Harsh, producing a bowl of seedless redberris.
I remove my jacket. I can feel Tara, Beat and Harsh looking at me. Then I decide that I might as well take off all my clothes. « This is supposed to be a debriefing, but it’s difficult to remove my briefs without taking off my trousers first. »
Harsh purses his lips and smiles. He gives me a look that says he’s going to one-up me. Then he turns to Tara. « You mentioned earlier that you’d never done three in one day. We can change that. »
He hangs his jacket in an enormous gilt wardrobe at the back of the room.
The kid’s a player. « You’re having a good first day, mate, » I say to him.
« Wait until you see my trading card, » he replies.
« I guess I’m just along for the ride, » says Beat. « Not that I mind, but I don’t understand why I’m part of this experiment. I’m a fifth wheel. »
« You’re here because I need some salt with all this honey, » says Tara. « You’re here because you fuck like a rhinodillo. I’m overdressed, and so are you. What do you intend to do about it? »
Beat is at a loss, but I know Tara well enough to tell when she needs a man’s hands on her body, and if he won’t take the hint, I will. As I start to unbutton her blouse, our eyes meet. So much has passed between us, hot sex and mutual mistrust, gambling it all and winning, or losing it all to win. I feel so much, but I’m lousy at finding the right words, something romantic, but not too schmaltzy. Something witty. I wish Ace were here – he’s more articulate than I am. Finally, I say, « I’d risk everything for the payoff in your eyes, sweetness. »
Oh no. That’s just so awful, I can’t help laughing. Then she’s laughing, too. It’s a joke between us that vaults over the ineptitude of my language.
I feel the sudden skip of her heart, the intoxicated swoon as the stars burst open like a field of a thousand blossoms. Suddenly, I understand what Ace meant when he said I was golden. Tara has fallen in love. In an instant, all my games, my masks, my pretenses are blasted away, and my soul stands naked before her. I’m awestruck and giddy all at once. Tara is in love with me.
She pulls me down on her, and I can feel her desire. It isn’t a game anymore. Warmth flares into heat, time boils away into dream.
It’s quite a while before I remember we’re not alone. Beat is on his knees, his eyes wide and adoring. He could be in a church, an amazed witness of a miracle. Harsh is more circumspect leaning lazily back in the pillows, but his eyes are hungry.
And then the gamer in me is back. A branch can’t help but grow true to its nature. « This was supposed to be about cross-pollination, about bonding between branches. I can share. »
Tara turns on me, outraged. « You make me fall in love with you, and now you’re going to pass me around like a plate of biiskits? »
I wrap my arms around her from behind. I’m taking a risk, and I know it. But if she gets angry, I can pretend I was teasing her. If she gets angry, it will be at my presumption, or at what she reads as indifference. She certainly doesn’t have a problem with fucking either Beat or Harsh. Good thing I’m not the jealous type.
I nuzzle her neck. « Bastard, » she says, « you’re playing games with me again. »
« You like to have two at once. I know all about you and Lugh and Owen, or BJ and Whirljack, or that time on the amrita with Hurley and Driscoll. »
« But you have a way of making it dirty, of making me feel like I’m cheating on my lover while I’m still in his arms. »
« You can enjoy it, sweetness. Every game belongs to you. »
She looks up at me, reaches a decision. Then she looks at Harsh. He doesn’t need an invitation, and I get the sense that the kid has something to prove.
He’s on top of her, flexing his hips in a way that makes her body shake. Harsh is an expert, and I’m starting to think that despite his youth, maybe I could learn a thing or two from him. We should invite him down to Ace’s place the next time someone gets pollinated. So what if it’s kinky? I don’t like to be alone when I’m getting off.
I can see where Tara is looking though, and it isn’t at Harsh – it’s at Beat. Like me, she’s into games, no matter how much she protests. I wouldn’t exist if she wasn’t. And right now what’s pulling her is the expression on his gruff face, so amazed, like a boy who can’t decide whether he’s in a cathedral or a candy shop.
She rolls over, pushing Harsh onto his back. « I have unfinished business. I want to see if Beat is kinky. Come on, I can take two. I’ve done it before, with Whirljack and Blackjack. »
Beat is frozen for a moment. « Do it, » I encourage him, laughing. « No one will ever think of you as expendable again. »
I can feel the heat radiating from Beat’s body as he pushes against Tara’s back. He’s shaking, his hands are shaking as he tries to guide himself into her.
Tara groans with pleasure. « This is so much easier than it is in the physical world. This kind of thing is always better in fantasy than reality. »
She’d better not forget about me. I stroke her face, tracing my finger over her lips, plunging it into the moistness of her mouth. I can feel the motion of her body as Beat pounds into her. He’s an incredibly hard driver, and Harsh, on the bottom, is being pummeled into the floor. Harsh moans, a combination of pain and pleasure and pleasure from pain. That’s it, sweetness, make him work.
Our eyes meet and share a conspiratorial glance. She gets it. Harsh and Beat exist for us to play with. If they were human, such an exploitation of innocence would be criminal, but they’re not. They’re all part of I and I. Everything here, Harsh and Beat and myself, the grove and the pleroma, it’s all part of His eternal courtship of His Chosen.
We could just stay here forever and love her like this, the three of us playing games with her. But suddenly I’m aware of Ailann, emanated, standing watch. “It’s morning,” he says.
Addendum: the following debriefing notes were added after Experiment 3.
Tara: The experience of going down the ra’aabit hole was new to me. I was told I could travel like that, but I’d never done it before. It felt like my own energy was being held inside, encompassed by Ash. It was warm, safe, maybe the way a womb would feel, except it was more erotically charged than that. We descended into the roots, travelling through the wormhole together, which was amazing in its own right. But the experience was permeated by the seeping sense of Ash’s desire. He was aching for something, some consummation with me, but I wasn’t sure what. I’m not sure he knows, either.
Wynne: For once my luck did me some good. I’m crossing my fingers that the streak lasts.
Harsh: I am humbled. Certainly, my entry was spectacular, but faced with Wynne and the incomparable Tara, I was out of my league, nothing but a shiny new toy. If I cannot improve my game, I might well end up on the shelf.
Beat: When I found out I had been chosen for this experiment, I was flabbergasted. I thought there was a mistake. It seemed like an incredible opportunity. I didn’t know who Harsh was – well, who did? But the idea that I’d have my pollen taken to another galaxy was exciting, very exciting. Then when I saw him, I thought, fuck, look at him, he wouldn’t give me the time of day if we didn’t have this assignment together. But hell, you take your luck as you can get it.
And then Tara…I get choked up thinking about it. It was the happiest night of my existence. I’ll live it over and over again.
Believe it or not, Harsh comes to see me sometimes. I think he’s a little depressed, and it’s lonely out there on Ashvattha’s island. Sometimes we hang out in my room. Harsh says he likes the drums, but I think he really likes the waterbed.
If there’s ever another cross-pollination experiment, I’m in. If I can put in a request – I’d really like to pollinate Lorcan. We’ve been through a lot together, and he’s never even borne fruit.
Data:
The nau’gsh flowers on Ashvattha that were pollinated with the collected pollen from Atlas and Yggdrasil bore fruit. The fruit in both the experimental and control groups matured at approximately the same interval (1.45 GSD; although this is 5.4 times faster than the average specimen of Pseudonau’gshtium somniare and an incredible 124 times faster than common nectarine cultivars, this growth-rate is common for this particular grove and is attributed to its superior alchemical capacities.) The average fruit size was 8.7 cm in diameter, as compared to the average fruit size for the branch, 7.32 cm. The cross-pollinated fruits were also found to be higher in sugar than the control group (measured in grams/100 grams of fruit: glucose 1.4 vs. 1.1 control; fructose 1.7 vs. 1.1 control; sucrose 6.1 vs. 5.4 control).
Results:
Cross-fertilization unequivocally took place.
Conclusion:
These results would further tend to support the psychological research indicating that all members of a Cu’enashti grove be considered members of a larger, communal sense of self (see Tadgh 3618). Effects on fruit size and sugar production cannot be definitively determined since anomalies may have arisen due to certain uncontrolled variables (ie. the additional stimulation of the pollinated branch while in the pleroma).
Future Investigation:
Pseudonau’gshtium somniare is one of only two ratio-sentient plant species. Although very basic conclusions can be drawn from experiments such as the above, true understanding of the phenomenon can only occur when also controlling for psychological variables.