Purpose:
The effect of aesthetic appeal on customer satisfaction is weighted.
There is a very peculiar noise, an odd mechanical hoot, like nothing you’d ever hear on Dolparessa. I come to myself, panicking, wondering how much time I’d spent in Wynne’s arms.
« It’s all right, » says Malachi from the couch. « It’s the cuckoo. That’s what the clock is for. Something to help us keep time without the presence of a musician. »
Ruefully, I pull away from Wynne. I hear the sound of soft moans; it isn’t coming from Balin and Chase, who are making out on the couch. I look behind me to see Hurley fucking Driscoll, who is bent over the pool table. Ace is watching, sitting cross-legged in the center of the table, naked except for Driscoll’s scarf and Hurley’s bowler.
« I told you not to fuck up the table, » Wynne groans.
« Oh, » says Hurley, waking from his dream. He puts his hand on Driscoll’s shoulder, shaking gently. « Driscoll, I think that Wynne wants to play now. »
Driscoll turns woodenly as Hurley moves away. His expression is a combination of shock, confusion and grief. I know what he is feeling. I’ve been through it before.
« I think there’s supposed to be an art gallery, » says Hurley comfortingly. « We can go see the art gallery. »
« More than one, » says Malachi, according to the guidebook. « Apparently one of the ancestors in this familial line was the art buyer for Catherine the Great. There are photos of what the galleries looked like before the revolution, so Suibhne probably restored them. »
« All right, » I decide, putting my arm around Driscoll. « It’s time I went on to the next scene anyway. Who’s coming? »
« No one, » says Balin. « It seems to be a rather inconvenient aspect of sex in the pleroma. It’s not going to replace pollination, that’s certain. »
« That isn’t what I meant, and you know it. »
« I think I’ll stay, play a few games with Wynne, » says Ace.
« I’ll bet you will. »
Chase seems uninclined to move, so Balin remains as well. Hurley, Malachi and I escort Driscoll.
« According to the guidebook, there should be a shortcut around here, » says Malachi. « The prince had a private staircase into the princess’s bedroom. It’s supposed to be made of Karelian birch. »
Driscoll stops to admire yet another pair of stained glass windows. Again, these are painted, this time with birds sitting amongst the reeds and on flowering branches. « I prefer the subject matter of the others, » says Driscoll, « but the craftsmanship is equal. When I made the Thomas window, I was much less liberal in my combination of media. »
Hurley stops at the foot of the stairs, looking mortified. « Do we really have to tread on the bones of the dead? »
Driscoll takes his hand. « It’s only imaginary wood, » he says. I was surprised at his tone of voice, reassuring, not at all mocking.
The princess’ bedroom is unimpressive. The bed isn’t half the size of mine, but the room is enormous, filled with chairs and couches. There is an elaborate lace canopy hung over the bed, but it is entirely useless as a curtain. The room holds few cabinets, and the space connects directly to a vast and public rotunda. In short, the designers clearly thought of love as a spectator sport. « I’m surprised nobody picked this place. »
« The décor is second-rate, » says Driscoll, « and the bed looks decidedly uncomfortable. »
Malachi and Hurley scrutinize the guidebook. They turn it upside-down and sideways, which is not reassuring.
« I’m not sure how to get to the galleries from here, » Malachi confesses. « The tour took a different path. »
« You didn’t have any trouble finding the others. »
« That’s different. I can sense the location of every emanation. Finding the art gallery is something else altogether. »
Driscoll peers over their shoulders. « According to the text, the tour went through the galleries to a private theatre in a separate wing. I don’t need to be Ace to give a 95% probability that’s exactly where Davy and Suibhne went. »
« You’re right, » says Malachi. « I can feel them in a remote area of the palace. Actually, Tarlach’s group is over there also, maybe in the galleries. »
We thread through lavish sitting rooms, gorgeous and uncomfortable in equal measure. It seems that the idea of luxury current at the time involved an inordinate amount of carved ornamentation perfect for bruising a leg or scraping an arm, and very little upholstery.
« You’d have to be crazy to want to live here, » says Hurley.
« Suibhne lives here, » I reply.
« You’re forgetting the costuming, » says Driscoll. « Between the bustles, the petticoats and the thick velvets and damasks, those gentile ladies were as well-padded as a MayaXtreme team. »
« Really? I thought that those costumes were ceremonial. Surely they couldn’t do their battle-exercises in them. I wonder what the gym looks like. »
« There isn’t a gym, » says Malachi. « At least it’s not on the tour. »
« How could you have a palace without a gym? I suppose there could be a training ground somewhere, but to include a theatre and not a gym seems impractical. »
« Talk about impractical, » says Driscoll. « You should see the bathrooms. They’re little bigger than a closet. Only one person can fit into the tub. »
« These people were mad. My palaces are much more luxurious. They wasted their money on fancy-looking garbage. »
The first gallery we enter, called the “small” gallery, contains a second Rembrandt and a Fragonard hung on a wall overloaded with paintings.
I stop in front of a work which seems vaguely familiar to me, a painting which seems to be of a woman groping for a harp while a huntress wrings her neck from behind. « Isn’t this one in the Hall of History? »
« Yes, » says Driscoll. « It’s Jacques Louis-David’s Sappho and Phaon. »
I feel a confusions of emotions – embarrassment, as though I’d been caught robbing a grave, but at the same time triumph. A part of me is celebrating the reclamation of the painting by my kind from the lowlife Bolsheviks.
Which makes absolutely no sense at all, considering that the Siders were a corporate family, founders of the Eurodeutsch concern which manufactured the first commercial interstellar liners. They had taken advantage of the great power vacuum left by the overthrow of the aristocracy in the 20th Century, and the crushing of the nations by the corporate houses during the ensuing Exploitation Era. In their day, Sider GmbH was almost as powerful as Disney Inc. Almost – but any corporation which bases its trade on technology is doomed to crumble and die when the technology becomes obsolete. On the other hand, society’s need for fantasies about talking animals is eternal.
How ironic that the descendants of the corporate robbers would become the aristocracy of the next era. It seems that Sider was a man capable of learning from the past.
« We really need to expand our market for Vega Vids, » I mutter. « We should consider building amusement parks themed around our most popular holomes. »
« Is it my imagination, » says Driscoll, « or was that comment really random? »
We go through two more galleries of priceless treasures before reaching a rotunda. It is apparently a display area for statues, but the statues have been replaced. Ross is standing on a dais in the attitude of Apollo. Behind him, Owen and Lugh are posing as a pair of Grecian wrestlers, while Ethan and Barnabas participate in a hunt for a wild stag. Tarlach is frozen in the process of removing a white linen garment, looking over his shoulders at his naked behind.
« Tarlach as Aphrodite Kallipygos is stretching it, » says Driscoll, « but he does have a surprisingly nice ass. »
« It calls attention to the superior quality of Ash’s creations, » I comment, admiring the wrestling tableau. The position required the two men to be naked, entwined, and displaying their taut musculature. I stroke the steel cords of Owen’s back, but he does not at all react. « Is it uncomfortable for them to stay frozen in that position? »
« It depends, » says Malachi. « It depends on whether the Mover wants it to be uncomfortable. Consider when you’re dreaming or fantasizing. Sometimes your imagination creates the sensations, and sometimes it doesn’t. »
« I wonder how much willpower he has, » Driscoll remarks, running his hand between Tarlach’s thighs.
The galleries were connected by a series of elaborate doors, woodwork with metal relief. All of the doors had been open, but the one now before us is shut. It swings open, and Constantine emerges.
« They felt as though I’d be a better painting than a sculpture, » he says.
Constantine climbs on an empty dais in the center. My companions’ attention flies to him immediately, their gazes riveted on the mark which they had placed on his body. From the corner of my eye I catch Ross’ head move the tiniest fraction so that he can better see his brother.
It is Ethan that breaks position first. « I think she’s seen what we had to show her, » he says. « It’s making me uncomfortable. »
« I was worried that it might. »
« No, I mean being looked at like that. It made me very self-conscious. »
« Your body is beautiful, Ethan. There’s no harm in wanting to show it. »
« It’s that thing about not wanting to be Lugh again, isn’t it? » asks Barnabas, stepping down from the pedestal.
« No, » Ethan replies. « It’s just…is this all? I mean, if I were ugly, would you still love me? Be attracted to me? »
« That’s a deep question, » I murmur, stalling for time.
« Tara is attracted to Beat, » says Driscoll.
« It isn’t the same, » Ethan rebuts. « Beat isn’t ugly. He just isn’t gorgeously handsome like the rest of us. »
« I think people only ever love beautiful things. But the definition of beautiful is very broad, and it encompasses far more than the physical. Sexual attraction, on the other hand, is physical, but again, reactions are very individual. For example, it’s not unusual for a woman to fall for a man after she gets to know him, and love him for his sense of humor, or his intellect, or his charm. Or for a man to think a woman’s walk, or her hair, or her scent is sexy while not thinking she’s particularly beautiful. But then again, all that is too reductive. Sometimes we think something is beautiful because we love it. »
« That was such a tactful answer, Tara, » says Driscoll. « One can tell that you’ve had years of experience in political negotiation. Now how about an honest one? »
« That was a bitchy thing to say, » Malachi injects.
« But a perceptive one, » says Ethan. « The question is, if I were ugly, would you love me? »
« The point is that you aren’t ugly, » says Driscoll. « The point is that no matter how open-minded we try to be, beautiful people get preferential treatment, and so we might as well stop trying to be tactful. It would make more sense to give away free genework to ugly people. »
« It’s more complicated than that, » I refute. « Lots of people get genework. I think they’re bland. They tend to have a plastic perfection, and it’s refreshing to see a face with character sometimes, like Beat. »
Constantine sat, joining the discussion. « Honestly, I’ve been thinking about that too, » he said. « I’m getting so much more attention since I changed the way I looked. »
« That’s different, » says Malachi. « You didn’t try to make yourself beautiful, you made yourself a canvas, a screen for our fantasies. Each one of us marked you with a symbol of our dreams or our desires, and now when we look at you, we see the thing that we wanted. »
« In other words, » Driscoll comments, « Ethan’s problem is sociological, whereas Constantine’s problem is existential. »
« It isn’t exactly a problem, » says Constantine. « Unlike Ethan, I like people to look at me. But I originally did it so that Tara would look at me, and I need to know if she thinks it’s all right to be like this. »
Tarlach steps out of position. « That depends on you, » he says. « Are you happy being a screen for others’ desires? Among humans, it’s generally considered to be the wrong path, almost a guarantee of unhappiness and frustrated fulfilment. But you’re Cu’enashti. Fulfilling the desires of the Chosen is what we do. »
« When I was emanated, » Constantine replies, « the thing that concerned me most was getting revenge for what happened to Ross. Ever since then, I think I’ve defined myself in terms of how I can protect or take care of the beings that I love. I want to be useful to them. I want to make them happy. »
He looked at me. « Is that okay? » he asks.
« Constantine, Tarlach is correct. Your attitudes and feelings are perfectly normal for a Cu’enashti. You’re just a very pure example of it. The deviation- but an interesting deviation – is Ethan. The question he’s really asking is a question humans ask all the time – do you love me for who I am? »
« Cu’enashti don’t ask that question, » says Tarlach. « Cu’enashti change what they are so that they are loved. »
« Maybe that question is too dangerous to ask, » says Barnabas.
« That’s who he is, though, » says Lugh, slipping out of his position, but still keeping his arm around Owen. « Ever since Ethan emanated, he’s been saying that he wasn’t me – but then he started to ask ‘Who am I?’ »
« And Constantine didn’t, » says Tarlach. « Constantine’s question was much simpler: How do I get Tara’s attention? »
« The Mover is evolving, » says Malachi. « It’s an evolution that could only happen in Lugh’s identical twin. Lugh holds the Mover’s sense of self-preservation. It seems that Ethan holds the Mover’s budding sense of individuality. »
« I think the mothman is beautiful, » I say to Ethan. « Isn’t that what you’re really asking? »
« You’re afraid of Him, » Ethan replies.
« I think volcanoes and hurricanes and distantly colliding galaxies are beautiful, too. Beauty and fearsomeness are not mutually exclusive qualities. »
« Honestly, » says Driscoll.
« It’s really hard to make love to a creature without a face, » I confess. « It has nothing to do with ugliness. An ugly face might be better than this, because at least then I’d have something to respond to, communicate with…»
I’m weak. It’s a failure of my own mind, my own imagination. After all this time, I’m still grasping for something human.
Of course, I am completely encircled by a fractional selection of Ash’s human faces. Is it possible for him to try any harder?
And still, there is Ethan. There is Ash asking if I love him for what he really is. I slip my arms around him.
« Ash, as long as I exist, I will be with you. And I promise that tomorrow I will be better than I am today, and that someday we’ll look back at our younger selves and laugh at our foolishness. Until then, I need Ethan. I need him to show me how far I still have to go because I won’t accept anything less than everything you are. »
As if in response, Ross steps down from his pedestal. He stands next to Constantine. Side by side, it is easy to see that they are brothers. Ross is the taller of the two, with a clean-cut, masculine handsomeness which makes him seem consummately professional, even when completely nude. Constantine has larger lips and eyes, and his hair is carelessly cut for utility. The unblemished bronze of Ross’ skin contrasts with the swirling stories on Constantine’s body.
« You said I could have him, » says Ross.
Ross meets my gaze with a mixture of amusement and defiance. It is as though he was daring me to feel sorry for him. But I can’t – there is no pain left in him that hasn’t turned to strength. He is fearless.
Constantine shivers in anticipation. I run my nails down his back and onto his rock-solid buttocks, where Ross had tattooed the phoenix-figure. « Take him hard, » I say to Ross. « He needs it. »
Result of Stress-test 4:
Adjustments were made on the final product taking into account customer preferences without compromising brand-integrity.