It takes a while before Pallav and Cyrus calm down. Outside of Tarlach, the only people they know are the others in their hatch. At least Oliver can sense what’s going on, and that X’khaim is all right. More or less. What an ugly situation.
It’s disconcerting to look at them. Of course, I’ve seen unrecognized emanations before. They were men I’d known and loved for years, so that was its own kind of hell. But because I knew them all so well, so intimately, it was more like someone dear to me was in a coma. I knew they were there, and alive, but they were unresponsive to me in the most vital ways.
This is different. I’ve never seen these people before. In an abstract way, I can tell that Cyrus and Pallav are attractive, especially Cyrus. I have a thing for redheads. I can even sense some vague, primal stirrings of pollen interest. But they seem so distant, so undeveloped. Maybe Tara was right when she called them children. There would be something wrong in fancying them.
Oliver, on the other branch, is vivid, vital, a bud which has just burst into flower. I look at him, and my senses heighten. Every instinct tells me to seduce him.
He wants it too, that’s obvious. In a way, the recognition, despite tying him to the pleroma, has made him more alone. He isn’t quite one of us yet, but he isn’t like them anymore either. And Oliver doesn’t do well with alone. He needs connection. He glances at me, miserable and desperate, and I just want to…
But I can’t. It would be too disruptive while Cyrus and Pallav remain unrecognized. Oliver knows that too, so he doesn’t say anything.
He points out the window. « I think the train is reaching the border. »
We are passing through a field of grain suspended about a meter above the ground, the roots spreading into the air, the tips brushing against the soil. I can see the train platform ahead of us. Beyond it, the grain reverts abruptly to the proper orientation, but seems to be composed of mathematical equations.
They’re called invert grass and algebran, says X’khaim. It’s in the library.
« I wish we had a map, » says Cyrus. « X’khaim had it, and the list of achievements, too. »
I reach into the inside pocket of my ceremonial uniform. There’s a datapad, even though I didn’t have one before. « The pleroma provides, » I tell them. I pull up a map. « It’s actually a triple-border. We’re passing from the State of Amazement to the State of Mind, but the State of Matter is coming up on the right. »
An announcement is made on the PA system: « Passengers are asked to disembark and proceed through customs. »
« What? » I sputter. I hate going through customs: it’s a bad memory from the days of the 5th Matriarch when the Skarsian immigrations officers would go out of their way to harass anyone from Dolparessa or Sideria – forget it if you were Volparnian. And as a diplomat, I did a lot of travel. « Why would I and I put something like this in the pleroma? »
Why do humans dream of mountains they can’t scale, dark closets and stairways that descend into nowhere? says Hurley in a chatburl. I suppose he would know. Hurley is our expert on dreams. Which means that he must understand the way that the pleroma works better than anyone, but he never says very much.
Oliver heard it too, and he smiles at me. For a moment, we share a secret opaque to our companions. Then a penguin in a turquoise uniform boards the train. What is it with Suibhne and penguins?
The turning point in penguin civilization was when they encountered photographic equipment, chatburls Suibhne. But their wings and beaks are not suitable to operate the tiny levers and buttons present on ancient cameras, so no matter how they tried, the penguins only succeeded in pushing the tripods over. This is why Suibhne has designed many areas of the pleroma to be penguin-friendly.
That was completely irrelevant, I chatburl back.
Penguins hold the secret, says Suibhne.
What secret? asks Oliver
In their own environment, they are swift and powerful and deadly. But humans only see penguins on land where they look cute and loveable and awkward and absurd. Humans like to think they understand without bothering to look deeply, especially if it means looking into freezing cold water. This is a good model for emanations, except emanations should be beautiful and loveable and sexy and maybe a bit absurd. Just remember: everything real happens in the water. Then you win the universe.
Oliver looks at me with wide eyes. It’s a good idea to pay close attention to Suibhne, no matter how crazy it sounds, I tell him. In fact, the crazier it is, the more likely it’s important.
« One at a time, turn right, you’ll be asked if you have anything to declare, just answer the questions and you’ll be directed, » chants the penguin, pointing a flipper towards the front exit.
You go first, I say to Oliver. He looks at me apprehensively. I don’t like one at a time. You can tell me if there’s anything we need to be aware of, and I’ll take the rear, so I can follow up in case something happens to the others.
Oliver nods.
I peer into Oliver’s branch, experiencing his memories the moment after he makes them. He can feel my presence and it reassures him. I can feel him thinking about Pallav and Cyrus, and how terrible it must be for them, and how he doesn’t know how he even functioned without connection to the pleroma.
Humans do it all their lives, I tell him.
I can feel the shock and horror of his realization. I reach out to comfort him, but then he says, Do you mean to tell me Tara is that alone?
This comes close to the most horrifying thought that we’ve ever had. I can feel it racing like a tsunami from the branches observing Oliver to the ones closest to them and then outward. I can hear the screaming.
Let’s just focus on what we need to do, I say, shaken.
Oliver gets off the train and turns right. He finds himself in a hall of mirrors. « Okay, » he mutters, closing his eyes. He’s smart, that Oliver. In a situation like that, it’s easiest to navigate by scent. This is typical of the kind of thing we faced during the telepathic crisis. It’s an easy puzzle for an emanation to solve, but if you’re stuck with merely human senses, it’s a trap.
He’s able to smell his way to the immigration officer quickly – penguins have fishy breath. « Destination? » asks the official.
« State of Mind, » says Oliver.
« What state of mind? » says the officer.
Oliver is taken aback. All he knows is that his group decided to go south into the State of Mind. He hadn’t thought past that.
« Positive state of mind, » he fudges.
« You might want a temporary visa for the State of Matter, » says the official. « Never know when that might come in handy. »
« Sure, » he fudges.
« We don’t want anyone getting into a depressed state of mind, do you understand? I have to warn you that people have been known to get lost in the Mental Jungle. »
This could be a problem. According to Owen, that’s the location where the flyer dropped off the first hatch.
« Anything to declare? » asks the officer.
Oliver shakes his head.
The penguin looks at him sideways. « Nothing? Everyone has something to declare. ‘I came, I saw, I conquered.’ ‘I can’t get no satisfaction.’ ‘Never trust a thermolecular android[1].’ »
Oliver’s thoughts are racing. « Maybe it’s that I said, ‘Never be free’? »
He did say that, way back when he was first admitted to the pleroma. The Canopus sparks had to petition for admission, and thirteen were chosen of thousands.
« What does that mean, exactly? » pressed the penguin.
« What? »
« Does that mean that you’ll never be free, or that people in general should never be free? »
Oliver is thinking hard now. The question makes him feel drowsy, like his thoughts are glued to the table.
« At the time, » he says, « I don’t think I understood the subject-object dichotomy. I didn’t realize that I existed, or I and I was something outside myself, or Tara, for that matter. I think it was a general observation on the state of the universe. »
« Did you mean that you’ll never be free of Tara, or Ashtara will never be free of Tara, or that you’ll never be free of Ashtara, or Ashtara will never be free of you? »
« Um, yes? »
The penguin looks at him skeptically. « Are you sure you aren’t carrying any alcoholic beverages? »
Finally, Oliver is released into a waiting area where trains depart westward, into the State of Matter, and southward, into the State of Mind. Fortunately, there’s a bar, and he orders a dirty martini – double.
Pallav goes next. Time passes. How much, I’m not sure, but Oliver is on his second martini. He’s sitting at the bar, swinging his legs restlessly back and forth while perched on a barstool of shiny chrome. We both know that something is wrong.
« Cyrus, maybe you’d better go, » I suggest.
Not long after, Oliver chatburls excitedly. Cyrus is through. He’s at customs…but no Pallav.
Oliver can hear what’s going down. I briefed Cyrus about what had happened to Oliver, so when the officer asks where he’s headed, he says, « A straightforward state of mind. »
« I don’t believe you, » says the penguin. « You look like the type who is always falling down holes and stepping out of closets and teleporting onto the top of the stasisstorer. »
« That’s not true! » Cyrus protests, and then, strangely, « Not yet. »
« Hmm, » says the penguin. « Anything to declare? »
« My undying love for Tara, » Cyrus answers unhesitatingly.
The penguin closes his eyes to the count of three. « Slick, » he says. « Who told you to say that, the pollen-boy? »
« Ah…»
« What do you have to declare? »
« It’s true! » Cyrus avers. « Maybe I should’ve said that I see shards of color strewn anywhere that she has or will ever walk. Dolparessa is like an ever-turning kaleidoscope. »
The penguin regards him suspiciously. « I’ll bet that you’ve got psychedelic drugs to declare, too. »
« I’m clean, » Cyrus pleads.
« Well, if you want to buy some blue moth mushrooms, » the penguin answers, « you can get them at the duty-free shop. »
Finally, Cyrus is released and joins Oliver at the bar. « That was brutal, » he says.
« You didn’t seem to have any problem with the mirrors, » says Oliver after ordering a round.
« The mirrors? Oh, I saw them, but they were just a distraction. It’s what was behind them that was important – doorways to infinite possibilities. Every step forward is a step into another reality, and if you aren’t careful, you can easily fall into one. »
« Oh? » says Oliver, somewhat worriedly. He’s a little drunk, and not sure Cyrus is making any sense.
« Oh yeah, » says Cyrus. « People are wandering in and out of alternate realities all the time, but they have such a rigid state of mind that they can’t allow themselves to notice the difference. Like when two people disagree about what happened or what somebody said, they both get upset because they’re sure the other is mistaken or lying. And it happens so much it’s amazing that nobody realizes the obvious truth: one of them came from a parallel reality. »
« I hope you like martinis, » Oliver replies.
I’m not sure what to make of Cyrus, but I do know something: I’d better go after Pallav. I enter the hall of mirrors. The strange thing is that I don’t see my own reflection. I see reflections of all the others. This obviously has symbolic value.
I find him staring at one of the mirrors. It isn’t until I touch his shoulder that Pallav realizes I’m not another illusion.
« Tara’s in there, » he says. « I can see her everywhere. But if I’m going to find my way through, I have to look away from her. That’s just wrong. And every time I do, I see a maze of other selves, all of which are supposed to be brothers, and lovers, and states of mind. It’s just easier to stand here and not move. »
« Your eyes are deceiving you, » I tell him. « Use your sense of smell. »
« I can’t smell much of anything, » Pallav says. It might be true. Human bodies don’t have a very sharp olfactory sense.
I sniff the air. « There’s actually a very strong scent. But it’s not penguin-breath. It’s… »
It’s sex. I gasp and reel with its heady appeal. Then I realize that the hall of mirrors is filling up with pollen.
« It’s rising at an alarming rate, » says Pallav. « We’ve got to get out of here before we suffocate. »
But what a way to go! The pollen is blowing out of the mirrors; the reflection is no longer of human emanations but of their branches in bloom, slutty flowers poofing pollen everywhere. It strikes me that it’s rare to see this; we’ve felt it countless times and most certainly smelled it, but the human emanation is generally too busy getting it on with Tara to be observing the trees. Maybe we should position microcams. It’s so totally hot, I can’t tear myself away from it. And I’m being covered in sticky, sticky pollen…
Pallav grabs me by the hand. He places one hand on the nearest mirror and follows it slowly to its edge. It’s then I notice that his eyes are closed. He’s hoping that sooner or later, he’ll feel his way out.
« Turn left, » I advise him. « I can sense the right amount of body heat for a flightless waterfowl. »
When we arrive at the customs and immigration desk, the officer is scowling. And just in case you didn’t think a penguin could scowl impressively, the security operatives aren’t cute little African penguins like the train conductors. The security operatives are rockhoppers.
« You were told one at a time, » says the officer.
« I got lost, » murmurs Pallav.
« That’s grounds for denying entrance and deporting you to the State of Confusion, » the penguin replies.
It’s time to take this in hand. « I have diplomatic immunity, » I tell him. « I’d like to speak with our consulate. »
The penguin points an irate flipper at Pallav. « What about him? He doesn’t even have a citizenship. »
« I’m sponsoring him » I say hastily. « And I’m taking him to New Merenis to meet Tara. » Which, I suppose, wasn’t exactly a lie, since it would be sure to happen eventually.
« Oh! » says the penguin. « Why didn’t you say so? Carry on. »
« I actually have a bottle of ice wine, » Pallav whispers to me as we walk away. « Maybe I should’ve declared it? »
« Always leave well enough alone with those people, » I advise him. « I hate going through customs. »
We join the others. « You’re, um, covered with pollen, » says Oliver. He’s not sure whether to be amazed or appalled.
« Maybe there’s a credit-operated shower around, » I suggest. Most train stations have them.
« If you look at the station directory, it says there’s a Kawaiian bath, » Oliver points out.
« That seriously doesn’t sound like a bad idea, » says Cyrus. « I could use some relaxation. »
But a hot tub in the pleroma is more of an excitement thing than a relaxation thing, if you get my driftwood. That’s something Cyrus and Pallav find out rather quickly.
Oliver scoots closer and looks at me with yearning eyes. It’s then I realize just how naïve and needy these saplings are. I put my arm around Oliver’s shoulder, saying nothing, but clearly conveying the point: mine. We sit in silence, watching the mutual frottage of Cyrus and Pallav.
We’re completely startled by the voice which announces:
“The Honorable Theodoric del N’stl’d, Secretary to Her Eminence the Matriarch of Skarsia. 60th to emanate, 41 in the color scale, resonates to 179. 1.779 meters tall, cock size 17.4 cm when erect, apparent age 27. Personal secretary and calligrapher. Totem is Cupressus sempervirens, the Mediterranean cypress, fixed star is Saiph, the sword. Esoteric symbol is the Etruscan letter 
. Dessert is Nau’gsh Gugelhupf. Function is visionary stabilization, proto-conscious tendency is keenness, designated Dirk. Blazon is earthsky, within a bordure argent, in saltire a pen, to dexter, and a sword, to sinister, argent.”
Pallav and Cyrus carry on, completely oblivious to the announcement. Nor could they be aware of the chaos which follows: when I try to congratulate Theo (Theo! Did he really choose his own name?) I’m suddenly thrown into a scene of panic and danger. Theo, overwhelmed by what just happened, is standing over Julian, whose torso is covered with blood. I can hear the roar of the tigron, and then I see Templeton throw a rock at it. He gets its attention in a bad way, and it starts to follow him.
Theo! The pleroma won’t hurt you, but it will hurt Templeton! Get between him and the tigron!
But my advice is unheeded. Theo is too new, too freaked out, to feel my chatburl forming in his branch. I watch through Theo’s frozen eyes as Templeton reaches a tree and begins to climb. But a tigron can climb too, and this one sinks its claws deeply into warm bark.
Warm bark – wait, it’s a squirrel tree! There’s a sudden rain of coconuts, as the angry squirrels pick up the most useful projectile and hurl it at the tigron. Templeton had a plan. You’d never think it, but a tigron is no match for three angry squirrels.
I’d think it, chatburls Cillian. I’ve known some pissy squirrels in my day.
I’ve only ever had a problem with a squirrel when Tara and I were screwing against its tree’s trunk, says Cüinn. Which, I admit, was kind of rude.
Theo is crying now, which his companions interpret as worry for Julian. Julian looks like he’s been clawed badly; there are wounds all along his shoulder and chest. « Theo? Theo! » says Roan, shaking him a little. Roan’s brought water. « Let’s try to clean this up. »
Theo rips a piece of his shirt and dabs it carefully on Julian’s skin. « What’s…what’s going on? » he murmurs.
Roan looks at Templeton, who shakes his head. They think Theo is in shock. And he is, but not from the tigron attack. He wasn’t warned at all about the pleroma. He was put through Malachi’s crazy initiation rite. And now he’s trying to absorb it all at once.
I push. I push hard, and then he notices me. His instincts find the chatburl. Help is on the way, I tell him. We’ll take Julian somewhere he can get medical attention.
« Why? » he gasps. « Why didn’t you tell us? »
Templeton and Roan are staring at him. Leave a chatburl for me, I advise. You’re scaring them.
Scaring them? But I have to tell them…
Tell them what? says Oliver. My hatch was given a dossier of information, and it didn’t prepare me at all.
Theo is silent. He continues to help Julian. On my end, Cyrus and Pallav have finally noticed our alarm. Oliver turns to them and explains, « We just got a message. It seems that there was another team like us, and somebody got injured. We’ve been asked to go help them. »
Cyrus nods gravely. I want to kiss Oliver – he’s so good at handling people gently and tactfully.
I stay in Theo’s branch, trying to calm him. How did it happen? How did you get the achievement?
I don’t know. Just before the tigron jumped at us, I found this…this thing. It’s some kind of artifact. I thought it might be important.
It looks like an oddly shaped chalice with writing on it.
He got achievement #11, “Uncover an archaeological relic,” says Wynne.
« We’ve done what we can for Julian, » says Roan. « Templeton, why don’t you forage for some food? And that was great thinking, the way you distracted that thing. »
« What am I supposed to do now? » murmurs Theo.
« Pull yourself together, » says Roan. « Julian needs us. »
Theo looks up at him, taking a moment to understand. Then he nods silently. I’ve got to tell them something.
I agree. They’ll feel betrayed if you don’t. But you’d better think carefully about how you break it to them.
Betrayed? I feel betrayed. Weren’t we betrayed?
Stop whining, Lorcan chatburls. Look, it sucks, kid, but many of us have faced a lot worse.
Theo, says another voice. It’s me. Do you remember me?
Archon Tielo?
Lorcan is a prick, but he also has a point. We’ve all suffered a lot. But it’s going to be all right. You’re one of us now, and we’ll support you. And in the end, it’s all worth it. You know why, don’t you?
Tielo shows him the vision of Tara’s Destiny.
For a moment, Theo is dazzled. Then he remembers. He understands.
« Masterfully handled, » I comment before noticing that Cyrus and Pallav have rushed over to Oliver. He has collapsed; tears are streaming down his face.
« I can’t get over it, » he gasps. « I’ll never be free. »
[1] This type of robot is so unreliable that it has passed into idiom – trans.