The Victorious Tara (don’t blame my ego – Cillian named it) has barely emerged from the wormhole when Patrick says, “Six hours before we make orbit. Want to go fishing?”
I’m flabbergasted at the suggestion. “You’re kidding, right? What if there’s a message from the Governor of Cybae?”
“Lady Lorma is perfectly capable of handling anything routine, but I’ll be here with Canopus, just in case,” he replies. “Look, Hollis and Ailann are really keen on it. They think that we’ve exhausted good recruits in the Domha’vei, but that there might be some potential candidates out here.”
I suppose I can see the logic. We’ve never personally been in this region of space before – it’s too good of an opportunity to miss. And once we land, we’ll be too busy with diplomatic appointments.
“No diving this time,” Patrick adds. “Since we’ll be looking at the roots around Canopus, we can see what surfaces in Ailann’s reflecting pool.”
I crouch next to the penjing pot, examining the most recent branch – a rowan. “Maybe I’ll get a chance to talk to the new guys,” I sigh. “You won’t even let me look at their trading cards.”
“Don’t you want to be surprised?” says Patrick.
In fact, he’s been evasive about the whole thing, so evasive that I’m sure if I don’t push the issue, I won’t get an answer. So when I appear in the pleroma, I don’t bother to knock on Daniel’s door. As I expect, Rand is there, socializing, because he misses Patrick. I go directly to him.
The thing about Rand, which I find infinitely useful, but others in the pleroma find equally aggravating, is that he is incapable of lying to me. « Let’s talk, » I request, in a tone of voice clearly conveying an order.
« You don’t have much time, » he replies. « You’re expected at Ailann’s. Everybody is already up there…Davy, Malachi, Cillian… »
« Then come with me. » Everyone else pretends not to watch, but I know they’re all following with great interest. I’ve learned to recognize the expression they have when they’re watching me in a mirror, a glass, from the corner of their eye, sniffing the air for my scent. They also have an enormous communication network which exists outside of my perception. Some of them are following Rand, experiencing his memories the instant after he makes them, and there’s certain to be a flurry of chatburls discussing everything that we do. Privacy is impossible here.
No point in beating around the bush. « What’s up with the great hatching project? How are they doing? »
« Ah…it’s complicated, » Rand prevaricates.
« You know you’re not getting off with just that. »
Rand looks decidedly uncomfortable. « I’m not sure it’s working out so well. The process of emanation went just fine, but the new branches seem to be having some trouble adapting. »
« Wasn’t that what the poem was for? Malachi said it would help them to have a token from me, the way having my locket helped the early Yggdrasil emanations. »
« Well…the thing is that Malachi talked us into doing an initiation ritual before sending them off on their own to do their quest achievements. I’m sure the poem is of great comfort to them, but they don’t really understand what’s going on yet. »
« What? Why didn’t someone just explain the situation? »
« That’s what Tarlach said. »
We reached the door of Ailann’s temple. « Look, if you want to set up some weird scenario, at least make it kinky, like a whorehouse or something. »
Davy is at the door. « Damn it! » he exclaims. « I wish we’d thought of it before we sent out the second group. »
« I was joking…wait, what second group? »
« Um, » said Davy. « Yeah. Well, you did say that you felt sorry for them in the cenote, right? »
« We tried Tarlach’s suggestion on the second group, to see if it would work any better, » Rand continues. « We explained what they are, and what the quest achievements are, and what they had to do to be recognized by the pleroma. »
« You mean I now have eight husbands running around that I’ve never seen? »
« Not exactly, » says Davy hastily. « You’ve already seen Pallav and Oliver. Look, we really need Cyrus, okay? I just have a feeling about it. And since Jamey didn’t want me to double-dip with Goliath, I had to do a second batch. The other one is X’khaim, you know, the silver guy with the glitter. »
« I wish you’d told me about this. Well, where are they now? »
« Um, we sent the first group into unexplored territory. I think they’re somewhere called the State of Mind. The second group went north, towards Ophionia. »
« Lord love a dobergator! You mean that the first group isn’t back yet, but you sent out a second one? All on their own? These guys are less than a week old, and they can’t connect to the grove memory. They’re children! Who the fuck puts children on a train and says, “Have fun finding yourself?” »
« They need, and I still assert this, some kind of difficulty to overcome in order to develop maturity, resourcefulness and character, » Malachi inserts. « And there’s something else we need to know, from a sociological standpoint. We need to see if we can find something to replace death. »
« Why in the hell would we want to replace death? We’ve worked our asses off to get rid of it. »
« It’s something I’ve been discussing with Davy and a few other people – Dermot, Seth, Manan… »
« Hold your hovercars, bud. Whenever Davy starts talking to Dermot, it means trouble, and Seth doesn’t have the sense to cover his leaves in a hailstorm. »
« But listen, Tara, » Malachi pleads. « We’re concerned that death might have an actual function, a spiritual function. »
« We don’t need any superstitious crap about heaven. »
« That’s not it. If humans are deprived of death and it serves a function, they might eventually go insane, like chronic insomniacs. Also, consider the human adage that suffering builds character. Will evolution continue without a source of struggle? Or will humanity become soft in brain and heart, as well as muscle? If we plan to provide immortality, we need to consider the contingencies. For example, could a social ritual take the place of authentic hardships inflicted by circumstance? »
« Suibhne knows the answer to that one, » says Suibhne. « It is called the prom. »
« So you experimented on those branches? No wonder they’re having issues! »
« I said it was unethical. » Tarlach inserts, rather smugly. « I reminded everyone that the CCPR needs to review all research. »
« Suibhne thinks we should’ve tried it on larches first. »
« If Cüinn were here, he’d say that larches weren’t adequate test subjects, » says Davy. « We could always try penguins. »
« No! » Suibhne howls, falling to his knees.
« Damn it, Davy, » grumbles Ailann. « Why did you have to set him off? We don’t have much time as it is. »
Davy throws his arms around Suibhne. « I was only joking. We would never be cruel to penguins. Only branches. »
Tears roll down Suibhne’s cheeks. « Suibhne is afraid that someday the larches will have their revenge. They’ll kill all the flightless waterfowl. »
I take Suibhne’s hand between mine, saying, « It can be a hard universe. But you must know that I’d always be on the side of penguins. If I can stop it, I won’t let anything bad happen to them. Or emanations, » I add, glaring at Malachi.
« Look at the sparks in the water, » Davy suggests. « Aren’t they pretty? »
To encourage Suibhne, I gesture toward the surface of the pool. On first glance, it seems to be covered with white lotus plants and inhabited by crocodiles; under the surface, however, lay the roots of Atlas and Canopus. Occasional whorls of light appear and vanish. Under the tiny roots of Canopus, a number of sparks seemed to be approaching cautiously and curiously.
« Tara, do you see anyone you like? » asks Ailann.
I wade out into the water to get a closer look. The sparks immediately flee to the opposite end of the reflecting pond. « Anti-social, » mutters Cillian. « They don’t look like good recruits. »
I spot one trying to hide under a root, but he is such an intense pink that he’d stand out most anywhere. It reminds me of the situation with Poole. « How about him? Maybe he’s just playing hard-to-get. »
« Is he hiding…or stalking? » asks Cillian.
I poke the root gently. The spark jumps up nervously in the water, perhaps realizing that it has been spotted. Then suddenly that particle of hot mad pink lunges at me. I feel it hit my finger sharply, drawing blood. Instinctively, I swat it away, and it flies out of the water, bouncing against one of Ailann’s sacred oaks. « It bit me! You little bastard! »
It remains spinning in the air. The spark and I regard each other warily, both on guard for a second attack.
A net descends. It’s Davy, adroitly scooping it out of the air. « I don’t think we’re going to get this one to stay in the cenote, » he says breezily. « Better store him with the Canopic jars. »
« Unacceptable, » says Aran.
« Are you fucking kidding me? » asks Cillian.
« Sometimes Tara likes them feisty, » Davy argues. « Like you. »
« I’m all the feisty she needs, » snaps Cillian. « And that guy isn’t feisty, he’s hostile. »
« His name is Hyde, » says Davy obliviously. « Hyde, it’s time you got with the program. Now that you’ve taken a bite out of Tara, you’re involved. »
« No! » cries Suibhne, agitated again. « He’ll never leave Tara alone. He’ll chase her forever, and probably try to kill her and eat her! »
« Calm down, Suibhne, » Davy hisses, but it’s more like a warning than an attempt to soothe him. « It’s gonna be fine. »
The pink spark swirls sullenly in the net. « Seriously, Davy. Does Ash want that in the pleroma? »
« Mooniberri. He’s the right color. He’s perfect. Trust me. »
« Bloody hell, » mutters Cillian. « Bloody non-composted mookau placentas. »
And then Marius runs in. « I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to Tara! »
« It’s not a problem. » says Davy. « Chill. »
If it wasn’t a problem, then why did my personal bodyguard show up? « Rand, what’s the deal? Does Ash have some reason for wanting this particular spark which somehow eludes me? »
Rand scratches the back of his neck. « Suibhne isn’t as crazy as he sounds, » he admits. « We’re talking about a proto-consciousness which has existed, until now, entirely isolated in the nul-universe. But remember, nul-energy will interact with human consciousness. He’s been contaminated, imprinted on your physical presence. He really will keep following you, which means we’ve got two options: bring him into the pleroma or lock him in a nul-chamber forever. »
« I won’t allow that, » says Ailann. « He’ll be alone for centuries until he finally consumes all of his own energy. It’s horrifically cruel. »
« He’ll spend all that time pining away for you, » says Davy.
« And if he ever escaped, he’d come looking for vengeance, » adds Marius. « Indoctrination and incorporation really are the best option. »
« You can’t be serious, » Cillian protests. « What about quality control? We can’t just grab any old stray. »
« Look! » cries Suibhne.
The water in Ailann’s reflecting pool is suddenly seething, steaming, bubbling over. Amid the tumult, a spark rises from the water, spinning, resplendent in its pinkness, a soothing, gentle hue, the color of Cu’ensali blossoms.
« What the fuck now? » mutters Cillian.
« Oh good! » says Davy. « We’ve been waiting for him! That’s Merrick, the demon to whom Seth sold his body. Hey Merrick! Good to see you. »
« This is too convenient, » says Cillian. « Don’t change the topic. »
« Now Merrick and Hyde, » continues Davy, completely ignoring Cillian, « if you guys would just come with me, I’ll show you the quickest way to the crèche, and you can wait there until I fix you up with a nice body, m’kay? »
« That was different, » I say as Davy leaves with the sparks. « I don’t think we should fish around here anymore. »
« It makes diving near Ophion look attractive, » says Hollis.
« Hollis, is this really all right? »
« As long as we can get them to synchronize, » he says. « Right now, they’re just an impulse – they have awareness, a certain momentum, but nothing resembling a personality. »
« Think of them as tubes of paint, » says Malachi. « You could use them to paint a million different paintings. The form they take will be determined by the pleroma. »
« But they’ll always be fucking pink, » says Cillian.
I’m returned to the Victorious Tara right before we make orbit, so there is little time for discussion. There are greetings to be exchanged, photo opportunities, school children doing acrobatics with brightly colored flags. We finally get a breather when we settle into our quarters a few hours before the official reception. The Cybaen government has taken over the top three floors of the most expensive hotel in their capital city, Helustrukka, as our base of operations. It strikes me as strange: why hasn’t the governor invited me to stay at his personal mansion? I always house visiting heads of state. Why else would the Matriarch maintain twenty-five floors in the Apex-prime complex on Eirelantra? There are also guestrooms at Court Emmere, not to mention the space available in the enormous imperial palace at Vuernaco, Sideria.
Maybe he is embarrassed by his modest circumstances. Maybe there are cultural differences concerning privacy. Or maybe he is a snob and is trying to freeze us out. I don’t know whether I should be insulted or not.
I am damn glad to have Patrick along for the diplomacy, because I suck at it.
But Patrick keeps sniffing at the air and crinkling his nose. “Is there something wrong?” I ask.
“This planet smells peculiar,” he replies. “It’s really distracting.”
I had noticed it also, but it isn’t a particularly unpleasant smell. Some indescribable combination of flowers and herbs that mutated in a different direction than the plants brought to Skarsia in the gene banks. It was only to be expected.
“I can’t read them,” says Patrick. “They’re slutty but prudish at the same time.”
“I need a drink,” I mutter, opening the stasisstorer. “Eight more husbands. Lord Danak is going to cough up a dust devil. We’ll need to come up with suitable titles for all of them. I thought “Lord of the Oceans” was pretty good for Hollis. I double-checked, and the exploitation rights for all the oceans in the Domha’vei belong to the Matriarch, so it isn’t stepping on any toes.”
The mini-bar leaves something to be desired. It is skewed towards trendy, high-priced alcohol instead of high-quality classics. “LovoGogo Spumante really isn’t worth it, but it’s on their tab,” I decide, popping the cork.
“You have a lot more money than you need to be worrying about something like that,” says Patrick.
“I learned to be smart about finance when I was earning a fortune behind Tenzain Merkht’s back. I don’t mind spending for quality, but this is second rate.”
“Quennel says our hosts should know better,” says Patrick as I hand him a glass. “He thinks we’re being insulted. But personally, I’m more concerned about the quality of the security than the champagne.”
“I’ve taken precautions,” I reply, holding up my hands to the light. Twin shadows fall across them from the pale illumination of Cybae’s tiny moons. “Like the manicure?”
Patrick examines my fingers. “Thrice-hardened steel?”
For reply, I grab a tissue, toss it into the air, and slash my hand through it. The tissue shreds into confetti. “You have to hit it at just the right angle. It’s to keep things from getting too messy when shaking hands. I just can’t stand these diplomatic affairs where no weapons are allowed.”
“Hopefully, you won’t have to use those.”
“That would be a pity. You could always emanate Callum after dinner.”
Patrick grins. “Well, I suppose we’re fine for now. Marius would emanate at the first sign of any threat.”
“I’d feel more reassured if we hadn’t just arrived. The real show starts in a few hours.” A tour of four worlds, two of them allied with a vaguely hostile government – it would’ve been overly optimistic to expect everything to run to according to Danak’s plan. That’s why I had my own personal plan: be ready when things inevitably fuck up.