Level 69, Love Hotel. Davy fumbles with the key. « I’m sorry, I don’t have a bed. That’s why Suibhne thinks my apartment is weird. »
« That, and not the buckets full of intestines? » I survey the tacky surroundings. « Granted, your flat wouldn’t have been the most romantic of settings, but this is hardly a step up. Maybe we should try to rent a suite in the luxury tower in the red-light district. »
« We could go to the Gold Lounge. There’s even a hot tub. »
« Yeah, and then everyone with Gold Cards will show up for an orgy. Which does have its merits, but for now, I think I’d like a little privacy. »
Alas, it is not to be. No sooner than Davy’s lips meet mine do we hear a frantic pounding on the door. « It’s me, Driscoll! Let me in! »
Driscoll does not have a Gold Card. « Davy, maybe we should reconsider the Gold Lounge… »
Too late. Davy opens the door. « I’ve got the paintings, » Driscoll says breathlessly.
« So what did it – Hurley or drugs? » Driscoll looks like he’s about to make a cutting reply when Davy says, « Forget I said that. Let’s just get going. »
« We were going to have a lover’s tryst! » I protest.
Driscoll is looking around, wide-eyed, grinning. « It looks like something out of Holepunch Prophecy Bellwether – you know, the Haploid Transport Eruption dōjinshi with the sentient squid. »
Davy shakes his head. « Tara, you know it’s not like me to turn down sex, especially kinky cosplay sex that might somehow involve an octopus puppet, but this is too important. »
Yeah, that is weird. Now I’m really concerned.
« Meet me at the creche in an hour, » he continues. « Driscoll, the room’s paid for. Show her a good time. »
I plop down on the tacky round bed. « Great, just great. »
« Looks like his loss is my gain. You don’t want to waste these surroundings. »
« I don’t even understand why you would need to pay for a room in your own mind. »
« Humans do it all the time, only they call it analysis. » He passes his cigarette holder to me. I take a drag – it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.
There’s another knock at the door. It’s Hurley. « I brought the costumes. »
An hour later, we arrive back at the cenote. « You guys aren’t really betting on who I’ll fall in love with next. »
« Wynne will set odds on anything, » Driscoll replies.
« Who won? »
« Suibhne. I’d say that was more loyalty than foresight, but then Suibhne wins a surprising amount of the time. »
« Maybe I should ask who’s the odds-on favorite? »
« We probably shouldn’t tell you that, » says Hurley hastily.
Davy is already there, holding an enormous basket containing four eggs. « Great news about those achievements. »
Achievements? Yes, I had dimly registered a number of recognition announcements, but I was clouded by highweed and busy giving Driscoll the spanking he so richly deserved.[1] « How many are left? »
Hurley points at the ceiling. « Only six missing, counting the ones in the basket. »
The mandala is beautiful – like living light, but warmer. No, it’s actually cooler – nul-energy is warm and radiant where light is hot and bright. The radiance from the spirals both bleeds into and feeds from the blue flame flickering at the edges. « The flame is so much brighter now, have you noticed? » I murmur.
« Yeah, » says Davy. « That’s…ah, intentional. Long story. » He hesitates, glancing at his feet. « You know, I’m not too good at expressing myself, but what happened earlier…it meant a lot. A whole lot. Like if you could fall in love with me, then maybe…well, anyway, thanks. »
A few others have gathered: quite a few archons – Ailann, Balin, Suibhne, Nash and Templeton – plus Cillian and Malachi. Briscoe is still crouched on the edge of the cenote, staring at the remaining sparks. If nothing else, this hatching should straighten out his head – I hope.
« We’re going to let Tara do the honors. » Davy sets the basket on the floor, then indicates a gilt antiquity propped near the north end of the pool. « See that mirror? Drop the egg into the pool, then duck behind it. The emanation’s instinct will be to look at you, but he’ll see his reflection first and remember his name. »
A clever idea. But before we can start, we’re interrupted by a strange procession: Prem, who I met back in Noir, is in the lead waving a censer. I’m struck again by how handsome he is, his clarity of gaze and harmony of expression lending him a sense of otherworldly beauty. The second is one I’ve never seen before; solemn and imposing, he carries a wand. Third in line is Seth, bearing an impressive chalice. He is followed by another new one, a tall man carrying a skull whose most remarkable feature is that he has two differently colored eyes. One eye is so familiar, Ash’s eye, so blue and so kind. And the other is dark, brown, strange to me. I don’t know what that means.
« Stavros and Merrick, » Hurley whispers.
« What are you guys doing here? » asks Cillian, clearly annoyed.
« The initiates of the Genius Arborium Sidereum have come to consecrate the final hatching, » Seth replies, sprinkling water from the chalice.
« Whatever, » says Davy. « Can we just do this? » He gestures at the basket. « I hope you like them. Driscoll and I – we really gave these guys our all. »
« Are you saying I’m an inferior product? » asks Merrick.
« Have you looked at yourself? » snaps Davy. « We made you really hot because we knew you were going to be such a weirdo. Not like Beat. We could afford to make him average-looking because he’s got such a great personality. »
« You think like that? » I exclaim. « And you call me shallow? »
« Not exactly, » says Driscoll. « Beat and Merrick are simply two extremes. For most, it isn’t a matter of a so-called great personality or being quote unquote hot. There are nuances. Form follows function. Each emanation is an entire package where every element is carefully considered in the total effect. »
A contingent from the scene at Sloane’s – Lorcan, X’khaim, and Jamey – has arrived. « I heard that the last four are something special, » says Lorcan. « We’re scouting them out. »
« I’m here on behalf of Stud Buffet, » says Wynne, squeezing into the back.
« Good grief, » mutters Davy.
« Um, hello, » says Theo. « Patrick sent Julian and me on behalf of the newly constituted Formal Dining Clade. »
By this time, Seth’s crew has finished their circumambulation and gathered on the left side of the mirror. Davy hands me an egg of brilliant crimson. I’d held one of the eggs before, but it is still quite remarkable. It is warm, the same temperature as the trunk of a Cu’enashti. Curled up inside of it is a perfect representation of the man to be. It’s not exactly like he is going to grow or expand in size any more than he was shrunk when Davy put him in there. The pleroma is a mental construct. Size has no ultimate reality here – it’s a matter of convenience or symbolism. The eggs are both easy to handle and an allegory of the seedling status of the contents. They are conceptual models. The spark of life isn’t inside of them.
« I hope we’re not too late, » says Tarlach, pushing his way through with Chand and Jesse. « I thought that being the ones responsible for social cohesion in the pleroma, a delegation from the CSPR should be present. That’s Council for Psychology, Sociology and Recreation – not to be confused with the CCPR, Council for Cu’enashti Psychological Research. »
« How about the ASAP? » mutters Davy through gritted teeth.
Right. Here goes nothing. I take a deep breath and allow the egg to slip from my hands into the dark waters. I watch it sink; the red spark plunges after it. For a moment, all is quiet, and then there is an abrupt movement, the remaining sparks scattering as the newly emanated one surges through the water. I duck quickly behind the mirror, which turns out to be one-way glass – I can see through it and into the water. It’s different from the usual, “Oh look, a stranger walked out of the bathroom.” One of those sparks of energy is becoming a living man. Something miraculous is happening, and I find myself holding my breath.
The surface of the water breaks, and the man hoists himself easily out of the pool. He has shoulder-length light brown hair and pouting lips, but as he crouches, glancing into the mirror, it becomes apparent that his outstanding feature is his body, supple, athletic and perfectly proportioned.
« My name is Fairchild. » I step from behind the mirror to get a better look. « I remember you, » he says. « I feel you in the red blood which runs through my body. » He stretches himself. « I like it. This animal physicality is a gift from you, so much more expressive than the way I was before. I want to discover the different ways this body can work. »
Fairchild flips gracefully backwards onto his hands and lowers his legs, spreading them into a split. He manages to do this in a confined space without so much as touching anyone.
« Damn, » mutters Lorcan. « Sloane, get on that. »
I agree completely. « I want to see how that body can work, too. »
Jesse passes him a towel, then extends his hand, smiling. « Happy birthday, Fairchild! Well, we call it ‘emanation day,’ but it’s still a great excuse for a party. As recreation coordinator, I can help you to plan any special occasion. »
« Let’s just skip the self-promotion and get on with it, » says Davy, handing me a pale gray egg. I let it slip from my hands and watch, fascinated, as the egg falls into the dark waters, plummeting down and down. It’s an uncomfortably long time before the water seems agitated; then I remember to get behind the mirror, but there are too many people in the way. A serious, sepia-toned man comes to the surface. Unlike Fairchild, he flails considerably, his long brown hair tangled like algae in the water, his bookish dignity at odds with his inability to swim. He stares at me directly, and for a moment, I think the worst has happened.
Tarlach and Jesse help the man climb out of the pool and hold him in front of the mirror. We wait for him to announce his name. « I, uh, I can’t see anything without my glasses, » he murmurs.
Well, Ash, that was a quick save. Seth scoots back as Tarlach moves the new branch closer to the mirror. « Haight, » he says.
« I suppose, » says Seth confusedly, « if you consider the water to be depth? »
« No, no, my name is Haight. H-A-I-G-H-T. »
« That’s a scenester name if I’ve ever heard one, » mutters Lorcan.
Haight turns suddenly, squinting at the chalice in Seth’s hands. « What an intriguing inscription. Can I see it? »
Seth hands the chalice to him. « Do you mean to say that you can interpret the sangraal? »
« I’m pretty sure I can…if I can see it clearly. » Haight lifts the grail towards the ceiling. All the sparks in the pleroma seem to be reflected in its waters.
There is a moment of reverent silence.
« So what does it droidfucking say? » asks Merrick.
«I’m surprised you can’t read it, » says Haight. « It’s just Galactic Standard. »
« Right, » I say dubiously. « I don’t see anything in Galactic Standard. I see a bunch of meaningless characters. »
« But look at the way capital letters seem to be positioned randomly, » Haight urges. « Divide their position in the alphabet by three, multiply by 277, and read them as the letter indicated by the next whole number below twenty-seven. »
« Sure, » I mutter. « Who the hell can do that? »
« Oh, I see, » says Malachi. « It reads “Fill me with the water of life, a libation for 101 blossoms.” »
Suddenly, the almost-white spiral flings itself from the depths of the pool towards the ceiling.
“Haight of Seachange, Gentleman Cipher. 100th to emanate, 84 in the color scale, resonates to 433. 1.786 meters tall, cock size 17.41 cm when erect, apparent age 33. Steganographer. Totem is Tilia tomentosa, the silver lime or linden, fixed star is Drega, this side. Esoteric symbol is the Minchiate trump L’Aria, air. Dessert is assorted nau’gsh tea cakes and wagashi. Function is combinatory insight, proto-conscious tendency is gentility, designated Proper. Blazon is sable, within a saltire gainsboro parted and fretty, the letters W, X, Y and Z as in a masonic cipher, gainsboro.”
« The whole series of achievements was connected, » says Ailann. « Theo found the grail, Merrick identified it, and Haight interpreted the instructions. »
« More than that, » says Seth. « Did you know that ‘water of life’ is the literal translation of aqua vitae, an alchemical term? Which was exactly the alchemical potion made by Granville, who unfortunately is not with us right now, as he regretfully decided to join the Formal Dining Clade instead of G.:A.:S:. »
« Yep, I figured that Granville was on the ball, » says Cillian.
« That’s simple chemistry, » I reply. « It’s just distillate of wine. More like something you’d use to spike an emanation day party punch than put into the Holy Grail. »
« Ye of little faith, » Seth replies.
Haight clears his throat. « Might I please have a robe? I’m afraid that I did have to dirty myself to be here, but I’d prefer not to be an exhibitionist. Also, does anyone have my glasses? »
So he’s the dust-ball, and Fairchild the one I stained with my blood.
I married a dust-ball. I’m probably going to think about that every time I have sex with him.
« Here’s a robe, » says Malachi from behind me. He’s stuck in the press of the crowd, so the garment is passed to me. As I give it to Haight, my hand brushes against his. He seizes it abruptly, holding it in front of his face. « The meaning of life was hidden before me this whole time, » he says. « Is that allegorical or what? » He squints, pulling my hand closer. « Did you know that there’s a message in your DNA from someone named Ernst Sider? »
« Wow, » says Cüinn. « With you around, we wouldn’t have needed an AI to decode that. »
« What is Cüinn doing here? » asks Lorcan. « He isn’t even in a clade. »
« Am so – Club V/E. But I’m not here for prurient purposes. I’m doing scientific research on the method of emanation. »
« This is fascinating, » says Davy in a tone of voice which clearly says that it’s not. He passes me an egg. « Let’s get this ship in the wormhole.[2] »
« Do you want a drumroll? » asks Beat.
« Any more people in here, and we won’t have room for the new guys » says Tommy.
« It would help if I had some space to get behind the mirror. » The mob of emanations shuffles until I end up in an appropriate position. An image flashes into my mind – penguins. A movid I saw once depicting emperor penguins in a storm, shuffling in a spiral to circulate heat. I can’t help smirking.
« Don’t laugh, » says Davy. « I know the color is ugly, but I promised you he’d be hot. »
The egg is smaller than the others and mucky green-gray, SSOps green. It’s that little spark we found on Earth. This time, I slip the egg in the water and duck immediately behind the mirror. There’s a bit of a struggle to the surface – Briscoe and Tarlach come to his assistance – which makes it hard for me to see. But the room is suddenly silent, absolutely silent, and the temperature seems to have gone up several degrees.
The new man moves so that he can see the mirror. His features are pleasingly handsome, above average, but not nearly in the same league as someone like Dermot. However, there’s something undefinable about him –his body language, expressions, maybe even his scent – steeped in a raw and undeniable sexuality. And he’s a little awkward, like he doesn’t realize the effect he has, which makes him all the more desirable.
« I’m really liking the way my body works, » says Fairchild. Zadornin draws in his breath slowly as he feels the eyes upon him. For a moment, for the least flicker of a moment, I feel strangely chilled. And then I realize in that brief duration, those eyes weren’t looking at me. Everyone in the room has an erection, which is pretty impressive. I’m about to complain that I never get that reaction when the surface of the water is ruptured, and the tiny, unremarkable spark floats to the ceiling.
“Zadornin of Seachange, Supersymmetrical Polytopontiff. 101st to emanate, 39 in the color scale, resonates to 167. 1.816 meters tall, cock size 17.95 cm when erect, apparent age 33. Avant-geometer. Totem is Ginkgo biloba, the Ginkgo, fixed star is Tuo’enprik, the solemn anther. Esoteric symbol is the Etruscan letter 
. Dessert is Très letch cake (nau’gsh crème cake soaked in mookau cream, condensed and evaporated kasmilch). Function is combinatory inspiration, proto-conscious tendency is angularity, designated Bent. Blazon is sable, per chief fir-topped SSOps drab, to base a polyxennon demicube with vertices multiplicity 1 gules, multiplicity 2 tenné, multiplicity 3 or and multiplicity 4 vert, edges SSOps drab.”
« What just happened? » I ask, squeezing from behind the mirror.
« Wynne says that he got achievement #81, » says Chand, « “Set a forest on fire.” »
There’s a roar of laughter. « I might’ve made him too good, » mutters Davy. « Let’s move on to the last one. »
« Excuse me, » says a very familiar voice, and the crowd parts quickly and automatically. It’s Daniel. « The first should be here for the last, right? Besides, he’s my brother. »
It’s almost an anticlimax. I feel like there should be a fanfare or fireworks or a holoshow, but the final emanation simply floats to the surface, gasping for air. When he’s pulled from the water, I get a better look at him. With a few exceptions – his hair is slightly longer and better cut, he appears about five years older and more composed – he looks almost exactly like Daniel.
Driscoll sighs. « In the end, I opted for closure, for nostalgic retrospective. I realized that I would never exceed the original, so I might as well do an homage. »
« My name is Anthony, » the new man murmurs. « It’s been a long time. »
[1] These achievements are detailed in emanation egg scenes 36b and 39a and b – trans.
[2] A common expression equivalent to “Let’s get this show on the road,” but Davy is obviously aware of the double-entendre in the context of the conversation –trans.
Follow Tara as the penultimate quest achievements are completed in Emanation Egg Scene 41a –>