The other emanation that was getting a lot of play during those few months was Mickey. There had been a large amount of upheaval during the invasion, and just like with us, on the surface, everything seemed peaceful. But Mickey wanted his SSOps guys to dig a little deeper, see if there were any CenGov infiltrations or the like. I think after the assassination attempt, and then the way the Floatfish screwed us, he wasn’t going to take any chances. Good for him.
Back in the early days, before everyone knew he was the director of SSOps, Mickey worked as Tara’s personal trainer. Whenever possible, they still go to the gym together to practice her battle exercises. It always turns into an excuse for a seduction. Now, from my point of view, I can understand how seeing Tara moving around like that, getting all sweaty and out of breath, could be very stimulating. But it’s more than that for them. There’s something about the combat that turns them on. I don’t understand it at all. I’m a peaceful guy.
Except when we’re Mickey, or when I access his branch. Then I understand it perfectly. It makes sense to Mickey, but it doesn’t make sense to Tommy. And I’m afraid that this isn’t going to make any sense at all to Tara because she doesn’t know what it’s like to be two people at one time.
Anyway, they got together on a pretty regular basis, but I have to mention one day in particular. It didn’t seem important at the time, but it turned out to be – foreshadowing again. After Tara and Mickey finished a workout which involved fewer and fewer articles of clothing as it went on, and which Patrick isn’t going to let me talk about even though it’s pretty interesting, they decided to go down into the café in the garden for lunch.
Mickey was totally focused on Tara, which is completely normal. She had just showered, and so she smelled mostly of her expensive body detergent. To be honest, it was a little annoying. Because we can perceive on a molecular level, the preservative chemicals in it were blatantly obvious, whereas the average human wouldn’t be able to smell them at all. Besides, we like Tara’s natural scent. To a tree, the idea of covering up your scent is ludicrous. You want to be as aromatic as possible, to attract pollinators. But as a man, I can see the logic, maybe a little. Humans have a streak of predator in them, and predators don’t want to be noticed until it’s too late. It’s not that useful a behavior anymore since humans don’t really need to hunt.
It’s just cultural, says Cillian. Scent-aversion is only a few thousand years old. Learning to take a shower is like learning to use a fork.
Maybe, but I don’t really care if Tara uses flatware.
I find it very sexy when she uses her hands to eat, says Ari. Think about when she eats our apples.
Well, that’s in a whole different league, says Cillian.
That reminds me of an advertisement I saw the other day. A woman was eating applesauce. It was totally pornographic. I was surprised it was in the mainstream media push.
Everything has to be about sex for you, doesn’t it, says Evan.
No, I get it, says Davy. Think about Tara eating applesauce. From our apples.
****************************************
I, um, you, um…lost the narrative again, gasps Mickey.
Maybe Tarlach can use that as a new kind of therapy, suggests Wynne.
I don’t think it’s actually therapeutic, says Tarlach. Just stimulating. Very stimulating. A healthy sex fantasy for a Cu’enashti. Maybe I should do an episode of my talk show on Cu’enashti sex fantasies.
That sounds like a great idea, I reply. The ratings would be off the charts.
Why don’t you start with our luncheon again? Mickey suggests. Tara had actually ordered a sandwich.
Valentin pokes his head through the gaping hole in the wall over Daniel’s bed and begins to elaborate: It was a charcuterie special with nau’gsh-cured prosciutto and a kind of expensive sausage called himmelwurst imported from the IndWorlds. I didn’t recognize the sausage meat – the animal was obviously not from Earth’s gene-banks. The bread was a multi-grain combination of stone-ground wheat from the Windsong Plains, and turquoise corn grown on Eden. The mayonnaise was made with citron instead of lemon, and had just a touch of greengrain. Chef Yuric seems to really like that combination.
I’m surprised that Tara would eat a nau’gsh-cured prosciutto, says Tarlach. The Cantor would drop leaves if she knew.
Oh, that prosciutto is smoked by using the clippings taken from the common nau’gsh orchards when they’re pruned in the spring, says Driscoll. It has to be done anyway. Anyone who would object to that has a rod shoved up their bark. That café always has the trendiest menu. Turquoise corn, for example. Most everything that comes from Eden is very chic.
I’m filling out the ecosystem as I go, says Davy. I just came up with a new kind of seedless berry – well, the berry part is actually at the base of a flower which produces the seeds and then falls off. So it’s legit for those following a strict Cu’endhari diet. I made it bright pink, with white flowers, to be visible against the cornfields. I named it the mooniberri because it’s the same color as El Mooney’s mane.
A wide variety of edibles is very useful to the K’ntasari in more ways than one, says Ross. Exporting exotic foods is helping to build their nascent economy.
The story would move faster if we could get past the sandwich, says Mickey, thumping his forehead softly against the bedpost.
I suppose that’s my cue to take control of the narrative again. It was shortly after Tara received her sandwich that she said, “Hey, Mickey, did you notice that guy over there? He seems to be staring at me.”
“No,” Mickey replied, taking a bit of his own sandwich, of which the composition is irrelevant. “Weird. I didn’t even see him. I could’ve sworn that woman in the yellow hat was sitting at his table, instead of one over. But if I didn’t notice him, he can’t be a threat to you. If he was, I would’ve known immediately. He’s probably a journalist, or a harmless celebrity-seeker.”
“I guess you’re right. He just doesn’t seem like an ordinary lookee-loo.* He’s vaguely familiar somehow. I think I’ll skip dessert.”
That should’ve been a huge warning right there. When Tara skips dessert, things are not right in the universe.
A few weeks later, Mickey and Tara were back in the same spot. This time, Tara was having a glofungus salad with Skarsian frisée and seedless redberri dressing. Mickey waited until she’d ordered dessert to give her the SSOps report. He thought it was the kind of thing which might go down better with chocumber.
“I’ve been hearing some pretty odd things from Dalgherdia,” he said. “Problems with our distribution network. Dealers turning up dead.”
Tara looked at him curiously. “Something that SSOps can’t handle? Ennead rearing its ugly head?”
“We can’t discount anything at this point, although I’ve no reason to think that the Ennead is unhappy with our arrangements. But this is definitely planned, definitely someone trying to intimidate us. The MO is so weird that it’s getting hard to find people to work for us.”
“Are you building to some kind of suspenseful revelation?”
“I’m building to a ridiculous revelation. The corpses don’t have any blood in them. People are saying it’s vampires.”
Tara let her spoon dangle into her ice cream. “Huh?”
“Well, obviously, it isn’t. It doesn’t even fit the legends very well. There aren’t any puncture marks or places where the blood would be drawn, or drunk, or whatever. The blood is just missing.”
Tara tapped the spoon against the side of her glass, annoyed. “I’d say the simplest answer was alchemy, except…”
“Except there are only two Cu’enashti capable of getting to Dalgherdia – myself and Ashpremma. I know I didn’t do it, and I don’t think Ashpremma could hurt a fly. He never leaves Premma’s side anyway, and I don’t think she’s ever gone to Dalgherdia.”
“As far as I know, they’re on Dolparessa. We held court here this year instead of Eirelantra, so Premma wouldn’t have a reason to travel. I suppose she might have gone on vacation, but that’s not too likely considering the situation with CenGov until a few months ago.” Tara frowned. “Mickey, can you account for all your time? I mean…”
“Patrick has fugues,” says Mickey, “but we’re all aware of what he does, even if he isn’t. And this isn’t the sort of thing he would ever do.”
“No, I wasn’t thinking of Patrick. It’s more like something Lorcan would do.”
“Lorcan can’t kill.”
“Is it possible for Lorcan to have influenced someone else? Like Suibhne?”
“Tara, I and I is not responsible for this. Don’t you know us well enough by now to know that?”
“I know that Ash would never do anything that wasn’t ultimately to my advantage. But he’s done some things that were pretty inexplicable at the time.”
Mickey was pretty disturbed that she would say that. We all were. But then again, we couldn’t exactly deny it. On the other hand, we were pretty certain that we could account for all of our time. “Just a minute,” Mickey said. “I’ll go through our branches and make certain we aren’t missing anything.”
“Nothing,” he said a few minutes later. “It can’t be alchemy. There must be some other means. Tara, I know you’re not going to like this, but I really need to find out.”
“Personally, you mean. You can’t trust your operatives?”
“None of them have my abilities. I’ll get to the bottom of this much faster on my own.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“Are you kidding? It’ll create a media circus. Everyone will recognize you.”
“That’s true of you, too. First, everybody knows you’re the fifth emanation of Atlas. Second, your cover as director of SSOps was blown when Patrick published his book. You can’t move around in secret anymore. Besides, I could go there with Thomas. The reconstruction of Dalgherdia City is almost done, and I hear that the Tom O’Bedlam’s remodel is scheduled to coincide with the reopening of the science station. I could make some kind of big official deal about it.”
I forgot to mention that the reason I was opening a new club on Dolparessa is that Thomas was taking over my old one and turning it into a disco. I’m not sure how I feel about that.
It’ll be great, says Thomas. The place needed a lift.
Yeah, but disco…?
Thomas crosses his arms. I didn’t say a damn thing about curfling.
Curfling is class.
It’s stuffy.
Davy, I ask, are you sure that this guy is made from my branch?
He’s genetically identical to you, says Davy. Can’t you see the resemblance?
It’s a fascinating example of the nature vs. nurture dilemma, says Dermot.
It was going so well, says Mickey. You had actually managed to tell a significant part of the story uninterrupted.
Yeah, says Cillian, what was up with that?
I’m sorry, says Tarlach, what? I’m afraid I was thinking about applesauce.
Me too, says Driscoll. Actually, I was making sketches for an epic triptych – “Budded, Sauced and Swallowed.”
Okay, okay. The point is that Mickey was pretty upset. He didn’t want Tara there – didn’t want her anywhere near a threat he couldn’t reasonably assess. But we all know how she is. A week later, we were on a ship bound for Dalgherdia.
*****
The morning after they arrived, Tara attended the opening ceremony for the science station. Since all of the CenGov scientists had been deported, it was widely expected that the government would take over running the station. But true to her Skarsian roots, Tara had quickly sold off the station to a private concern. No Skarsian aristo would bother with something as common as scientific research.
The private concern was a corporation named RR Laboratories, makers of the insanely popular Cu’endhari refreshment and gardening supply, Root Riot. In attendance was the president of the company and its chief scientist, Dr. Cuinn Cleary. Vera von Dammler, CEO of RR subsidiary javajuice franchise No Beans About It was also in attendance – it was to be remembered that Dr. Cleary and David Gannon had the patent on the ubiquitous javamelon. Bobert Crandon, evangelical Archonist and newly appointed President of Vega Vids, yet another RR subsidiary, was also present, but regretfully, the CEO of the final RR holding, Big Tree Enterprises, Ross Adare, proved to have a conflict in his busy schedule.
Of course, the identities of the Atlas emanations were common knowledge. Anyone who did not smell a rat – or rather a very large moth – is welcome to apply for head of the sewage cleaning division. The point was to focus attention on Tara’s none-too-subtle personal appropriation of the station while Mickey was free to investigate the real issue with SSOps.
Mickey returned to Tara late that evening. “The plot thickens,” he said. “You know, I have absolutely no idea what that idiom means. Evan says it’s a metaphor, and Cuinn wonders if you have to add some kind of reactive agent, like a starch or polymer. The point is, I have more information, but if anything, I’m even more confused. It seems that there’s some kind of anti-Archonist vampire cult.”
“What?” Tara flopped backwards onto the bed. “That’s ridiculous. Can we arrest them under anti-heresy laws?”
“It’s tricky,” says Mickey. “In general, the anti-heresy laws govern only the use of non-biological implants as an affront to the gods. People are free to worship as they will, as long as they’re either Archonists or worship a god originating on Ancient Earth. From what we can gather, this group calling itself The Root of All Evil is some kind of Satanic Cult. It’s run by a woman named Lilith, Queen of the Night.”
“Huh. Both Satan and Lilith are legal deities. The Archbishop can declare them apostates, but condemning their souls to hell and arresting them are two different things.” She rolled over onto her stomach. “I want a drink. You?”
Mickey made himself a highball. He scanned the juices in the mini-bar. “Hmm, redberri – but I can’t guarantee it’s from seedless berries. Do you want to try the mooniberri?”
“I suppose,” Tara grumbled. “Everything Davy makes is good, but that pink is gross. Put in a double-shot of rum.”
“You’re being a sexist. Pink isn’t just for guys. Anyway, we’re running an infoscan on this Lilith, but so far we haven’t found anything. However, the name is obviously a pseud. She’s proved remarkably elusive – we need better holos to do a visual on her. Some DNA would help. That means we’ve got to get a mole in there. I wish Cara wasn’t off with Sweet Blonde Suzanna.”
“I have a feeling that we’ll need Cara to keep Suzanna and the K’ntasari out of trouble.”
“Shit!”
Tara was taking a sip of her drink, but sloshed a bit of it onto the pillow when she was startled by Mickey’s outcry. Mickey slammed his glass upon the table and bolted for the bathroom.
“What’s wrong?” said Tara jumping out of the bed. Unlike normal humans, we’re never ill, and she knows that. If anything, that would only make her more concerned over Mickey’s strange behavior. When she reached the bathroom, she found that the door had been bolted.
“Tara,” Mickey cried, “I swear this wasn’t part of the plan. Not my plan, at least.”
“Mickey, what the fuck?”
There was a brief pause. “I’m Seth.”
“What?”
The door opened. “My name is Seth,” he said, taking her hand between his and bringing it to his lips.
Seth couldn’t have been more different from Mickey. He was taller, not as wiry, had a shoulder-length bob which looked to be a rich auburn, but the ends were tipped a dark violet. Gone were Mickey’s simple jeans and pineapple-print Kawaiian shirt. Seth wore elegant black wing-tips, black slacks, a ruffled black shirt, and a violet velvet greatcoat.
“Another one. That’s nine in under a year,” said Tara, assessing him with a critical eye. “Very attractive, in a macabre sort of way. But isn’t that outfit a little flamboyant for undercover work?”
“For infiltrating a cult of vampires, quite appropriate,” he replied. “Mickey’s fumbling idiot persona would not have been suitable.”
“You know, I have over five hundred agents on the employment rolls at SSOps.”
“The Mover was quite insistent that we do this personally. It isn’t just a matter of odd religious cultists or a turf war over contraband. There’s something more important going on, and we don’t understand it. Something that could possibly affect your destiny – the destiny of the whole human race perhaps.”
Tara chugged her drink. “Why does everything in my life have to be a second-rate melodrama? Why can’t I have normal problems, like catching an Altesian foot-fungus?”
“We would never allow a parasitic organism to attack you.”
“It was a rhetorical question. Here, pour me another. The mooniberri is actually pretty good.”
“I’m adding some licorice syrup to mine.”
Tara screwed up her face. “That sounds disgusting. I’ve never been a fan of licorice.”
“It’s not bad. Adds a bitter note and does wonders for the coloration.” In fact, Seth’s drink perfectly matched his greatcoat.
“Hmmm. You’re not part Driscoll, are you? You don’t look it. Actually, you look more like Whirljack.”
“Davy says I was made from Blackjack and Suibhne.”
“Oh my god.”
“So your guess was close. But I’m not certain I understand. Blackjack and Whirljack are twins. If Ari was made from Whirljack and Suibhne, shouldn’t I look more like Ari?”
He had a point, but his resemblance to Ari was slight. A bit of the facial characteristics, perhaps the same color hair, but it was hard to tell with the dyes. He certainly wasn’t anything close to Ari’s size.
“Blackjack and Suibhne,” Tara muttered. “This should be hours of non-stop amusement.”
“I’ll be back soon,” he said.
“You’re going out now?”
“I have to. This is about the right time of night for a vampire cult to operate.”
“No, you aren’t. Ash, do you remember the last time that you sent a brand new emanation on an undercover job? That would be Ross. The time before that? That would be Owen. And Goliath emanations seem like they come with half the programming missing. This is a recipe for disaster.”
“I’ll be back before you know it. Suzanna should be getting to Sealeesh by morning, which means we’re going to need Lucius soon. And tomorrow night, Thomas has to be at the club re-opening.”
“I’m going to bed,” Tara announced, smacking the pillow with her fist. “If I need to see you, I’ll have my secretary call yours and book an appointment.”
*Literally “lookee-loo” – the term is preserved in Galactic Standard – trans.