Philippine Speculative Fiction (13 page)

But where did the trap lie? The third phase, the High Mass, was still sound—unless all the celebrants and concelebrants were somehow tainted by sin—which they could not be, in order
for the prior phases to be successful. The second phase would normally be the trickiest, but with eight reconsecration teams (seven experienced clerics and one exorcist armed with a Seal of the
Inquisition, each supported by eight teams complete with battle-hardened deacons), that outcome had already been addressed with the best that the Universal Church could afford to bring to bear.
Which meant that the trap had to be somewhere in the execution of the first phase—the realignment of the shadow-shrouded space station.

After a brief temptation to return to the elaborate designs on the spinning cylinders, Cleric Filemon turned his attention to the straight, drab, rectangular spine that held the cylinders
together. Its uncharacteristically mundane nature now called out to him for greater scrutiny. It seemed wider than it needed to be, but that supported the theory that it had been engineered to
block the light of the solar system’s lone star—had the Murderer of Faith anticipated that the system would eventually fall to the Universal Church and that the system’s star
would be successfully reclaimed? One would have to assume so, given the extensive contingencies that the reconsecration teams had run afoul of over the past decades.

And yet all that could be overcome by a fleet of space tugs, blessed by no less than High Cardinal Feng, with magnetic grapplers at key stress points. None of the teams would be sent in close
enough to be endangered by anything so pedestrian as a hidden energy beam weaponry or kinetic kill missile batteries; anyway, none had been detected.

Cleric Filemon Martinez gingerly touched the edges of the three-dimensional schematic on his screen, and rotated the space station spine until he could look right down the length of it. There
were three equidistant bulges, barely noticeable, along the center. Tapping the bulges, he read and questioned the annotations. Three additional fusion power plants? An inelegant solution to the
standard two, which were normally placed at either side of the single O’Neill cylinder. Regulus Three did have potential bottlenecks in energy distribution, but placement in the cylinders
themselves would have been the obvious solution.

Zooming out of the schematic, Cleric Filemon requested an energy systems overlay on the image of Regulus Three. Six bright spheres, one in every cylinder, and one in each of the spinal bulges
reaffirmed and compounded his suspicions. But just as his thoughts turned to possible causes for extravagant redundancy in power, he caught a glimpse of the space station’s total estimated
mass, which in turned sparked a blessed leap in logic.

Black holes. Like stars, these naturally occurring fellstars were once thought, before the Council of Pangarion, to be spiritually inert aspects of creation. But when the Revelations of St.
Malachi were finally accepted into the Universal Gospel, black holes were seen for what they were: perfect prisons of dark intelligences a magnitude greater than any of the dark spirits encountered
in the spaces between stars. They called out to blessed light, and devoured it—along with any unfortunate souls trapped in its light or matter.

Martillo had once written about introducing flaws into these prisons, but had found the efforts too hazardous and costly—which had spurred his research into artificial black holes.

There had to be one on Regulus Three. The middle bulge probably housed it, and the staggering power requirements to maintain the magnetic bottle were almost certainly provided by the two
adjacent fusion plants.

The extra mass would make rotation of the space station slightly more difficult, but the warping, corrupting effects of an active fellstar would put everyone involved in spiritual peril. Just
being this close would have already brought various stresses and anxieties to the fore.

Cleric Filemon Martinez looked up at the time, saw that he was late—three urgent summons to the main hall had already reached his console.

He touched his screen, circled all his relevant files and findings, and dumped them into the blessed terabyte pouch that Edin—St. Edinha—had given to him upon his ordination.
Gathering his gear into his satchel, he stepped out of his chambers, to warn his peers about the increased danger that they all faced: the birth of a new fellstar.

Once enough of them were in position, he was certain, power to the black hole’s housing would fail. It would warp, slow, and freeze time for all light and matter within its event horizon,
and pull everything else subject to its gravitic call into its ravenous maw. Therefore, preventing that from happening had to be their first priority—a duo of reconsecrant teams would be
dispatched to both fusion plants to do just that.

He himself would lead a third reconsecrant team directly into the housing of the fellstar, and begin the Rite of High Reconsecration—a rite he was almost certain he would not be able to
see to the end in such close proximity to infernal influences. Perhaps one or more members of his team would succumb to illusions and phantasms of the mind that would lead to a catastrophic error
in procedure; perhaps he would finally fall prey to a heart attack or a seizure or a stroke that would paralyze him as he watched his team members perish before his eyes; or perhaps a hidden
trigger would simply unleash the fell star anyway.

But the Rite would be completed, regardless. Unlike Sacraments, whose very identity and efficacy is defined by ritual and formula, Rites were open to improvisation and adaptation. The final act
of any reconsecration was to integrate sanctified elements and relics into the infrastructure of a location—and the tons of sacramental salt, holy water, and saintly relics that would be
consumed by the fell star’s eruption into space would doom it utterly.

And so, with a faint grin, hidden by the curls of his recalcitrant beard, Cleric Filemon Martinez pushed off from his cabin to float steadily to the meeting hall where his colleagues and
compatriots awaited his final arrival.

William Robert Yasi (Robbie) is a Physicist, an environmentalist and a Youth Ministry worker. He tweets and blogs for money. He teaches high school kids
how to debate in his spare time. And he is the founder and project leader of the Great ASEAN Eco-debates, an international debate competition aimed to save the world from destroying itself. He was
part of LitCritters Dumaguete during his college days. But most of his writing is limited to him and the few friends he has/had.

MAMA TOOK ME to an audition today. I’m not sure
kung anong
role
ang ipapa-
audition
niya
, but I’m thinking it’s for a tween show.
Ewan ko sa kanya
. Personally
ha
, I’m really not into those I’m-cute-and-innocent-pero-I’m-totally-capable-of-making-out-type of roles. It’s kinda cheap,
eh
. I’m thinking more of some hot Asian chick in
Glee
.
Yaaan, yan ang
role
na bagay sa’kin.

But Mama never listens. All she wants me to do is wear these god-awful dresses Tita Joseph makes in his spare time (I mean, no offense
ha
, I know he’s
bakla
and all, but
that doesn’t mean he’s automatically fashionable). I keep on asking Mama why she insists on having me audition for these “roles,” but she NEVER gives me an answer aside
from, “
Basta
anak
, just trust me.
Bagay na bagay sa ‘yo ‘to
”.

And I always do.
Mama ko siya, eh.

Kaya ayun
, we went to ABS-CBN—which took us like, forever because Mama had to fix her hair a million times (which is weird because she only spends 5 minutes on MY hair).
Pero
in fairness
ha
, she takes care of my skin ala Vicky Belo.
May pa-takip-takip pa sa mukha ko
everywhere we go.
Para raw mas magiging maputi at
flawless
ang
skin
ko
. Like Sarah Geronimo. Yuck. Anyway, when we arrived
dun sa
ABS Compound, we went straight to the auditioning room
sa
3
^rd
floor.

I always love going there. It smells great and
sosyal.
Also, the hallways have these numerous shiny tarpaulin posters of the studio’s biggest stars covering the walls. And as mama
scurried her way to meet up with her “fixer” Kuya Jepoy, I took that “alone time” as an opportunity to saunter down the hall, softy gliding my fingers along the flawless,
lineless faces of the country’s most beautiful people.

Sharon. Kris. Gary V.
Ang dami
. Everyone who’s someone had their faces put up
dun
.
Lahat sila sikat.
Lahat sila minamahal.
Shet, naiinggit nanaman
ako.

“Be the next Sharon.” It said under Ate Shawie’s poster. I’ve seen a poster of her doing the exact same smile. Well, her smile is the same
naman
sa
lahat.

After reading the tagline again, I thought to myself, why would anyone want to be the next Sharon? Yeah, she’s got the looks and voice for fame,
pero
you know, she’s had her
super
gwapo
ex-husband leave her, her husband right now has a jillion
kabits
and her daughters can’t act. And what’s worse, she’s getting fatter and fatter
everyday. As in.
Siya na nga ang
host
ng
The Biggest Loser
.

And as I went on, I found myself staring at their faces one by one.
Paano sila naging sikat?
Did they really have to put out to get a role? I found myself questioning the credibility of
each of the actors and actresses I looked at. But not long after I reached Vice Ganda’s tarp (which was
sobrang Phinotoshop
, by the way), I heard Mama running down the hall calling
out my name.

“Joraida! Jo! Joraiiiidddaaaaa!” Her voice echoed down to where I was. People started looking around, obviously irritated by my mama’s nasaly voice.
My gahd,
nakakahiya
!

“
Hay nako. San ka ba galing
?” She asked when she found me. “
Hinihintay na tayo ni
Kuya Jepoy
mo
.” She looked excited. I wasn’t at the
very least. This was not how I wanted my showbiz career to start.
Gusto ko yung may
‘a talent scout found me in a sea of common faces’
na
drama. Hashtag
charos
.

I still followed her, though. But as we entered the door of the auditioning room, I looked at her and she knew right away what I was about to ask her.

“
Basta
anak, just trust me.
Bagay na bagay sa ‘yo ‘to.
”

I sighed. Of course,
yan naman talaga ang sagot nya eh
. Although
ngayon, parang mas
confident
siyang pakinggan
.
Ewan
.

“Remember
anak, yung itinuro ko sa ‘yo ha
? Mouth closed, chin up and act natural lang.
Gayahin mo lang tatay mo
.”

I nodded and approached the tall, bald
bakla
with the scarf around his neck. I’ve met Kuya Jepoy before when Mama brought my cousin Joemar to audition for
Goin’
Bulilit
. I can still remember how he kept asking my mom about me. Good thing
di pinayagan ni
Mama
si
Kuya Jepoy
na kunin yung pantakip ng
face
ko. Masisira na
talaga yung
skin
ko
.

“Ay, Inday. I’ve been waiting to see you. Your mama has kept on bragging about you when we have mahjong.” Kuya Jepoy blurted out when I approached him.

I couldn’t help but smile when I heard that.
Naks naman
. That was the first time I heard someone say that my mama was proud of me. I know she loves me
pero
I can’t
think of a reason why she would be proud of me. I mean,
di naman ako nag-eeskwela
. I rarely get out of the house, I’m not part of ANY dance crew,
di rin ako sumasali sa mga
pageant-pageant sa barangay. Wala talaga. Kaya ayun, na-
touch
talaga ako dun
.

“So Inday, why don’t you just stand
diyan sa may naka-ekis sa sahig
?”

I went to where he told me to stand and as soon as I got there the lights were suddenly turned on. I looked around and saw that there were more than ten people in the room. Mama was still by the
door smiling nervously and Kuya Jepoy was by the large camera waving to his other crew members.
Na-
conscious
agad ako. Di kasi ako sanay na tinitignan ng maraming tao.

“Ok, Inday.
Tanggalin mo na yang takip sa mukha mo
.” Kuya Jepoy said with a smile.

“
Sige po.
”

I took the long black scarf off and let it drop on the floor beside me. When I did so, soft gasps travelled across the room.
Parang
echo
.

“
Homaygad
…” Kuya Jepoy said with sheer surprise in his eyes. I looked around and saw the same expression on everyone’s faces.
Maliban nalang kay Mama
.
Sanay na sanay na sa kagandahan ng fez ko
.

“What’s y-your name nga, I… Inday?” Kuya Jepoy finally managed to say after what seemed like hours of dead silence.

I looked at my mom.
Pa’no ko mame-
maintain
ang
“Closed mouth, chin up, act natural” rule
niya eh, may tinanong si
Kuya Jepoy?

She nodded reassuringly.
Pwede kong sagutin yun
.

“Joraida
po
.”

Another wave of gasps echoed throughout the room. I heard comments like “
Grabe, pati ang boses!
” and “
Sa’n ba nakuha ni Jepoy yan?
” follow the
gasps.

“
P-pakisabi nga u-ulit ng
name
mo
.”

“Joraida Adelfa Macatangay Elumba
po. Joraida tawag sa’kin ni
Mama.”