Radiant (48 page)

"Divine and glorious," I put in before Festina finished her sentence.

She paused for a moment, then said, "Right. Divine and glorious. Absolutely." She gave me a look, then turned back to the moss. "I suppose the same happened at other projection stations?"

"At all of them," replied the moss. "We're in constant mental contact with our counterparts around the planet. Our thoughts are... sublime."

"I'll bet. Because you guzzle sublime radiation. The more you get, the more you want, right?"

"The more we absorb, the more our majesty increases."

"We get the picture... don't we, Youn Suu?"

"Indeed."

Personally, I was picturing a group of people on Anicca called Crunchers. They caught and ate small snail-like creatures whose shells contained powerful hallucinogens. Crunch, crunch, crunch as the snail shell went down... then they'd pass out or go off wandering in a daze. Every few years, safety officials talked of exterminating the snails as a means of ending Crunch addiction; but monks and nuns howled in protest at any mass killing—even snails. Besides, the snails played a role in Anicca's ecology: a protein in their slime trails helped keep the soil fertile. The snails couldn't be slaughtered for fear of environmental disaster. Anicca's safety officials never carried out their threat, and the crunch-crunch-crunching continued.

Festina probably wasn't familiar with Crunchers, but she'd be picturing something else—a different drug, or perhaps wire-heading, sex-melds, surgical deverbalization, or any of the other ways
Homo sapiens
embraced delusion. If life didn't offer enough opportunities for fixation, people doggedly sought more inventive obsessions. And the enthusiasm for honey traps wasn't restricted to human beings; these gray spores, these former Fuentes, had succumbed to a similar temptation. When the Stage Two energy flowed, they were supposed to let it wash over them, like bathing in a pleasant stream... but instead, they'd got a taste of uplifting energy and instantly wanted it all. They'd gobbled so much in those first few moments, they'd overdosed. Yes, they'd gained telekinesis and perhaps other powers too, but they'd damaged themselves in the process. Burned out their brains. Instead of gaining enlightenment, the Divine had become virtually infantile... but infants with godlike strength.

"So you're still basking in the station's radiance," Festina said. "I'm surprised the equipment keeps working after so many millennia."

"We are the Divine!" the moss shouted. "Do we not have the power to do what we will?"

"They were technicians," I reminded Festina. "Now they're technicians with TK. They know how to keep the machines operational. Anyway, Fuentes technology can last a long time without outside maintenance. Remember the research center in Drill-Press? Whatever kept the pocket universe stable... remember how well that equipment worked?"

"Ah... yes..." Festina said. "I remember how stable the research center was. You think the equipment here is the same?" She thought for a moment. "You're probably right. Wherever I go, Fuentes artifacts all seem in similar condition."

I.e., on the verge of falling apart. Just as the rainbow-arch research center had flickered constantly, perhaps the machines around us were ready for massive failure. The Divine spores could perform routine maintenance on the station's facilities, but how would they manufacture new parts when old ones broke beyond repair? Some time soon, there'd be a malfunction the gray moss couldn't handle; then it would all be over.

Perhaps that explained why the Balrog had finally come to Muta. The Divine might be vulnerable now. In the past sixty-five centuries, while the station still worked, the gray spores had been unassailable... but now when the system was weakening, perhaps the moss could be beaten. Besides, the Balrog might want to resolve the mess on Muta before this station suffered permanent breakdown; otherwise, there'd be no way to propel the
pretas
into Stage Two. Our arrival may have been timed for a unique window of opportunity: when the station's output was precarious enough to debilitate the Divine, but still sufficiently functional to elevate the
pretas.

All we had to do now was persuade the Divine to share the station's energy with their fellows: the EMP clouds, the
pretas,
the hungry, hungry ghosts.

"Where does the station's power come from?" I asked the Divine. "Hydroelectric generators in the dam? Solar collectors? Geothermal? Fusion using lake water as a hydrogen source?"

"All those," the moss replied. "There's also a sizable amount of plutonium buried beneath the building's foundations. Well shielded, of course, but it provides ongoing heat."

"Tremendous," Festina said. "What prevents a runaway chain reaction? Control equipment sixty-five hundred years old?"

"You need not worry about nuclear explosions, human. Your death will come as we feed on your flesh."

"What do you need flesh for? Don't you feed on this station's energy."

"We bask in that glory, yes. But we also require small replenishments of chemical nutrients. We can obtain simple elements like oxygen and nitrogen from the air, but we have long since depleted all nearby iron, calcium, and the like. We spend much of our time dormant to reduce our needs... but the flesh of four humans will allow us to remain awake for years."

"Glad to be of service," Festina said. She looked at the surrounding equipment: the metal spikes, barrels, and pyramids. "Do all these things project the energy you eat?"

"They are part of the chain of production. The actual emission center is directly beneath us."

"There's a basement?"

Li's head cackled with laughter. "No. The emission surface is embedded in the floor on which you stand. We have positioned ourselves on the primary projection outlet. Originally, the power was supposed to be transferred to broadcast rods on the exterior; but we couldn't permit it to be squandered on the world at large."

In other words, the Divine were sitting directly on the central emitter—like a dragon sprawled on its hoard. Or like a plug holding back the flow. If somehow the moss was cleared away, the Stage Two radiation would be released as originally intended: it would spark across the gap to the station's roof and shoot from the spiky crown on the giant Fuentes head. Nearby
pretas
would be uplifted. Clouds farther off would learn what was happening, thanks to their shared mental links... and
pretas
around the world would fly here as fast as they could, yearning to be freed from their smoky existence. I didn't know how long it would take for every cloud to make its way here and be transformed—hours? years?—but that didn't matter. If clouds in the immediate neighborhood were elevated, we'd be safe from angry EMPs. We could set up a Sperm-tail anchor and return to
Pistachio,
where standard decontamination procedures would purge us of Stage One microbes.

All that stood in our way were the spores, corking up the energy flow. Remove them, and the problems of Muta would be solved.

Festina must have followed the same train of thought, because she murmured, "All right, your Buddha-ness, any suggestions for a fuzzy gray exorcism?"

"We could try gentle persuasion. Show them the error of their ways."

"Or," said Festina, "we could kick their ass."

"The moment you try, you get eaten like Li."

"Never underestimate a Western champion, you Eastern also-ran. We always have a trick up our sleeve... a magic sword, a flask of holy water, or spiffy ruby slippers."

I wanted to ask what trick she intended, but the Divine might overhear. So would Ubatu... who'd listened to Festina, and now had a worrisome look in her eye. It occurred to me, I'd never told Festina about Ifa-Vodun and Ubatu's goal of toadying up to godlike aliens. Surely though, that wouldn't matter—Festina had never trusted Ubatu (or anyone else, for that matter), so there was no risk Festina would say too much with Ubatu in earshot. Right?

Festina glanced cautiously toward the heap of Divine, then said very softly, "Back at Camp Esteem, when we first searched the cabins for survivors, I found something. Something I took, just in case it came in useful." Her hand slipped into her backpack. When she pulled it out again, a small object lay in her palm: egg-shaped, no bigger than the tip of her thumb, colored in swirls of pink and green. "It's a Unity minigrenade. Doesn't look like much, but there's antimatter inside—enough for a good-sized explosion. Team Esteem must have packed it in case they needed to blow their way into some Fuentes security vault." She cast a sideways look at the Divine. "If those spores are as weak as I think, this should burn them to a crisp. We'll take cover behind all this fancy equipment." Festina reached for the Bumbler with her free hand. "Give me a few seconds to analyze where we'll get the best protection from the blast..."

She didn't have those seconds. Ubatu snatched the egglike object from Festina's palm with the speed of a striking eagle. I tried to stop her but wasn't quick enough—Ubatu moved inhumanly fast, beyond even my bioengineered reflexes. Either her designers had discovered some new genetic tricks, or she'd been amplified with illegal implants: artificial glands that could pump a barrage of chemicals into her bloodstream when she needed an extra boost. I barely managed to catch her leg as she was bolting away... but she shook me off and dashed across the floor, hollering, "Ooommmph! Ooommmph!"

Straight toward the Divine.

The gray spores rippled at Ubatu's approach... in fear? In anticipation of another hearty meal? But they took no obvious action. Ubatu stopped short of the mound and abased herself, holding out the little pink-and-green ovoid like an offering to an idol. Beside me, Festina turned dials rapidly on the Bumbler, scanning, scanning, scanning. Still looking for a place to take cover if the grenade went off? Was there really a chance of accidental detonation? I had no idea. I knew nothing about Unity minigrenades: not a subject we'd studied in the Explorer Academy. I didn't know a grenade's power, its volatility, the timing on its fuse...

Oh.

No...

Oh again.

Eastern champions don't always think quickly, but sooner or later they do catch on.

"Be careful with that!" I shouted to Ubatu. "Don't you know not to make sudden moves with a bomb?"

"A bomb?" The words squealed from Li's mouth as the mound of moss went wild: variegated patches of gray thrashing against their neighbors. The patches remained separate, but their boundaries blurred. I wondered how much they'd been mind-linked in the past few minutes; enough to coordinate their efforts in eating Li and speaking through his mouth, but not to deal with matters of life and death. A motley—a mosaic—individuals with no real community. "A bomb?" the Divine repeated, as if they'd never entertained the thought they could be threatened in their own sanctum.

"Ooommmph!" Ubatu cried. She pulled in her outstretched hands, clutching the little blob of pink and green to her breast for a moment, before hurling herself on top of it. "Ooommmph," she said to the Divine. Softly. Reverently.

"What is she doing?" the Divine shrieked, still rustling with agitation.

Since Ubatu couldn't answer, I did. "She's showing that she's willing to throw herself on a grenade for you. Demonstrating her readiness to sacrifice herself for your magnificence."

Ubatu nodded eagerly.

Even without my sixth sense, I could almost feel the gray moss staring at her. "Why would she do that?" the Divine asked.

"Because she wants to win your favor. She wants to worship you... in the hope that you'll share some of your knowledge and glory. None of the other advanced aliens in the galaxy will grant such boons to lesser beings... but Commander Ubatu believes that if she enacts the correct rituals in a spirit of true obeisance, you'll make her your priestess."

"Priestess? Priestess?" The gray mound shivered. I doubted the spores ever considered the possibility of acquiring a priestess. If sentient beings had wandered into this station anytime in the centuries before our arrival, the Divine probably just gobbled up everybody—no attempt to form a congregation. But now that Ubatu had made the offer...

"Is the bomb safe now?" the moss asked.

"I don't think it's going to explode," I told them truthfully.

"Then approach, priestess," the Divine said. "Approach and let us assess you."

Ubatu leapt to her feet, then bowed deeply. "Ooomph!" She straightened and took a few steps forward, up to the edge of the mound. Only then did she glance down at the front of her uniform. The gold cloth was smeared with a gooey blot of orangey yellow.

"What's that?" the Divine asked.

"Ooommph?" Ubatu said, still staring at the mess.

"Looks to me like egg yolk," I told them. "Better clean it off before—"

My words were drowned out by screams: sudden agonized howls from the Divine. This time they weren't using the dead Li as an intermediary—the cries of pain came directly from the mound itself. Somehow the spores, with neither mouths nor lungs, wailed like dying animals. "What have you done? What have you done? What have you done? What have you done?"

I'd done nothing... but Festina had. I looked back and saw her standing beside a brass pyramid almost exactly her own height. While Ubatu and the egg/grenade captivated the Divine's attention, Festina had used the Bumbler to scan the station's equipment. She'd found what she was looking for, then crept silently across the floor and popped open an access panel. Reaching inside, she'd detached a wire: a single slim strand of yellow that she now held in her right hand. Her left hand was out of sight, inside the pyramid's guts.

The room had gone silent—the hum and hiss of machinery dwindling to nothingness.

"Hey, Youn Suu," Festina said. "I found the off switch."

The silence lasted another heartbeat. Then the Divine cried, "Traitor! Deceiver!"

Ubatu was yanked off her feet and pulled into the mass of gray—swallowed with merciless brutality. She made no sound as she disappeared under the spores... perhaps hoping the Divine might just possess her rather than consume her. Or maybe she didn't mind being eaten; maybe she was so fanatic she'd revel in
any
kind of attention from "advanced lifeforms."