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“The Hosts have another
explanation,” he continued. “They have this prophecy that they say is the
reason why they built the station, and they—or at least one of them—seems to
think that because of my dreams, I’m this chosen one mentioned in the
prophecy.”

“Chemical enlightenment?” she
scoffed. “Come on, Philippe. If you ever spoke to him about what you saw, or if
your doctor wasn’t as discreet as he should have been, then this soldier friend
of yours could very well have incorporated the image into his hallucinations.”

Papa nodded. “Plus, a glow? That’s
pretty vague. It’s not like you and he had some absolutely identical dream. I’d
be surprised if any of the soldiers don’t regularly dream about the aliens. And
even if your dreams were identical—if I dream of a talking goat and your mother
dreams of a talking goat, that doesn’t mean that the goats really talk.”

“I know,” said Philippe. “I know.”

He chewed his food, mulling over
their arguments—valid ones all. Patch had known about the birthday-party dream,
which seemed awfully specific, but, of course, if George had gossiped . . . and
it seemed sometimes like all the SFers did was gossip.

Now that he thought about it, he
had also mentioned that dream to one of the Hosts, to Max. That probably
happened in one of the common areas, so it could have wound up on surveillance
footage, which would mean that Vip or Thorpe could have seen it—and Philippe
had noticed that Patch and Thorpe spent a lot of time together. So there were
two ways Patch could have heard about it.

Of course, it wasn’t like he had
mentioned the torture. . . .

Philippe swallowed. “I don’t really
believe it, but—it’s just that the Hosts seemed so
sincere.
I mean one
absolutely believes that I am this chosen one. The other claims
not
to
believe it, but he’s really upset, so I think on a certain level he does
believe it and is just unhappy about it. You know, they’re aliens—maybe they
know something we don’t.”

“The future?” asked Papa. “Other
than this prophecy, which—well, don’t get me started on these Nostradamus-type
things that are so vague and are constantly being revised and reinterpreted.
Other than that, is there anything that makes you think that they really know
what’s going to happen before it does?”

Philippe took a deep breath. “No.
This prophecy is supposed to be quite unique in their culture. They actually
got very excited when they found out about dreams—they don’t dream, so it seems
like a really odd thing to them. They thought that maybe
we
could see
the future, and that really had them pumped up.”

Maman started to laugh. “I’m sorry,
honey, I just feel so bad for you. I mean, first you wind up having to cope
with that animal in Cuba, and now these people—you do realize that there are
religious people who are not lunatics?”

Philippe looked at her, wishing he
could laugh, too.

“Son,” said his father, patting his
shoulder. “Let’s say—just for the sake of argument—that it’s all true, and you
are this chosen one. What does he do?”

“The chosen one?” said Philippe.
“Well, he fends off some sort of disaster, some massive catastrophe that
otherwise would wipe out all the Hosts and apparently the universe as well.”

They were in the room, in the dark, all 13 of them.

“
Meeting called to order,”
whispered Geirahöd.

“
At this point, all of you
should have met with your alphabet group, explained the situation, and gotten
either their backing or their opposition for the measure we are voting on
today,” whispered Aife. “I trust you were all able to do that.”

They nodded.

“
Did anyone have any problems?”
Aife asked. No one replied, so she continued. “Considering the risks inherent
in this measure, we must have a unanimous vote to enact it. A single ‘nay’ will
prevent its passage. As the representative for A/B, I will begin. A/B votes
‘aye.’”

They went around the table,
Surpanakha voting “Aye” for S/T.

“
We have 11 ‘ayes’ and two
abstentions,” reported Geirahöd.

“
The measure passes unanimously
with 11 ‘ayes’ and two abstentions, and it is adopted,” whispered Aife. “I now
open the floor for discussion as to how this measure should be enacted.”

Surpanakha quietly put her hand
up.

“
We recognize Surpanakha,”
whispered Geirahöd.

“
I think we should shoot him in the
head,” she whispered. “It’s simple, and it’s certain. We can’t have him survive
the attempt, or he’ll unleash the Ultimate Weapon. And while shooting may seem
violent, it would be a quick death, with minimal suffering.”

“
We recognize Nemain,” whispered
Geirahöd.

“
I disagree,” whispered Nemain.
“The Old Man cannot know what is coming, and if he saw someone walking into his
room with a pistol, how would he respond?”

“
Shanti?” said a loud voice
behind Surpanakha.

She turned and saw a Host,
bathed in golden light.

“
Can I talk to you?” it asked.

“
Shhh,” said Geirahöd.

“
We can’t talk here,” whispered
Surpanakha. She turned back to the group and raised her hand.

“
We recognize Surpanakha,” said
Geirahöd.

“
I request to be excused from
these deliberations.”

“
Since you’ve already expressed
your views on the question, we are willing to excuse you, but you should
realize that if you are not here during deliberations, you will not be able to
defend your proposal,” Aife replied.

“
I accept those consequences.”

“
Surpanakha is excused,” said
Geirahöd.

Surpanakha stood up and gestured
to the alien. They walked out of the room.

She opened a door that led to an
open field filled with tall flowers. The sun was shining, and a light breeze
blew fluffy white clouds across the sky.

“
We can talk now,” she said.

“
Why do they call you
Surpanakha?” asked the alien.

“
That’s my name,” said
Surpanakha.

“
I thought your name was
Shanti,” the alien replied.

“
It is now,” said Shanti,
nodding and remembering. “It is now.”

She saw the bed. It was a
massive, old-fashioned affair, made of carved wood that was almost black. A
burgundy bedspread lay over it. It sat, heavily, in the middle of the field.

She walked over to it. There was
a body under the covers.

“
Who is that?” asked the Host.

“
The Old Man,” said Shanti. She
raised her right hand, which held a pistol. “I was the back-up plan, in case
the poison didn’t work. But it did work—he was already on so much pain
medication that the drugs did the job. I was so nervous about it going in,
opening that door was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. But when I
saw him there in the bed, I could see he was dead. I knew that he was gone and
that everything was going to be all right.”

“
How interesting,” said the
Host. “I need to talk to you about Philippe.”

“
Philippe?” she asked, turning
to the Host. She looked back at the bed, and the body suddenly sat up and
started laughing!

“
Philippe!” she shouted,
overjoyed. “That’s a rotten trick!”

“
Come on, Shanti,” Philippe
said, pulling the sheet down from over his head and smiling. “Get in.” He hit
the sheets with his hand, and the bedspread changed from burgundy to a bright
flower pattern, matching the meadow. The heavy wood dissolved, and the
mattresses rested on the grass.

“
Oh,” said Shanti, embarrassed.
“There’s somebody else here.”

“
Well, then you should get in,”
said Philippe. “You don’t want him to see you naked, do you?”

She looked down. Her gun was
gone, too.

“
How did that happen?” she asked
him as she crawled under the covers.

“
I don’t know,” Philippe said,
holding up the sheet and looking at her body. “Where’s your tattoo?”

She looked down, and the pattern
of stars and suns slowly appeared. “It’s there now,” she said.

He put his arms around her and
nuzzled her neck.

“
You don’t mind, do you?” Shanti
asked the alien, turning away from Philippe. “It’s good, life-affirming. It
builds unit morale and cohesion.”

“
Whatever,” said the Host. “As I
told you before, I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong with Philippe.”

“
Oh, what’s wrong with Philippe
and his braaaain?” Shanti sang, smiling at Philippe. He pouted and stuck his
lower lip out. She kissed it. “Why do I keep having this dream?” she asked him.

“
It’s not always this dream,”
said Philippe

“
It’s always that guy, for like,
days
now. And he’s always asking me about you. Do you think he wants to
attack you?”

Philippe smiled slyly, putting
his hand on her waist. Shanti could feel her tension melt away. “Awww,” he
said, “you care.”

The alien made a noise, and
Shanti turned back to him.

“
You keep asking about him, but
I don’t know why you’re so worried,” she said. “He’s just got a little combat
fatigue, that’s all. He got attacked, you know.”

“
And I didn’t get counseling,”
said Philippe.

“
That’s right, you didn’t.” She turned
to Philippe. “What was that all about?”

“
I’m sorry if you find my
questions tiresome,” said the Host, “but I’ve had a lot of trouble talking to
Philippe, and I find that I can communicate with you much more easily. So, is
he a warrior?”

Philippe laughed.

“
He’s, like, the opposite,
actually,” Shanti told the alien. “He’s a diplomat—very anti-war. But he wound
up in a bad situation several months ago, which sounds a lot like what you were
describing before. So probably the attack dredged all that back up.”

“
No wonder I took a vacation,”
said Philippe.

“
Please tell me,” said the Host.
“I want to understand why it’s so difficult to be with him.”

“
The quiet ones are always
difficult,” Shanti said. “But as for what happened, there’s this territory
called Guantánamo. It’s part of this island, which itself is a country, Cuba.
But despite that, Guantánamo belonged to another country, the United States,
that for a long time didn’t get along with Cuba. So finally the United States
realized, What do we need this dumb outpost for? And they wanted to give it
back. And Cuba was basically trying to get some money out of the deal, because
the United States was a lot richer, so they wouldn’t take it back. So for a
long time, Guantánamo was just sort of nobody’s.”

“
And then General Jesus came
along,” said Philippe.

“
Yeah, along comes General
Jesus, and he just sort of moves in there with his followers, and he winds up
using it as a headquarters for this massive cult. And this guy, his name wasn’t
really Jesus—that’s not an uncommon name in a Spanish-speaking country, but
with this guy, his name was something else and he changed it to Jesus, so you
know that’s trouble.”

“
Who is Jesus?” asked the Host.

“
He’s the Christian messiah,”
said Shanti, remembering that she was speaking to an alien. “Christianity’s a
religion on Earth. This guy basically thinks he’s God, and he’s got a bunch of
followers who also think he’s God, and they’ve taken over this territory. And
finally Cuba and the United States decide that they really need to reach some
agreement on what to do with this place, but there are all these people here.
So they go to the Union, which sort of oversees all the countries, and the
Union sends a delegation.”

“
And that was me,” said
Philippe.

“
That was him, but there were
other people, and he was like the junior guy,” Shanti explained. The alien was
listening intently. “Anyway, General Jesus just snows these guys. He tells them
that he’s OK and reasonable and wants to negotiate something and that
everything is all right. But basically, he’s stalling for time. So the
delegation goes back and forth, and they negotiate and all this stuff, and in
the meantime, General Jesus and his men are torturing people and slaughtering
them.