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“The kelpways would pink my wattles mightily, Elder,” Mose said. “The blue dust takes me to my heart and leaves me there sometimes. I don’t know where it would leave me in the kelp.”
“With the dust, you face your own conscience,” Twisp said. “In the kelp you face the conscience of us all. That does pink your wattles, all right. It demands truth, and singularity of attention. One is easily lost in the cruel maze of someone else’s life. Kaleb has learned to filter the kelp as we learn to filter our senses.”
“What will he find in there, Elder?”
Twisp shook his head.
The red, green and blue lights intensified and their flicker quickened until the cavern was awash with light. The borer workers left their machine to stand at poolside with the others who gathered in wonder.
“I have heard of this,” said one, “but never have I seen the like.”
“Not even his mother, the great Scudi Wang, was such a one,” said another.
Twisp struggled to hold back the torrent of words that memory triggered at his tongue. Memories—they kept Twisp out of the kelp, just as they drew Kaleb inward. The kelp was like a lifeboat to Kaleb, an anchor to Twisp.
A strange mist coalesced above the top of the pool. Every atom in the cavern became charged with a visible hum, and everything above the waterline glowed in a cool green haze. Half-formed images—fragments of someone’s past—flickered in and out of the haze. Twisp saw fire and a baby at the breast, a memo to Captain Yuri Brood, the brown, sensual curve of a wet breast in candlelight.
It was a tumble down a soundless tunnel, just the slosh and thlip of the sea accentuating the drift.
Twisp had the sense of reliving something, of deja vu without the vu. He heard a voice out of the mist, a woman’s voice.
“He will contact one of the upcoast Oracles,” it announced, “there is news of Crista Galli and the others. Through me Kaleb will meet my son, and through him, Raja Flattery. He will explore Flattery’s inner being. Without secrets he cannot rule, and with the kelp there are no secrets. Kaleb will pick up the DNA path that leads to Flattery’s hatch. Avata will transmit what he sees there throughout Pandora.”
The whole cavern had become the stage for a giant holo projection. Soon, the babble and squall of life that went with the images swelled in the background. The mist had become a whirling ball of color and sound, its movements jerky and confused.
“Kaleb must focus his attention,” Twisp said. “It is easy to get lost following the maze of someone else’s life. He must filter Avata as we filter our senses. Then we will have a plan.”
Chapter 58
One who withdraws oneself from actions, but ponders on their pleasures in the heart, such a one is under a delusion and is a false swimmer of the Way.
—Zavatan Conversations with the Avata, Queets Twisp, Elder
Flattery took his afternoon coffee in the Greens, enjoying an impromptu stroll among the orange- throated orchids. They clung to the rock clefts deep in the cavern, their blossoms a pastel cascade. Condensation drip-dripped its paltry rain on leaves and wet rock, on the great flat surface of the pool.
Kelp lights surged bright in the pool, reflected in from the nearby bed. He paused a moment. This was something different, and the kelp, like Flattery, seldom did anything different.
Flattery turned on his heel and dog-trotted back to his command bunker.
“I ordered this stand of kelp pruned,” he snapped, and jabbed a finger seaward for emphasis. “I want it pruned now.”
Marta snapped something into her messenger.
“Not good enough,” Flattery said. He signaled his personal squad. “Franklin, see that it’s done. Use the mortar unit down on the beach.”
“Aye, aye.”
Franklin carried a pouch at his waist. Inside were the sandals, papers and diary of the first man he’d ever killed. He said he was saving them for the man’s family, they would want them. Franklin slipped with a warrior’s shadowy ease out the hatch.
“We can’t loosen up, now,” Flattery told Marta. “Everything will go perfectly if we don’t get careless. That kelp bed is our only back door. We need it secure now. Do you understand my concern?”
Malta nodded, then sighed.
“Well,” she said, “I have some concerns of my own. Strange things are happening to communications.”
“What kinds of ‘strange things’?”
“Random transmission sources of high-speed images, hundreds of sources, strong ones, and they seem to be all around us.”
“They are all around us,” he hissed. “That kelp. Well, we’ve taken care of that. Damage news, Orbiter news, Crista Galli news?”
“Nevi and Zentz have landed. They spotted the Galli girl and Ozette and anticipate no problem bringing them in.”
“LaPush?”
“Snatched by the kelp. The pilot was caught in our charges, condition unknown.”
Snatched by the kelp!
All this kelp talk was making Flattery nervous. He caught himself running his sweaty hand through his hair. Aumock’s gaze caught his own, and he knew that his guard had seen that moment of fear.
“Kelpways secure?”
“We think so,” she said. “We—”
“You think so?”
“Brood’s squad is aboard the Orbiter. No further reports. The HoloVision Newsbreak that was scheduled from the Orbiter did not air.”
“We’re on auxiliary power,” the colonel interrupted. “Failure at main plant … shit, it’s no wonder that these troops got through our security. They are our security. ‘The Reptile Brigade,’ we called them. Shit.”
“Does that mean a ‘Code Brutus’?” Flattery asked. The colonel shook his head.
“No, Director. This is an isolated unit of troops, here. Their objective was the power station and now that they’ve taken it we expect them to defend it.”
“Defend it?” Flattery raged. “They don’t have to defend it, they blew it up! What would you do if you were them?”
“I’d—I’d know that I’d crossed the Rubicon,” the colonel said. “Since there’s no turning back, I’d head right for the top.”
“Well, goddammit, take appropriate measures. Your ass is on the line here, too, mister.”
Marta flagged his attention.
“I ordered sub coverage of the seaside entry doubled,” she said. “I received no confirmation and don’t know whether they heard me. Also negative messenger contact with the beachside mortar. The response we get is gibberish.”
An icy panic tightened his stomach.
Not the kelp, he thought. It can’t be that. It has to be somebody controlling the kelp. But who?
The likely possibilities came to two: Dwarf MacIntosh or the ambitious and resourceful Captain Brood. Crista Galli was an unlikely possibility. Suddenly Flattery felt the full impact of this interference.
We’re cut off, he thought. Our whole strength was in coordination, and now we’re cut off.
A rally was clearly in order.
“We got a little flabby, people,” he said, “a little careless. This harmless little exercise could have cost us our butts, let’s tighten up our action.”
He’d caught them with their pants down, whipped them a bit, now he’d have to coddle them, comfort them.
“Reports on the bomb in the upper office just in.”
He picked up Maria’s messenger and held it over his head.
“Dick and Matt are alive, the rest didn’t make it. May the perpetual light shine upon them.”
They all responded, “May the perpetual light shine upon them,” and drew a little closer out of reflex.
“It could have been us, folks. It could still be us if we don’t tighten up. Consider direct orders the only secure communication. Information in, nothing out.”
“Aye, aye.”
Viewscreens and holo stages in his bunker began to flicker, barely perceptibly, then splashed high-speed displays of color throughout the room. Occasio
nally he glimpsed a face he recognized in the blur. His own face.
“What do we know about Current Control?” he asked.
