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energy curtain was safe to enter; the machine came back unharmed. "Okay," she said. "Time to jump down the rabbit hole, Alice." We stepped into a room brightening with dawn. I'd thought the roof of the station was opaque; it looked that way from the outside. From the inside, however, the room seemed open to the air: a sky of brightening gray, edging into cool, cloudless blue. The sun was too low to be seen, but its rays penetrated the walls, illuminating everything with a yellowed glow. What was there to see? Ornate machinery: gleaming brass, shining steel, bits of copper and gold. The place reminded me of a Victorian astronomical observatory, with its open roof and collection of equipment below, bristling with gears, cranks, wheels, and levers. There was nothing so recognizable as a telescope, but numerous devices pointed skyward, some long and sharp like spears, others like bulbous cylinders or elongated pyramids. All of them made soft noises one producing a hum, another a hiss, a third tick-tick-tick filling the room with a background purr that suggested the station was still operational. The equipment only covered the outer half of the chamber. The middle of the room was clear of clutter, with nothing but a low ash-gray dome set into the floor the way humans might put a reflecting pool or a little garden plot in the heart of an open rotunda. But if the dome on the floor was supposed to add visual appeal, it didn't succeed. It was simply a mound of gray, twenty paces across, not quite rising to knee height in the center... not what I'd call an attractive architectural feature, but the Fuentes might have had different Page 213 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html aesthetic tastes. Then something fluttered in the mass of grayness. An infinitesimal motion. I looked more closely, trying to detect what had moved... and, finally, I realized what I was seeing. I should have recognized it instantly, but I'd come to rely so much on my sixth sense, my normal vision had lost its edge. The dome the gray heap was fuzzy. Mossy. In fact, the mound resembled the mat of spores that had covered the city of Zoonau. It had the same texture, the same smothering weight, the same thick furry surface... everything but the color. I was looking at the Balrog's pallid gray sibling: an anti-Balrog, faded and wilted and dulled. Ever since we'd landed on Muta, the Balrog had carefully concealed its presence. Now I finally knew what it had been hiding from. Festina stared at the moss. "Is that what I think it is?" she whispered. "It appears so," I said. "You don't know? You don't have any, uhh, feelings about it?" "My sixth sense hasn't worked since we entered the station." "That's disconcerting." "Tell me about it," I said. Festina pulled the Bumbler into position for a scan. "That stuff certainly reads like the Balrog... except, of course, the color." "It's blotchy," Li said in a loud voice. "Like it's got mange." He was right. Though the mound at first appeared a uniform gray, closer examination showed subtle variations in tone. Some patches were bleached nearly white; some were smokier, almost as dark as charcoal; other areas had ghostly tints, the barest touch of opal or olive... as if this wasn't a single type of moss, but a haphazard assemblage of slightly different breeds, with each individual clump squeezed against its neighbors. Motley,I thought. Motley like the mishmash of colors in Muta's ferns. Motley like the mosaics on Fuentes buildings. Motley like thepretas, seeming to form single clouds, but to my sixth sense, showing up as multitudes of different beings crammed together neither separate nor integrated, but tossed into a jumble, like salad. Li took a step toward the mound. "Careful," Festina said. "We don't know whether it's safe. And before you say something stupid like, 'How dangerous can moss be?' remember what the Balrog did to Zoonau." "Isthis the Balrog?" Li asked. "Or is it something different?" "Chemically, it's the same," Festina answered, consulting the Bumbler. "But that means nothing. Chemically, humans are nearly identical to slime molds. What matters is how the chemicals go together." Page 214 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "With Balrogs," I said, "what matters is how thespores go together. I don't think these are a single hive mind. They're separate hive minds, huddled together for warmth." "You say that because of the different colors?" "Yes. And because it's what the entire planet has been shouting at us ever since we landed. Motley. Separate things unblended. That's the message." Li gave me a disgusted look. "Planets don't shout messages. They justare." "What they areis the message," I said. Festina frowned. "Don't go animist on me, Youn Suu. I'm still getting used to you as a junior Buddha." "I'm an all-purpose Eastern hero. Buddhism is my specialty, but I dabble in animism as a sideline." "So when it comes to kicking ass, I take on the gods, and you take the pissy little nature spirits?" She looked at the gray mound. "Which of us handles natural-looking moss with godlike powers?" "What godlike powers?" Li asked. "It's just a pile of moss. No big threat." Festina and I winced. The Balrog would have taken Li's words as a cue for attack. But the gray anti-Balrog didn't react... except for a slight shiver. Li didn't even realize the risk he'd taken. He walked to the edge of the moss and stared at it: perhaps debating whether to poke it with his shoe. Festina tensed, but didn't stop him; even self-sacrificing Western heroes can let fools walk into the lion's mouth, just to see what the lion does. In the end, the lion the gray moss made no obvious response. Li glowered at the mound a moment. Then he said, "Boring!" and turned to walk away. An odd expression came over his face. "What's wrong?" Festina asked. "I can't move my foot," he said. "Why not?" "I just can't." Festina almost took a step forward, but I shot out my hand to catch her. "Scan with the Bumbler," I said. "Forget the damned machine," Li snapped. "I'm... I'm paralyzed. Maybe I'm having a stroke." I knew that wasn't true; Li probably did too. But he couldn't bring himself to admit he'd been caught in a mossy trap. "I'm getting electrical readings," Festina said. "From the gray spores." "EMPs?" I asked. "Not that strong. But a pattern of electrical discharges are focused on Li, and they're interfering with his nervous system. Signals aren't traveling properly between his muscles and brain." Page 215 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "If we get too close, will the same happen to us?" "Probably." Festina shucked off her backpack and pulled out a coil of soft white rope. "I might be able to lasso him and drag him back..." "No!" Li shouted. "Just come grab me. Hurry. I'm " [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |