[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"In other words, the person is possessed by the loa spirit."
"More or less," Ubatu said. "It's a time when others can talk to the loa. You
ask questions, and maybe the loa will answer."
"The loa become diplomatically approachable?"
"Exactly! Using Vodun rituals, you summon a loa to ride a chosen host so you
can converse respectfully. Ifa-Vodun isvery interested in loa possession...
Page 73
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
and in finding ways to entice the spirits to do it more often."
Ah. Finally, I made the connection what this visit was about. I had spores
inside me... or to use Ubatu's terminology, I was being ridden by the powerful
alien loa that called itself the Balrog. By the precepts of Ifa-Vodun, I was
therefore a prime diplomatic opportunity. Maybe the Balrog would speak through
me, sharing valuable knowledge about the universe. Even if that didn't happen,
Ubatu wanted to learn what I'd done to draw the spores into me: how I'd made
myself a tempting vessel for loa/alien possession.
Thinking back on the past few hours, I realized Ubatu had displayed great
interest in Balrog behavior. I'd interpreted that as ghoulish fascination at
the thought of others being eaten... but I'd been wrong. This went deeper than
casual curiosity. It was like some religious imperative, fostered by a secret
society within the Diplomacy Corps and leading who knew where?
"You should go now," I told Ubatu. "I want you to go. Get out."
"All right," Ubatu said. "For now. You still have too much personal control
to let the Balrog speak to me. But that will change, won't it? The Balrog will
slowly edge you out. Then I'll find ways to win it over."
"Beheading a chicken and writing with its blood?"
"We'll see."
She stood abruptly, a tall woman looming above me... and suddenly her
black-on-black outfit with abstract silver symbols embedded in the flesh of
her arms and belly struck me as much more than they'd originally seemed. I'd
thought it was all just fashionable streetwear; but really she'd traded her
navy gold for another uniform. An Ifa-Vodun priestess? A priestess who hoped
the Balrog would expunge my Youn Suu personality, thereby becoming pure loa?
"Leave," I said.
"I'm leaving. Good night."
She made an odd gesture as she went through the door. I didn't want to guess
its significance.
CHAPTER 7
Anatta [Sanskrit]: The precept that no one has a permanent self. Other
religions may believe in an "immortal soul," but the Buddha rejected this
idea. He contended we are all composite beings, made of flesh, thoughts,
emotions, etc., and all these change over time. There is no component one can
point to and say, "That is my unchanging core."
In the next half hour, I wrote a BE ADVISED memo about Ifa-Vodun and put it
inPistachio's dispatch queue for eventual delivery to Explorer Corps HQ.
Explorers across the galaxy used such memos to warn each other of possible
risks not just physical threats but anything that might make the job more
perverse. Soon, Explorers everywhere would be on the watch for Ifa-Vodun and
similar activities. It wouldn't take long for our corps to gather a dossier of
useful information... and for teachers at the Academy to begin brainstorming
what they ought to tell cadets.
Page 74
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Happy that I'd accomplished something useful on an otherwise bad day, I went
to bed. Where I couldn't sleep. So I lay on my back, staring up into
blackness. A starship cabin with no lights on is as dark as the deepest cave.
The room began to feel close and airless, as if the ventilators had stopped
working. I was wearing the light nightie I usually slept in, but after a
while, I couldn't stand the straitjacket feel of it against me. I fought my
way out of the nightie's clutch, almost tearing it in my haste; then I balled
it up and threw it into the darkness. The cloth had been soaked with
perspiration.
I lay back down, this time on top of the sheets and covers, sprawling wide to
radiate the suffocating heat that seemed to pour off me. Burning up. Fever I
was dripping with fever. My ears began to ring. Something swam inside my head,
but I didn't know what it was.
It occurred to me my immune system had finally realized I'd been invaded by
foreign organisms. This fever was the result. Perhaps I should call for a
doctor just whispering "Help!" would tell the ship's computer to start
emergency procedures. But I couldn't bear the thought of being found naked and
slick with sweat. Drenched. Sodden. Festina would see me, and Tut would see
me, and Ubatu might smear me with pig's blood...
The blackness was pierced by two spots of crimson. They shone from the tops
of my feet bright red spores glowing from where I'd been bitten.
Slowly, I sat up: propped damp pillows behind me so I could flop back against
the bed's headboard with my legs spread in front of me. Sweat trickled and
rolled down my flesh. My weeping cheek was so runny, fluid streamed down my
jawline and dripped off my chin onto my breasts. The splashes felt simmering
hot.
In a while,I thought,I'll be delirious. Things had already lost their sense
of reality. I moved my feet, and the red dots moved too... like tiny
spotlights, bright enough to show the outlines of my legs in the pitch-dark
room. The sight was numbly mesmerizing. I moved my feet again, watching
shadows shift across me. Reflections of the red dots glistened in the sweat on
my thighs. I looked at the dots with befuddled wonderment, as if they were
miraculous phenomena... but despite my growing dizziness, I knew why the dots
had come.
No more strength in my limbs. Limp. Sinking into the bed. My eyes slumped
shut, exhausted from the effort of staying open... but it seemed as if I could
still see the two red dots glowing in an otherwise black universe.
"All right, Balrog," I mumbled. "Talk to me."
A vision. Bodyless, floating. Over an infinite row of Youn Suu's, each inside
some prison. Prisons shaped like eggs with barred windows, or glass-walled
coffins, or golden castles with jewel-speckled towers but not a single door.
Many of the Youn Suu's were dead. Some freshly dead and cooling. Some well
into putrefaction. Some gone dry and withered. The ones in worst condition
were children. Five-year-old Youn Suu's who hadn't looked both ways crossing
the street... two-year-olds who'd put the wrong things in their mouths...
eight-year-olds who didn't notice the infected mosquito land on their arms.
Page 75
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Corpses now. Small, shriveled corpses. In some, the skin was intact enough to
show the blemished cheek; in others, decay or some ravaging cause of death had
erased all sign of disfigurement.
Every cadaver had a shining crimson dot in the middle of each foot.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]