“You should check it out sometime, but not right now. It looks like you're heading for a hard road. Perhaps I should say farewell.”
She looked at him directly and without judgment. Impulsively and to his own surprise Jonas embraced her, feeling a deep affection for his colleague.
“Farewell, Masharu.”
He turned and walked over to the big open-sided garage where the colony's cars were kept. He got into one, backed out and drove away along the single track, down the sun-burnt hillside to the highway.
10. BROTHERS IN ARMS
When the guardians of the inner sanctum of the Font Eterno had given him permission to take part in the Immersion Palmiro experienced a moment of terrible clarity. Up to that point access to Sarobindo had been a mathematical problem, like moves in a long game of chess: he had never dwelt on the outcome. But the moment the way was opened for him, he had seen with startling precision what was going to happen. He would take some of the breathing suppressant, enter the waters, move as rapidly as he could to the yogi, administer the anti-enzyme and then sink for a few moments to the bottom before escaping from the Sea. He had known with certainty that he would do this, and in the same moment, there in the bowels of the Font Eterno, he had understood the full significance of his action. He would be killing the king and with him, his kingdom.
For sure, this was the thing Adorno desired and Palmiro finally accepted as his destiny, but it had been thought in the abstract. He had never felt the enormity of what that meant and the intense reaction it would draw. The whole of Heaven pivoted around Sarobindo and his ceremony of dying. When he, Palmiro, had brought the ceremony to a shocking end, he would be administering a death blow to the soul of Heaven. The fury of Immortals would descend on him. He was gripped by terror, as if he was already surrounded by uncontrollable rage and would never get out alive. It was only the gentle voice of Padma that returned him to the present and helped him get control of himself. The fury of the Immortals would be real, he thought, so he would simply have to take steps to escape it.
He was driving into the northern foothills of the sierra, again toward the western end of Heaven, to the place where Adorno had his mansion. The previous night he'd returned directly from the Font Eterno without attending the ritual, and found Jonas waiting for him. Pascale’s lover was looking for a horse and directions to the Ranch. Palmiro sat down and drew a map to Danny's camp and from there to the Ranch. He told Jonas that to meet Pascale at the cliff top he would have to spend the night at Danny's camp and then leave early in the morning to find her. He could leave for the camp tomorrow but it was hard to get up there without the right horse, so he should build a fire at the base and wait. He himself would be arriving quite a bit later that night and his horse would be able to make the jump. Night rides in the canyons were very risky but desperate times called for desperate measures. Jonas asked him what he meant and why he too was heading for the canyons.
“Listen, you have made a choice for Pascale. I have too. Let's stick with that and don't ask me questions.”
It sounded right to Jonas and he just shrugged. Eboni came in and Palmiro told her what Jonas was planning and asked her if there was a bed for him and a horse to use. She raised her eyebrows a little, but agreed once more to help. She took Jonas off to find him a room. When she returned, Palmiro asked her if she would also get a horse for himself and to have it ready and waiting directly after the ceremony tomorrow. She should also make sure there were a month's supplies in the saddle packs. Finally, he asked if possible the horse could be her Appaloosa, as it knew how to make the jump to Danny's camp.
“O.K. O.K., you've now officially gone too far. It looks as if you're planning a quick getaway, without me, while you're also taking my horse. Don't you understand, whatever you're up to people will know you were staying right here and they'll come straight for me. Anyway, I thought the plan was to convince people of your good intentions?”
Palmiro saw her point. “You know what, Eboni, you're right. I really can't tell you anything right now but it's best you come too. You should ride your own horse and bring another one, to the Font Eterno, and pack enough supplies for both of us. Wait for me at the entrance to the tunnel just after the ceremony gets started. I won’t be long.”
Eboni shook her head. “Why do I get the feeling you've done nothing but lie to me all the way along?”
Palmiro opened his mouth but only a helpless “I...I...” came out.
Eboni stopped him. “Please don't bother. You're something else, you really are. But I reckon I'm in deep now and can't get out. At least I’ll see Danny. So, OK, you get your way. I'll be there with the horses. And I'll stash the supplies along the trail somewhere so people won't see the saddlebags and get suspicious.”
“Thanks, Eboni. And you'll see, it'll all be for the best!”
“I don't know about that, I really don't.”
After that Palmiro had one essential thing left to do. He had to experiment with the drug from the Initiation ritual, to find the right dosage. He secluded himself in his room, pushing a chair under the handle, and began with a small amount, the size of a bead on his finger. The effect after four or five minutes was to suppress his breathing a little, like the rhythm of someone asleep. He waited for the sensation to disappear, then he gave himself a considerably larger dose, a tablespoon-full, and started timing himself carefully with a watch. After about five minutes he felt almost the full effect of the initiation ritual. His breathing stopped and his heart rate slowed dramatically. He fought to stay conscious and to walk across the room. He felt a strong pain in his chest but he managed it, collapsing into a chair.
Judging from his watch it seemed he then passed out for just under twenty minutes. When he came to he'd had a sharp moment of clarity and taken his first breath. Like a train, a thundering headache hit him and he realized he could not risk doing this anymore. The physical stress was too great and he needed all his remaining forces for the actual event tomorrow. He would just have to make a guess at the correct amount for his Immersion. He decided he could perhaps manage what he had to do with about half of the dose he'd just taken. Once he'd come to his decision he threw himself on his bed and tried to sleep.
But his headache stayed with him and he only slept fitfully. Now, as he drove higher into the hills, past the Plastic Surgery and Agriculture Colonies, he felt as if there was a stone in his chest. Despite this, his mind was strong. Almost all the pieces were in place for what he had to do. He had committed himself to this path and he knew it was necessary, if only for Pascale. But it was not just for her. It was for the Northern Homeland too, and it was also for the Immortals. Just as Adorno had argued, they were living a phony, futile life, which had to change. All that remained to do was to get the anti-enzyme.
He arrived at the mansion and drove directly to the drive at the front of the house. He got out and entered the door to the east wing, the one leading to his laboratory. He expected to go straight to his fridge to retrieve the culture dish with its lethal liquid, but was shocked to see Adorno sitting in an easy chair with a journal on his lap. The scientist looked up and smiled.
“I've been expecting you. I've come here every day waiting for you to appear. It is a delight to see you, Palmiro. How are you?”
“Hello, sir. It's been a while. A lot has happened.”
“I think so. How is your friend, the captive Pascale?”
Palmiro thought there was no good reason not to tell his teacher of the rescue mission to the canyons and its fatal outcome. In a few sentences he sketched the story.
Adorno whistled softly. “Well, certainly, change is in the air. That psychopath Magus fully deserved his fate. But I don't think you have told me everything, Palmiro, have you?”
Palmiro hesitated, both embarrassed and irritated at this point to explain to Adorno, who had instigated everything, exactly what he was planning to do. Adorno smiled and saved his awkwardness.
“Don't worry. I believe I have a pretty good
idea of what you intend. Look, I have something for you.”
He reached into a small satchel he had slung under his shoulder and took out a hand-sized device. “I found the product of your research in the fridge there. Well done, indeed, a work worthy of my greatest student. I took the liberty of placing your invention in a pressurized capsule here. It comes with an applicator. You unscrew the top one-and-a-half turns and a nozzle pops out. All you need then is to hold two fingers round the top and squeeze from the bottom, and a continuous dose will be administered. Here, take it, you will find it expeditious to your purpose.”
Palmiro was staggered and all his previous ambiguity about Adorno flooded through him again. By dint of hard effort and willpower he was going to do something to change the world, and he had not felt Adorno's help in that for quite a long time. Yet here he was, inserting himself at the last moment, still claiming a role. Even so, he could not help but feel the old thrill that he and Adorno were brothers-in-arms, that history's greatest scientist was treating him as a colleague and even an equal. At that moment it felt only right and made him incredibly proud to be taking the instrument for Heaven's demise from Adorno's own hand.
“Thank you. I think that will be useful.”
“No, thank you! The credit is all yours. I analyzed your work and I have to say the pathogen you created is so aggressive that any contact with mucosa will have catastrophic consequences.”
Palmiro opened his mouth to say something but he stopped.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“I, I can't really go into details, sir, but I was thinking, should I be exposed to this, this liquid, could it be dangerous for me? I'm pretty sure, since I am still young in actual body years, it should not affect me in the same way as a long-time Immortal.”
“An important question, of course. In whatever way you plan to use this, I imagine you feel at risk. But, yes, your instinct is entirely correct. Being exposed to this organism might cause an allergic reaction, lightheadedness or feeling sick, something like that, but your normal cell reproduction has not been suppressed. In fact, in studies I conducted, I found the immortality enzyme to be largely redundant for someone with your chronological age, all the way up to about thirty years. It is only absorbed by the cells as the chemical signals of aging begin to really kick in. So, no, you will have minimal symptoms. And, by the way, this discovery of yours does best at normal room temperature! The reactivity slows down considerably in the fridge.”
At that moment Palmiro felt hardly a separate person from his teacher. They were acting as one, thinking as one, and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew he should be going soon, to be back at the Font Eterno in time, and yet he could not leave just like that. He had at least one more question to ask.
“Sir, if you will forgive me, there is another question I have. A woman, at the Agora of the Baths, she lives there. She claims to be your mother. Is that true?”
“Ah, you met her, my mother. Did she harass you, make prophecies? She must have seen something if she told you about me. To cut a long story short, I brought her here right back at the beginning. She didn't want to come and she caused a lot of trouble. Under normal circumstances it would have earned her a one-way trip to the Ranch, but I protected her. She took to hanging out at the Agora, threatening doom on all. Most people have learned to shut her up but I can imagine her homing in on someone like you.”
“She said I was her son, also.”
Adorno gave a crooked, almost gentle smile. “That would make us brothers, eh? My mother was a very smart woman in her own way, but Heaven drove her crazy. That is another reason I am glad you're doing what you're doing. You'll bring that sick immortality of hers to an end.”
Palmiro was taken aback to hear Adorno suggest what he was planning would bring about his mother's death. In all probability he foresaw him putting the organism in the general water-supply, just as he'd originally intended. But it was too late at this point to explain his thinking, setting out Pascale's position. It didn't matter anyway. Adorno would definitely hear about the death of Sarobindo and the spiritual upheaval it would cause. The heart would go out of Heaven and Adrono would have an audience of Immortals ready and primed for his new vision.
The scientist was getting up from his chair and Palmiro did too. The same cracked smile was on his face, making it appear happy, and, for the very first time, attractive. He crossed the space between them and to Palmiro's total shock he hugged him.
“I want to thank you, Palmiro. You are the best friend I ever had. You have set me free.”
He released him abruptly. “Go now. You must do what you have to do. And so must I.”
11. SACRIFICING THE IDOL
When it all finally happened, it was like a walking dream. He returned to downtown just as it was getting dark. He knew he was late and started toward the Font Eterno at a half run. His headache and the weight in his chest had almost disappeared but he found the effort exhausting. His heart was pounding and his breath labored as he lumbered through the service tunnel and climbed the opera house stairs. Alceste was waiting impatiently at the top.
“Sir, you have left very little time to prepare. The great Sarobindo himself has already been here two hours. Don't you need to do your exercises and meditation?”
“Of course, I do. I was detained at Professor Adorno's. I will go directly to my room and start the process at once.”
She was prepared to be mollified and asked him to follow her. She led him round the loggia lined with marble capitals and crimson damask walls. It connected on the far side to a long, green marble, vaulted hall, with a row of elegant doors situated on either side and small incense braziers set on pillars in the middle. She took him to one of the doors and opened it.
“This is your room.” She pointed back to the hall. “Over there on the back wall is an elevator that will take you to the ceremonial area. You have just over an hour to prepare. An attendant will come and knock for you.”
She left without raising her eyes to him—very likely she considered he should already be withdrawing from external contact. He went inside, closing the door behind him. Opposite him, set in the floor, was a tiled bath with a burning oil lamp at either end. The surface was gently flowing and a cluster of live lotus blossom bobbed softly against one of the walls. On the far side of the bath was a cushioned pallet spread with an orange robe and seated facing it was a meditating stone figure with eyes blank, and blissful lips. A muted organic fragrance filled the space.
Palmiro leaned his back against the door and struggled to calm his breath. He cast his eyes around the room and drank in its serene atmosphere. It was as if a switch had been thrown, shutting off the stress and tension of all the recent days and hours. The effect was so strong it surprised him and he was more than willing to surrender. He went over to the pool, took off his sandals and dangled his legs over the side. The water caressed his ankles and feet and he suddenly had an immense desire to lie down and go to sleep. He reached inside his tunic to a small belt and pouch, taking out Adorno's applicator and a vial with the Initiation drug.
There was a table against a wall with a pitcher and a glass. He got up and went over, laying down the applicator, and pouring water from the pitcher into the glass. He tasted a mouthful; it was cool and refreshing. He poured out a little more and drank it. Then he set down the glass and emptied out the measured dose from the vial, mixing it with just a little water. Then he went back to the pallet, shrugged off his tunic and put on the orange robe, wrapping it around his waist roughly the way he'd seen Sarobindo do. Then he lay down, covered himself with his tunic and very quickly he was asleep.
The sound of insistent knocking woke him. He felt rested and calm. He waited a little as the knocking continued and then called out, “It's O.K. I'm coming.”
He got up, crossed to the table and picked up the glass. He tilted his head and poured the liquid into his mouth and held it there. He took up the applicator, unscrewed the top one
and a half turns and concealed the device in the palm of his hand. Then he went to the door and exited. The assistant was already walking to the end of the hall to the elevator. When he got to it he pressed a button and its door rolled open. Palmiro followed across the marble floor and into the elevator, without looking at the attendant. The man pressed another button and the elevator closed and descended smoothly to the lower level. At the bottom the door pulled back onto a lobby area which communicated directly with an arched tunnel sloping gently downward. The entire surface of the lobby and tunnel was covered with a million points of diamond light. The effect was at once brilliant and calming, like diving in a sun-dimpled lagoon. The attendant pointed ahead down the tunnel and Palmiro could see the unmistakable silhouette of Sarobindo framed against its opening.
“We wait here until the Master is announced and begins his walk to the bridge, then we follow.”
Palmiro continued to hold the liquid in his mouth, its delicate pungency now filling his palate and nasal passages. He thought he could already feel a slight slowing of breath. He had calculated that he should swallow his mouthful at the moment he stepped on the bridge and he would rely on the assistant to send him off the end at the point when his breathing had stopped. It was a gamble, but everything was, and something inside him assured him it would work. He could hear the sweet sound of the flute dying away, as the announcer's voice broke in and began the prologue to Sarobindo's immersion.
“The great yogi Sarobindo carries our spirits and souls as he goes now to the depths of the Sea of Chaos...”
The announcer's speech came to an end and he watched as Sarobindo stepped out from the tunnel and a long wave of applause burst from around the stadium. The attendant motioned to Palmiro: it was time for him to set out too. He walked the length of the tunnel trying to duplicate Sarobindo's pace and attitude as closely as he could. When he arrived at the bottom of the tunnel, he paused instinctively. He heard the announcer begin again.
Pascale's Wager: Homelands of Heaven Page 43