And he had to not let her know how much it meant to him. How much he enjoyed it.
Taking one more deep breath, he dove into the open link, pouring his mind like lightning in Naima's direction.
He felt a thrill as he charged through the crackling darkness of the mental conduit between them. A flare of blinding white light suddenly filled his mind's eye, and he felt himself spinning out of control. A flurry of sensations washed through him, a storm of sounds and smells and tastes and touches, too jumbled to process. The unfiltered input of another human mind.
Then, the sensations faded, and the spinning stopped. Father Obregón blinked his mind's eye, clearing away the afterimage of the blinding flare.
And he found himself looking out through Naima's eyes. He saw her reflection looking back at him from the gleaming silver surface of a metal lab table.
He hadn't seen her in years. Even slightly distorted in the reflection from the table, she looked as beautiful as he remembered.
Long brown hair flowed over her shoulders, wrapping around a small, oval face. Dark-framed eyeglasses perched on a gently sloping nose, setting off eyes of the brightest, most glittering green he'd ever seen. Perfect dimples flanked the soft petals of her rosy lips, curling when she smiled toward a tiny mole on her right cheek...
And a scar on her left. He had to force himself not to recoil at the sight of it. Not because it was ugly, because nothing could make her ugly in his eyes.
But because it was his fault.
"Where are they, Naima?" Better to take his mind off that scar. Better not to think about what had happened between them five years ago.
"I'll show you." Inside the confines of her mind, Naima's voice sounded stronger, less rattled. "Over here."
As Father Obregón watched, the scene shifted, swooping up and away from the reflection on the lab table. He saw stacks of hard-shelled plastic cases, racks of silver lab implements, panels of glowing green controls and readouts.
Finally, there was a clear space, a reinforced glass door a few yards away. The view stopped swooping from east to west and started moving toward the door.
Naima took one step, then two, peering into the twilit space beyond the door. Father Obregón could make out overturned tables, chairs, equipment...
And bodies. He saw the unmistakable shapes of human arms and legs piled in with the wreckage. Then, human faces caked with blood, mouths and eyes wide open, unmoving.
His heart sank as Naima took another step, bringing him closer to the corpses. He recognized at least two of them.
Suddenly, something threw itself against the door with a thunderous crash. Naima stopped in her tracks but didn't look away.
Father Obregón's instinct was to dive back into the link, but he forced himself to stay and watch. It wasn't easy; what he saw as he gaped through Naima's eyes filled him with revulsion.
A human head, a female child's head, wobbled atop a mass of mangled human body parts held together by pulsing black foam. The mismatched parts looked like they'd all come from different people: a woman's long leg, a man's hairy arm, another man's torso, a child's hand.
The parts were arranged in roughly the right places for a human body, linked by the black foam instead of tendons and ligaments. They jiggled and slipped around as if the foam were barely holding them together.
As unsteady as the mass of parts looked, they were capable of moving with sudden speed and power. Father Obregón flinched as the patchwork person suddenly lashed out with its male right arm, pumping it into the door so hard, it cracked the outer pane of glass.
Mismatched body parts fell away in the impact, but the black foam stayed attached and snapped them back together. The little girl's head rolled down the torso, then jumped back up into place...but face-down, with the bloody stump of her neck pointing at Father Obregón.
He knew her, of course, as he knew all his congregation on Benares. Her name was Emma, and her parents were Mormons. Good people, all three of them.
He wondered if any of the other patchwork pieces were theirs.
"Dios mío." Father Obregón had to look away. "You say this thing is sentient?"
"I know it is," said Naima, and then she walked the rest of the way to the door. Father Obregón watched as she pressed the palm of her right hand against the reinforced glass.
Instantly, the child's hand on the patchwork body lunged at the glass, planting itself directly opposite Naima's. Black foam flowed out from its stump, glowing brighter and pulsing faster as it outlined the tiny, pale fingers.
Father Obregón watched, transfixed...and then,
a third voice spoke in Naima's head.
It spoke in a kind of hyperfast babble. As Father Obregón listened, images appeared in his mind, somehow triggered by the gibberish. He saw showers of pulsing black foam falling from the sky like rain, covering the ground, clotting and squirming. Looking up, he saw the foam's source: the nube oveja, the drifting "cloud sheep," split open from end to end.
Next, he saw a familiar scene--himself, administering communion to Piotr Punzak. He saw the scene from above, looking down from a distance as he drew the host wafer from the cavity in his side and placed it on the tongue of the Catholic farmer.
Then, as if from nowhere, two words shot into his mind, spoken in his own voice: EAT GOD.
When the sound of the words faded, Father Obregón saw something else. He saw two more of the patchwork bodies rising from the rubble, picking up tools and guns, and shambling toward the lab in which Naima was sealed.
EAT GOD.
*****
Father Obregón returned to his own body to try to figure out what his next move should be. The Soulnet link to Naima was still open--he didn't dare risk being cut off from her--but he kept her on hold as he pulled himself back together.
What did the patchwork lifeforms want? And how could he stop them?
He knew only one thing for sure: he had to get to the lab in person as soon as he could, whatever the cost. He had to rescue Naima, for what she'd once meant to him...and what she meant to him still, in spite of the mistake that had come between them.
Never mind that she was nearly two hundred miles away. No one else was answering his calls; there might not be another living soul in the whole world who could come to her rescue.
The first thing he did before taking Naima off hold was to start the hoversled moving in her direction. He put it on autopilot and set the speed as fast as he dared, keeping one hand on the steering wheel just in case.
The next thing he did was pull the flask of bourbon from under his seat and take a quick drink. He saved the stuff for especially bad days, and they didn't get much worse than the one he was having.
Then, he put the flask away and took Naima off hold. "Any change?" he said through the link.
Naima sighed. "Three more just showed up outside the lab. That makes six. Not that I'm worried, you understand."
Father Obregón smiled grimly. "Hang tight. I'm on my way."
"Watch for sudden downpours," said Naima. "You don't want to get caught out in that rain."
Taking his eyes off the path ahead, Father Obregón looked skyward. A fat, fluffy cloud sheep floated off to one side, well away from his route...but it still made him nervous.
"I can't believe the black foam's responsible," said Naima. "It started turning up recently, but we didn't know it was coming from the cloud sheep...and we definitely had no idea it was sentient."
"Have you had a chance to analyze it?" said Father Obregón.
"The foam contains high quantities of an ultra-potent form of psilocybin," said Naima. "The hallucinogenic compound produced by certain species of fungi. Otherwise, its structure is a mystery. Nothing to suggest motility, let alone sentience."
Father Obregón kept his eyes on a flock of cloud sheep up ahead, and he shivered. "In the 21 years we've been here, there's never been a sign of danger from the cloud sheep. How is this possible?"
"Cicadas on Earth have a 17-year lif
e cycle," said Naima. "Why not a 21-year cycle for cloud sheep to generate and deposit black foam?"
As his hoversled approached the flock of cloud sheep, Father Obregón pressed buttons on the dashboard, shutting off the outside air vents, switching the blower to recycled air only. He double-checked the cockpit seals and nodded, satisfied the foam couldn't get inside.
Reasonably satisfied.
"So." Naima paused. "When do you think you'll get here?"
He knew she wouldn't like the answer. "Eight hours. Maybe ten."
Naima was silent for a moment. When she spoke again in his head, the tone of her thoughts was dark. "If they...if I'm gone before you get here...please go somewhere else."
"That won't happen," said Father Obregón. "I think maybe they're waiting for me."
Again, Naima was silent. "Then don't come at all. I don't want you to."
"Sorry," said Father Obregón, "but it's not open for discussion. As long as you're alive, I'm coming to get you."
"Then I'm hanging up," said Naima. "You won't know if I'm dead or alive."
"Naima, no!" said Father Obregón, but it was too late. She'd already cut the connection.
He pounded the dashboard with his fist, angry that his only link to her had been severed. Desperately worried that she could be dying at that very moment, and he had no way of knowing.
He was also, deep in his heart, overjoyed that she'd hung up on him. Because he guessed that the only reason she'd hung up was that she was worried the patchworks would get him if he tried to save her.
And that meant she still cared. Perhaps, after five years, she'd finally forgiven him for what he'd done.
*****
He'd meant it as a surprise.
One night, five years ago, Father Obregón had decided to do something extra special for Naima's birthday. It didn't matter that he was halfway around the world from her.
What were a few thousand miles to someone who could travel between minds?
He'd parked his hoversled for the night at the base of an enormous toadstool and closed his eyes. Then, he'd done something he could do only with Naima, because of their special two-way link.
He'd sneaked inside her mind. He'd found her through the Soulnet and slipped inside while she was sleeping.
Then, he'd done something even harder, something he'd never done before. Something that took him a few tries before he got it right.
He'd made her sleepwalk. He'd taken control of her body, enough to get her up out of bed and make her shuffle down the hall and out the door of the barracks at the research camp.
"What the hell did you think you were doing?" That was what Naima said much later...over the link, of course, as she lay in her hospital bed. "What possessed you?"
"I wanted to paint a picture with your hands," Father Obregón had told her. "I wanted to give it to you for your birthday, as if I were there with you."
"You can't just crawl into my mind without my knowing it." Naima's voice in his head had been full of pain and anger.
"But I wanted to surprise you," he'd said. "You'd see that painting and wonder how it got there. And you'd know how much I love you."
"You almost killed me!" It was then, when she'd said that in her thoughts, that Father Obregón had known it was over between them. Even before she'd broken it off in so many words, he'd known.
Because she'd been right. He had almost killed her.
After she'd shuffled out of the barracks that night, he'd walked her to the main lab, where he'd arranged with other members of his flock to stow some painting supplies. Then, while steering her through the lab to set them up, he'd fumbled his control for an instant.
Naima had tripped over her own feet and crashed through the wall of a plate glass isolation chamber. Dozens of glass shards had pierced her body, barely missing vital organs and blood vessels, ripping open a gash that had left a scar on the side of her face.
That day had left deep scars between Naima and Father Obregón, too. She'd never trusted or forgiven him in the five years since.
But he'd never stopped loving her...and maybe, he thought, she'd held on to her love for him as well.
*****
Two hours passed with no contact from Naima. Against her wishes, Father Obregón stayed the course, charging through the wilderness toward her camp.
As his hoversled glided through the fungiscape, he passed the usual parade of wonders but was only dimly aware of them. He wound his way through a forest of massive chanterelles, their pearlescent scalloped lobes blossoming in spectacular fashion...but he didn't really see them. He skated over a field of waist-high fairy ring mushrooms, their curled skirts uplifted like delicate ivory pinafores...but he couldn't appreciate them, either. Same for the procession of filmy lavender veils rippling through the air like magic carpets over red-orange fungal spires.
All he could think about was Naima and what he could do to save her. He wracked his brain, trying to sort out what had happened, struggling to latch onto a solution.
Suddenly, his head buzzed with an incoming call. He jumped and nearly swerved the sled into a wall of crystalline lattice lichens in his hurry to open the line.
"Naima?" He said it aloud and in his mind at the same time. "Are you all right?"
"You didn't do what I told you." She sounded weary but not angry. "You're still coming, aren't you?"
"I don't think there's anyone else left on Benares," said Father Obregón. "It's down to the two of us."
Naima didn't say anything in response to that.
Father Obregón rubbed his eyes. "Have more of the creatures arrived?"
"I've lost count."
"Have they communicated with you? Have they said anything?"
"No," said Naima, "but I think you were right. I think they're waiting for you."
"What makes you think that?"
"Because they're all facing in your direction," said Naima. "None of them are looking at me anymore."
"I wonder what they want with me." Father Obregón stroked his bearded chin. "'EAT GOD,' they said. Do they think we're actually eating our God during communion? Maybe they want a taste for themselves."
"By eating those of us who've eaten God?" said Naima.
Father Obregón steered out from under a looming cloud sheep. "Attaining divinity by consuming the flesh of those who've tasted the divine. It makes sense."
"Then what about the non-Christian settlers?" said Naima. "They didn't take communion."
"The beings don't distinguish between different faiths, maybe? If one human takes communion, by extension, they think we all do it?"
"Okay," said Naima. "Then why are they waiting for you?"
"I generate the host and wine." Father Obregón gazed out the cockpit canopy as the hoversled swooped over a bubbling lake of yeast. Ever-shifting geometric patterns flowed over the surface, multicolored interlocking shapes dancing like a kaleidoscope. "Maybe they want all the God for themselves. Every last bite."
*****
When Father Obregón was an hour from Naima's camp, the sun-blooms started to dim. They were the planet's home-grown source of light and heat, enormous fungal disks orbiting high in the stratosphere. Once a day, their luminescence dropped to 25 percent, and night fell over all of Benares at once.
The hoversled's headlamps switched on, lighting up the way forward. Nocturnal mycozoa bounded away from the flare, tails and wings and tentacles flickering.
As Father Obregón gazed into the darkness around him, he felt the same void in his soul. He was at a loss about what he should do when he reached Naima. He felt hopeless, inadequate...and scared.
All he knew for sure was that he had to get there. No other human was left alive on Benares; no one had responded to his repeated psychic or radio calls. No cavalry was coming from the stars, either. Benares was on the farthest fringe of the frontier, months from the nearest settled world by spacecraft.
So it was all up to him. Super-chaplain to the rescue. Time for the splicer to prove t
here was more to his genetically enhanced superiority than just talk. Time for him to make up for hurting her five years ago.
If only he had a plan. If only he didn't feel so alone.
Only now, without the constant calls of his flock buzzing in his head, did he realize how much they'd meant to him. How much he'd depended on them. Only now did he notice how small he felt without them. How weak.
"Father? Imam?" Naima's voice rose suddenly in his quiet mind.
"Asalam 'Alaykum." He used the traditional greeting since she'd referred to him by an Islamic title.
"`Alaykum as-Salaam," said Naima. "Are you almost here?"
"Less than an hour away," said Father Obregón.
"That close." Naima sighed. "Perhaps you should slow down a little."
So we can live a little longer. He knew exactly how she felt. "How are you holding up?" he said.
"Second-guessing every decision I've ever made," said Naima, "because they all led me to this moment."
Father Obregón looked around as his sled glided through a thicket of giant, glowing shiitakes and feathery cauliflower mushrooms. "Well, I'm glad you're here," he said. "Not there, I mean, but...I'm glad to have you with me. I missed you."
Naima paused for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice in his mind was soft. "I missed you, too."
"I'm sorry," said Father Obregón. "I'm sorry for what happened before. I'm sorry I hurt you. I shouldn't have done what I did."
"And I shouldn't have pushed you away," said Naima. "We wasted so many years...and now this. Now we're out of time."
"Not out of time yet," said Father Obregón. "Maybe we'll still get a second chance...if we want it."
"That's what I'm praying for," said Naima.
A creature that looked like an upside-down pyramid of blinking violet light floated by in the darkness. I love this planet. "That's what I'm praying for, too, Naima."
*****
As Father Obregón pulled into Naima's camp, he realized he was crazy. What was he thinking, rushing to confront a hostile enemy without a plan, a weapon, or backup?
Scifi Motherlode Page 33