“Not that far behind, it looks like,” Nita said.
“Good to hear. Your practice has been relatively brief, as your species reckons time, but already you have personal experience of some modes of consciousness that do not map at all closely onto the ones your world commonly knows or accepts. One of these—I would not say a natural law, but certainly a tendency—is for accretions of matter over a certain size or mass to acquire or engender a specific type of consciousness. Such an accretion may remain solitary; it may over many ages become gregarious. But whether or not it ever touches another consciousness, it exists.” There was a thoughtful pause. “The One does love to talk to Itself; this would appear to be another mode in which It does so.”
Nita nodded, trying to think when she had last been so courteously put in her place. “Okay . . .”
“In any case, it’s not unusual for solar systems to have mixed populations—some worlds sentient but without a Planetary, some in which the sentience holds the Planetary position itself, some in which the world’s own consciousness fluctuates cyclically. But again, relationship’s always an issue. Solar systems aren’t simply about orbital mechanics. They’re about who’s doing what with whom, in what emotional context.”
“Like Jupiter and Saturn,” Nita said.
Nita could just imagine eyes rolling inside that cool darkness. “Quite. But not always on that scale. You and I, for example; we have history.”
Nita’s eyes went wide. “Wait, what?”
“Oh, come now, my cousin. How should I not recognize you across a room, no matter how crowded it was?” And she didn’t have to see, or try to see, the smile growing inside those shadows now: it was quite audible in the dark voice. “Many are the wizards of your kind who’ve visited me briefly, and once having seen the sights have gone on their way. But only one has ever dropped her sister’s bed down my very deepest crevasse.”
At that Nita burst out laughing so hard that she had to sit down on the nearby bench. The dark shape beside her simply smiled more broadly inside its shadows—laughter possibly being beneath its ancient dignity—and sat down too.
It took a while before Nita could breathe again. When she was able, she said, “Oh, I am so, so sorry.”
“I’m not,” said Pluto. “It made my day.”
“Meaning about a week around here,” Nita said, and snickered. “Well, good. Because she still blames me every time her bed squeaks.”
“It could be metal fatigue,” Pluto said, as if trying to be helpful.
“Um, you know, probably not. It was there for hours and hours. The cold probably screwed up the crystalline structure of the metal in the springs.” Nita wiped her eyes. “Don’t tell her I said that.”
“It shall remain between us, I assure you.”
It took a few moments more for Nita to get herself to stop feeling like she wanted to burst out in giggles. “Okay. Look, I don’t want to monopolize you.”
“I would say there would have been no fear of that,” Pluto said. “Nonetheless I thank you for your consideration: when one is normally used to a more solitary lifestyle, such gatherings can be wearing.”
Nita nodded, got up, and stretched. “Are you sticking around for the rest of the Invitational?”
“I will be in and out,” Pluto said. “The other Planetaries and I have matters to discuss, and it’s rare enough to have as congenial an opportunity as this—where we can also have a chance to view at close range those with whom our work in this System is so closely associated.”
“And who dump bedroom furniture on you without warning,” Nita said.
“Yes,” Pluto said, “and perhaps we might dispense with that in future? It could adversely affect the neighborhood’s property values.”
Nita burst out laughing again. What is it tonight? Tension relief? Or all these amazing things happening? “No more furniture,” she said. “Cross my heart.”
The dark Planetary rose up in great majesty and bowed to her again, leaving Nita wondering how mere silent motion could be so thoroughly imbued with gentle sarcasm. “Then may the view of the long Night delight your heart,” Pluto said. “And let us meet again before the end.”
“Yes,” Nita said. “Good night to you too.” She bowed in return, then headed back into the room.
She started working her way over in the general direction of the poker corner and took several more slugs of the Cel-Ray, for her mouth had gone dry. Apparently awe could be retroactive. This, Nita thought, has been a most, most unusual day. “Bobo,” she said under her breath, “have you been taking notes this evening?”
Meetings with beings of Planetary level or better normally invoke automatic archival activity, Bobo said, for their reference as well as yours.
“Oh good,” Nita thought. Though she then remembered what Dairine had told her about the Mobiles’ archival project, and had to wonder if the best use of it was preserving for all eternity the story of how she’d dumped her sister’s bed in Pluto’s backyard.
She giggled to herself. What a day. I can’t think when I’ve laughed so much for so many different reasons . . . Nita paused briefly by the dance floor, which was packed even tighter now, though the floating hardened-air platforms had been removed, possibly for safety reasons. She shook her head, amused, turned away—
And someone seized her by the elbow. “At last! At last our schedules coincide.”
Nita’s dentist had warned her at her last checkup about gritting her teeth. I know teenage life is a lot more stressful than it used to be, but seriously, Nita . . . Now she turned toward Penn and forced her jaw to relax.
“Whatever schedule I have,” she said, “I don’t believe I even had you penciled in.”
But his attention was now on the bottle she was carrying. “Don’t tell me you’re still drinking that stuff!” Penn said. “Seriously, it smells like windshield washer fluid.”
“Oh, come on, it does not,” Nita said. “I swear, some people just get so unnerved by anything new and different!”
“Like me!” Penn said, throwing his arms wide. “Come on, Juanita! Come dance with me. Everybody else has!”
“Uh, no,” Nita said. “Seriously, no thanks . . . it’s not my thing.” Even with people she liked, she wasn’t terribly confident about her dancing skills. Except earlier, when a slow dance sequence had started, she’d looked at some of the couples and thought, Kit . . .
“That dreamy look,” Penn said, “I know what that means . . .”
And you honestly think you do, Nita thought. That’s the problem. Or part of it.
“What you want is to loosen up and let the whole place see how you really feel about me—”
Nita swallowed, as this was beginning to get on her nerves. “That could be interesting,” she said, “except we’d probably wind up forfeiting our cleaning deposit.”
He wasn’t even listening. “—instead of wasting your time talking to spooks in the corner!”
“That was not a spook. He was nice,” Nita said. As if that could begin to sum it up.
Penn clutched his heart histrionically. “Oh, Nita! Are you two-timing me?”
Nita’s jaw dropped. “What? Penn . . . In your dreams.”