“Indeed? What is it?”
“Why doesn’t the Golem ever appear as a woman?” Shima asked.
“An interesting point, doctor,” Ind’dni said. They could barely hear each other over the uproar. “Perhaps our psychomancer can answer.”
“Possibly Jung’s construct of the ‘inward face’ of people,” Burne said. “The Golem might be generated by the animus, the masculine side of the female psyche; hence it always takes the form of a man. If it were generated by men, their anima or female side would produce a woman.”
While they were considering this, Gretchen shouted, “Will you look at the banquet these crazies have put together!”
There was indeed a royal banquet, fit for a Bee Queen. Trays and dishes and platters and tureens of food everywhere; Bee’s Wing Broth, Honey-baked Hams, Mussels in Oyster Sauce, Royal Jellied Eels, Lobster tails in thyme aspic, Pollen Fritters, Hive Tack, Protein Pudding, Honey Cakes, Sucrose Sherbets, and stockpots of honey Mead and Welsh Nectar. There were trays of every sweet-scented squeam on the market. There were garlands of green, danced and trampled into the floors, emitting pungent scents of tansy, lovage, rosemary, sage, and sweet basil.
HAIL! HAIL! THE GUFF’S ALL HERE! Hey, BB! Hi, BB! Regina’s dead. You know? Every person knows. My former mizperson was famous. This is her wake, BB. The queen is dead. Long live Nellie the Second Regina. Zolstu azoy laiben! It’s Yenta the First. Who says? Bimbo, the Bold says with her Hammer of Thor. I’ve decided WE shall be:
Haaaaaa! And how would Sarah like five in the pie-slot from Ood, the Terrible? We are not amused. Could I please be Pie, the First? Mummy would want me to call myself Victoria R, the Clean Queen. There’s regal drag on the costume rack; how about Norah R, the Darlin’ Queen? Vote like for The Pessaries, the Combo Queen. But how can R stand for queen? I thought it meant king like in R.F.D. Makes sense to her. It’s Latin, dummy. All hail Mary, the Dumbo Queen! HICK! HIKE! HOKE! THE QUEEN’S ALL HERE!
“My God, Subadar, this is a disaster! I thought Regina’s death would solve everything; end the colony, end the Golem, end the crisis in the Guff, and now look at this lunatic scene. What, in heaven’s name, are these insane women doing?”
“That is not the crucial question, madame. We understand what they’re doing.”
“I don’t. What are they doing?”
“Mr. Burne,” Ind’dni turned to the psychomancer. “You are the expert in somatic language. Tell Miz Nunn.”
“They’re selecting a new queen to lead their commune. Agreed, Subadar?”
“Agreed, Mr. Burne. But the crucial question is, what is the Golem Hundred-Hander doing through all this?”
“But Subadar,” Gretchen argued, “didn’t we agree that it couldn’t survive without the bee-ladies’ collective to generate it?”
“We did, but it must exist still. It is too strong and protean merely to cease, punkt! And it will most probably be searching for another source to give it soul and survival.”
“Jesu!” Shima exclaimed. “Then it might be in this mob right now, looking around.”
“Not likely, doctor,” Ind’dni said. “Please to listen to the chorus of the assembled swarm…”
Mother, may I go out to yance?
Yes, my darling daughter.
Shake your hance in a grabby prance,
But don’t go near his mortar.
“Do you hear a man’s voice, doctor? No. It is patent that there are only women here, and Golem100 never manifests as a woman.”
Shima nodded. “R. Then what will this shipwrecked-to-hell creature be doing?”
“It will be swimming desperately,” Burne put in. “Agreed, Subadar?”
“Emphatically agreed, Mr. Burne. I believe this plastic, soulless eidolon will be ranging up and down the spectrum of people, perceptions, terrors, compulsions; through colors, sounds, waves, particles; desperately searching for another generator, another collective soul-home to ensure its survival. We must pray that it does not.”
“No, Subadar!” Gretchen’s voice verged on hysteria.
“No, madame? You are agnostic?”
“Nothing of the sort. Blaise, is that bathysphere of Dr. Leuz still equipped with your neurosensory contacts?”
“Yes. Why? Thinking of taking another deep dive to cool the heat?”
“No, I want to use it on dry land.”
“Gretch! Will you make sense!”
“I can’t. I’m possessed.”
“What possesses you, Miz Nunn?”
“Projection,” Burne said. “The fever in these women is rubbing off on Miz Nunn. Pulse and respiration rapid. Muscle tone spasmodic.”
“And I’m beset with mad ideas,” Gretchen added.
“Can you specify, madame?”
“One of them is that I can’t let go of the Golem monster with just a prayer. I—I want to—I must be in on the kill.”
“Hold it, Ind’dni,” Shima said. “I think I know where she’s headed.” To Gretchen, “You want another Pm trip into the Phasmaworld to observe, using the bathysphere setup to report. Yes?”
“Yes, but not me. Someone better equipped. You can interface the observer with your neural contacts, Blaise, and we’ll get realtime observations.”
“It’s an idea, Gretch…” Shima took fire. “By God, it’s a damned good idea. Then we’ll know for sure.”
“But who better equipped than yourself, madame?” Ind’dni asked. “You are uniquely suited, and have had the experience before.”
“May I translate what I read in my distinguished colleague, Subadar?” Burne asked.
“By all means.”
“She wants an observer too subtle, too sophisticated, too firmly anchored in deep emotional resources to be overpowered as she was by the disorientation of the Phasmaworld. Strong enough to resist. Controlled enough to report dispassionately. Mystic enough to understand the transcendental.”
Gretchen stared. “My soma said all that to you?”
“Not quite, Miz Nunn. You made many things clear when we were chatting on the way to this Oasis.”
“But great Dyaus!” Ind’dni exclaimed. “How will we find such a paragon? Does he exist?”
“He does, Subadar.”
“Where?”
Burne turned to Gretchen. “Tell him, please.”
“I will,” she said. She looked Ind’dni full in the face. “In you.”
20
The Drogh III was berthed in the Sandy Hook marina of the Oceanography center. The bathysphere was cradled on the foredeck of the trawler and Ind’dni was inside, encoiled as Gretchen had been, with neural contacts. There was a significant addition, however; a sensor had been interfaced with his larynx to enable his speech to be heard… if he could shape any words from the Phasmaworld.
Shima injected Ind’dni with the Pm hydride, slapped his shoulder twice, and scrambled out of the bathysphere. He slammed the hatch, dogged it, and dashed to the control cabin where Gretchen was waiting. He gave her a short nod, switched on the instruments and scanned the panels. “All nominal,” he muttered.
The bathysphere was less than a hundred feet away from the cabin but a good country mile via the winched cable that connected them with the Subadar. Shima picked up the microphone communicating with the bathysphere and waited. Salem Burne would have said of him, “Pulse and respiration rapid. Muscle tone spasmodic.”
The same could not have been said of Ind’dni.
At last a calm voice came through the control cabin speaker. “Do you read me, doctor?”
“Loud and clear, Ind’dni.”
“Miz Nunn, are you still in attendance?”
“Yes, Subadar.”
“This is of intense interest. Unlike you two who went into black per your descriptions, I have gone into white. Apparently the Promethium drug does not affect all identical.”