The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)

The Threshold

Previously: "Who Calls My Name?" 

"Don't let anyone see this," you order Plante as you zip your old biff back up again.

"That's why I told them to give us some privacy," he replies.

"I appreciate your discretion." You cast a glance back at the SoulSwapper. "There's no need to keep the machinery warm, and you may take the rest of the night off. It will be tomorrow, at the earliest, before I have another for you."

"One of the girls that, um—?"

"Try not to sound as though you are looking forward to it."

His face turns very red, and his eyes very hard.

* * * * *

Usually you would give yourself a good, long, probing look in a mirror before returning to company—to "center" yourself and veil your personality behind the impersonation's. But the company outside know exactly who you are, and you are in no mood to entertain them with a deep "Kali Valentine" impression.

And so you are keenly aware of your possession of a new body, and highly conscious of the ripple of the silken fabrics against your body, as you enter the living room. The others are hunching anxiously on the sofas, murmuring, but they all stop and look up as you enter.

"I suppose this marks the end of the meal," you crisply observe as you relax into an armchair, draping your arm across the back and crossing one knee over the other. "Unless there is coffee and dessert?" You arch an eyebrow at Daniel. He blinks, then gets to his feet.

"Sit down, Cox," you growl. "It wasn't a serious question. We got stuff to talk about."

But you pause before explaining, though, and close your eyes and lift your face and silently invoke a presence. You feel your mind filled to transparency by a golden light, and some of its warmth suffuses your chest. You smile to yourself privately, and resume.

"I am presently acting as tutor and guardian to two novitiates," you say, and the feel of Kali's personal pronoun in your mouth is a quiet delight. "It will be quite easy for us to maneuver them into the device, if that is our purpose. And yet we must consider. Two more candidates—more senior and serious candidates—will shortly be arriving. Shall we infiltrate or both of them in preference to our novitiates?"

"Who are they?" Gabriel asks.

You hold his eye.

"This is not a democracy, Muniz," you remind him. "If I am discussing this with you, it is for the purpose of probing my own thought more deeply."

His expression tightens, but he says nothing.

"The alternates, since you ask, are both Malacandrans. That is the warrior caste within the Stellae and they would be valuable assets. And yet, might that be taking matters too quickly?"

"What do you mean?" White asks.

"Our instructions are to infiltrate at least one target, and to test my ability to blend and deceive. Additional infiltrations are to be executed only upon my discretion. It is true we have planned to infiltrate the two novitiates as well, so as to secure the location, but that is not a given." You pause, then softly add, "No, that is not a given at all."

"Why not? And what would we do if we don't infiltrate them?" White asks.

"Wait, of course. I am the one running the risk, and I can reliably inform you that my life—mine specifically—would be worth very little if I were detected. Yet that is the test I am being set, and I deem the test worth little if I do not subject myself to the most stringent conditions. Including, perhaps, conducting it alone and without near support."

You fall into a thoughtful silence as you contemplate just how stressful that test might prove. But after a pause, Daniel asks, "How long would you be 'testing' yourself this way?"

"I will not know until I begin in earnest. Don't be impatient, Cox, there will be a celebrity for you eventually. I will have to meditate on it."

You surprise yourself a little with that last confession. It is an expression that tumbles easily from the mouth of Kali Valentine, and you realize you meant it when you said it. But would meditation work, in the changed state you have imposed on her? The ousiarchs—the planetary intelligences that influence her and her colleagues—are very mysterious entities. Could they betray you, either directly into the hands of the other Stellae, or through treacherously misleading "meditations"?

That, you regretfully conclude, will be another test.

"For now we will move slowly," you conclude as you lift yourself to your feet. The others get up as well. "Do not expect any developments within thirty-six hours, possibly longer if I deem the Malacandrans preferable to the novitiates." Again you pause before adding the afterthought, "Which strikes me for now as unlikely." Then you shake yourself alert and smile brightly at the company.

"Do you want coffee and dessert now?" Daniel asks, dryly.

"I think not, for myself at least," you declare as you resettle your silken duster. "I thank you for the offer, though. But my charges, though responsible, will need some light herding ere their bedtime, so I must be off."

Then, at the door, after you have picked up your clutch: "Do be careful with the item I left behind with Dr. Plante. It represents a considerable asset, and not only to myself."

"Liu will be up with a travel pod tomorrow," Gabriel says. "We'll have it loaded and shipped by tomorrow."

"Good. And thank you all for a— an evening of remarkable evolutions." You smile faintly as you turn your cheek to him. "Do I get a farewell kiss to bookend the greeting?"

Gabriel smirks, and leans in to peck you on the cheek.

"You are very sweet, and you and your husband quite fortunate to have each other." Your smile plumps a little as you reach out with both hands to lightly touch them on the chests. As you do so, you murmur a soft incantation under your breath, and the tips of your fingers tingle.

Gabriel and Daniel both start, and shift on their feet. Their eyes widen, and roll uncertainly. Gabriel, first, then Daniel, turn to stare at each other. It is as though they are looking at each other for the first time, with wonder and excitement.

"Good night, gentlemen," you trill, and laugh to yourself to imagine the awkward bed-play you have likely instigated.

* * * * *

Your apartment is far down the corridor, which again gives you time to feel yourself striding along in a new body. This is not a common experience for you: in masks or with a tat, the new body becomes simply your body, and its clothes your clothes. But you prickle consciously at the brush of silk against your legs, and your gait, and the poise with which you stride. Is it because this is a Stellae's body that I feel this way? you wonder. Or is it a side effect of swapping P3 instead of using a tat or mask?

Two thoughts occur to you: It was to test this that we made this swap. And, more irksome because you know it is not a thought that is yours: I must meditate on this.

Yet you pause on reaching the door to your apartment, and feel yourself reluctant to touch the knob.

Ah, don't fash so, Kali, you chide yourself. T'is only your own door. But that brings another twinge, as foreign before: Thresholds of any kind are not to be crossed lightly.

So you hesitate, wavering, and you have to catch yourself from stepping back. For if you do, you know that you will hurry back whence you came, and beg Plante to pull you out and put you out back in your own body.

Fie! you murmur to yourself. What, prove yerself a big jessie after your years in the field?

And then you imagine yourself on the other side of the door. More: You remember being on the other side of the door, addressing the bairns as you were heading out. Classwork first, then your movie, you reminded them. I'll be grading it when I return, and you will be attending as I do.

And that does the trick. Though you still feel yourself a foreigner—and feel yourself brave for doing so—you slide your house key into the lock, and twist the knob.

The door opens onto darkness. The glow from the TV is the only source of light, and the only sound is—

The movie's soundtrack is cut short by two girlish shrieks. You lift your hand to flick the switch on the wall. Vidya and Punthali swing around to stare guiltily at you over the back of the couch.

You lower your eyebrows, which have lifted in surprise.

"Ah," you say as you close the door behind you. "May I assume your classwork has been successfully concluded and is ready for inspection?"

The girls exchange a guilty glance, and Vidya—the twelve-year-old—scrambles for the remote. "We got done early," she says as she turns the TV off.

"So I gathered, from the fact that you are more than forty minutes into your film," you archly declare. "I trust you found it easy?"

There's no mistaking the look of guilt and fear on her face as she advances with two sheets of paper. You accept them, and lead her—and the nine-year-old Punthali, who scrambles after—into the dining room, where you click on the light and set yourself at the table. You know the answers to the math problems you set them, so you only glance over them briefly while letting the silence steep.

Punthali isn't long to crack.

"Vidya do mine," she says in a pained voice. "I copy."

"Shut up!" Vidya hisses.

"Too late for that now," you tell her without looking up from the papers. "The confession is made. Change for bed."

Vidya grimaces and hurries off, but Punthali lingers. "Are we meditate?" she asks in her slightly broken English.

Now you do look at her. You can't help interpreting as a question about yourself, and not about her.

"You may attempt it on your own," you reply. "And we will discuss in the morning what success you have." Then you translate: "Try."

Next: "Meditations" 

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"Table of Contents (Vol. 5)" 
"The Book of Masks (Vol. 5)"