He nodded. “Yes, I can.”

“How?” I crossed my arms. “Tell me. Tell me right now!” I stomped my foot.

Suisei spun his finger around. “By using the plexuses, as you call them. It is simply a different valence of your kinesis.”

“My what?”

“What you call psychokinesis. The power you and the other transformees have, which you use to move objects. Same power, different effects.”

I clenched my fists—clenching victory. “I knew it!” I hissed. “I knew the different colors meant different effects!” I blinked. “Wait a minute. Does this mean I can use my powers to cure people!?”

“Keep your voice down,” Suisei said.

“Does this mean I can use my powers to cure people?” I repeated, softly.

Sighing, Suisei shook his head. “No—and neither can I.”

“Can anyone?” I asked.

He shook his head again. “Not here, no.” He looked up at the ceiling at a spot where one of the panels was missing.

“Then how are you keeping the fungus at bay?”

“It would be more accurate to say that I am keeping the spores at bay,” he said.

“What? How?”

“The spores have an extraordinarily corrosive coating—the most extreme oxidizer I have ever seen. Makes fluorine seem tame by comparison. The high electronegativity of the spore coating makes the spores behave like ions. Combine that with the effects of static electricity on small, charged particles, and weak electromagnetic fields can be used to attract or repel the spores, depending on the polarity of the field. My wards—the ‘snow-globe’ you mentioned—are sustaining an electrostatic field. Maintaining this word requires constant effort, and, as it is, my energy reserves are already running at near-empty.”

That was a lot of information.

“Wait wait wait. You can use electrical fields to keep the spores away?”

“Yes.”

My eyes widened. “Everyone needs to know about this, right aw—”

“—They already know,” Suisei said. “DAISHU figured it out days ago. Governments have already been informed.”

“Then, why hasn’t anyone—”

Dr. Horosha shook his head. “—It cannot be practically implemented on a large scale. Not by mundane means—and, for all intents and purposes, mundane means are all that we have.”

“What about the transformees? If you can keep the fungus at bay, can’t we learn to do that, too?”

Dr. Horosha smiled bitterly. “That was my first thought.” But then he shook his head. “I have tried and tried. When not even Greg could do it, I realized it was impossible. Your pataphysical harmonics are… rigid. Something is holding them in place. None of the transformees have been able to tune their harmonics to anything other than kinetics.”

“Pataphysical harmonics? Kinetics?”

“Your powers—kinetics being the particular valence that you and the others have been calling psychokinesis.”

“Isn’t that what it is?” I asked.

“No. It is pataphysics.”

“And what do you mean by rigidity?” I asked.

“Think of it like a radio,” he said. “Yours are stuck on the kinetic frequency, because, for whatever reason, the tuning dial is broken. In theory, you could use your kinesis to exert force on the air to keep the spores away from uninfected living things, but that would be dangerous, given the spores’ microscopic size.”

“How would it be dangerous?”

“The rigidity you would impose on the air would cause flash-freezing and trigger implosions.”

Suisei moved his hands like he was pressing his palms against an invisible cube.

“Im-implosions?”

“Think about it. A building is a collection of walls enclosing a small region of air from the huge region of air outside it—the atmosphere. Statistical mechanics tells us that what we call ‘air’ is mostly a flurry of molecules bouncing around in every direction like the belly of an angry Gacha machine. The molecules bouncing off the interior of a building’s walls counteract the atmospheric molecules doing the same outside. If you stop the molecules from bouncing up against the inside of the building, the outward-pushing force suddenly disappears, and there is nothing left to oppose the atmosphere bearing down on the outside, and so,” he smacked his hands together, “implosions.”

“I thought you were a specialist of infectious disease,” I said, “not a physicist. Nor a chemist.”

“Every little bit helps,” Suisei said, with a smirk.

Does any of this ring a bell, Andalon?

“What’s a bell?” she asked.

I’ll take that as a “no”, then.

“I dunno what that stuff means, Mr. Genneth,” she added, “but they don’t sound good.”

I sighed.

Fortunately, I didn’t need Andalon to have a clue about what Suisei was talking about in order to know that he knew what he was talking about. “You’re definitely right about the… rigidity,” I said. “I tried to change the colors of my plexuses this morning, and, well… it ended badly.”

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Suisei stared at me with renewed fascination. “Colors? So, you really can see them.”

“I wasn’t speaking figuratively,” I said.

He nodded. “Extraordinary. Though, I wonder… why have you developed this ability before any of the others?”

“I’ll tell you my secrets if you tell me yours,” I said.

“Fair.” He nodded again. “Then I suppose I will have to wait.”

“What?”

“I have made a career out of trusting no one, Genneth. You are fascinating, yes, but I am not yet ready to trust you. Not yet. Perhaps later, though.”

“Perhaps…” I said, nodding in agreement. “Now I’m wondering: who are you, Susiei Horosha? Who are you, really? What do you want, and what do you know about the plague?” And then, on a whim, I added, “Is this some kind of DAISHU experiment gone wrong?”

He chuckled sadly. “If only it was. At least then, we would be in familiar territory.” He looked me in the eyes. “As for your other question, I suppose you could call me a cleaner. When DAISHU made a mess, I was one of the people they would send to go clean up after them. It paid very well.”

“Paid? As in, past tense?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Is there a story there?” I asked.

He nodded again. “A long one.”

“Can I hear it?”

“Perhaps one day,” he said.

Figures.

I shook my head and sighed. “Dr. Horosha—Suisei… how can you honestly expect me to trust you, given all that you’re not telling me? I appreciate what you’ve shared with me so far, but, all that’s really done is confirm my suspicions about you.” I looked him dead in the eyes. “You’re keeping secrets from everyone. Possibly deadly ones. How am I supposed to trust you? What else aren’t you telling me?”

Dr. Horosha returned my glare with one of his own.

“Dr. Howle, let me be frank: there is more at stake here than any of us could ever know. There is too much at risk. And, forgive me, but, while you have certainly intrigued me—and that is no small matter—I only have one life to give. If you want my trust, you will have to convince me you are worthy of it.” He took a heavy breath, “I am not your enemy, Genneth. In my own way, I am trying to help as many people as I can, the same as you. Besides,” he nodded, “if I was your enemy, you would already be dead.” He stepped back. “For now, I ask that you judge me by my actions. Some truths stretch beyond words.”

“I suppose that’s… fair.” I rubbed the back of my neck.

He smiled. “Good.”

A polyphonic bellow came from somewhere around the corner and down the hall. It was half-recognizable as human speech.

“The struggle continues,” Dr. Horosha said, and then, taking a bow, he wandered off to go help.

I could have tried to stop him. I could have made threats. But that wouldn’t have gotten me anywhere good. If there was anything I could do to get that man to reveal his secrets against his will, only the Angel knew it. Besides, I knew how I’d feel if our positions had been reversed—and, given how I was lying to Heggy and the others, I didn’t need to look far for an example—it didn’t feel right to me to keep him from his work, as long as his work meant helping others. There was enough mystery already; I wasn’t keen on making myself into a pest.

So, while Dr. Horosha went back to flitting from one responsibility to the next, I found myself a seat on a bench off to the side and took the time to do some deep breathing exercises while I processed these latest revelations. At this point, I was worried my bow-tie would break off, what with how much I’d been nervously fidgeting with it.

So… pataphysics.

Andalon?

She walked up to me.

Do you know anything about pataphysics? I asked. I’d already asked her once, but it never hurt to double check.

The girl shook her head. “I dunno.”

That was good enough for me.

Into the denial box it goes.

“Huh? DeNile box?” Andalon asked.

Slouching back—minding my tail—I sighed. I looked off into the distance. “Right now, there’s a part of me that wants to run up to Suisei Horosha and claw at him, demanding answers.” I shook my head. “Though, assuming he didn’t kill me, I’d probably end up on the floor, begging like a child, sobbing my eyes out.” I groaned. “Ugh…”

Andalon sat down on the floor, cross-legged. “Wha’s wrong?” she asked.

“It’s just so much!” I groaned again.

Alone, the pieces were damning enough. But, together? It was madness!

The fungus—a.k.a. the Darkness; a.k.a. Hell itself—was in a race against Andalon to capture as many souls as possible. Andalon wanted to save them; the fungus wanted to turn them into demons to use in its armies of darkness.

Also, let’s not forget that, no matter what Andalon said, there was still a chance—a small chance, but a chance, nonetheless—that Andalon’s wyrms might be some kind of demon or Hell-spawn, or even the Norms themselves. As far as I knew, that might not even have been a bad thing! From the sound of it, Hell wasn’t quite what Lassedicy made it out to be. Maybe there was just one realm beyond my world, and all the spirits, demons, and divine beings dwelled there.

Then, of course, there was Andalon herself. She might be a forgotten goddess. Maybe even an understudy for the Moonlight Queen. Andalon certainly glowed enough to be a Person of the Holy Triun.

To me, it seemed perfectly reasonable to assume that God (or a portion thereof) would emit some kind of supernatural glow. I mean, what was the point of being God if you didn’t glow with divine radiance?

Actually, that reminds me of something.

“Andalon,” I asked, softly, “would you say the soul who got uploaded into wyrms had gone to a good place or a bad place?”

She nodded. “Good place!”

“And Hell is the bad place, right?”

“Yep!” She nodded again.

“Are there any bad places for the dead other than Hell?”

She pursed her lips. “Uh… I don’t think so.”

Now for the big one. “Are there any good places for the dead, other than inside your wyrms?”

Morosely, Andalon shook her head. “Nuh-uh.”

And there you go, another twist in this knotty little puzzle.

My religion told me that the “good place” lay on the other side of the Night. On the other hand, if Andalon was to be believed, not only was the good place inside her wyrms, but that good place was the only good place a soul could ever hope to retire.

“Let’s assume Lassedicy’s beliefs are, at best, misguided.”

Andalon nodded eagerly. “Uh-huh?”

“Maybe… you’re a piece of the True God?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe the Night is a shell, and the wyrms’ home lies beyond it, just like in Catamander Brave.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh. So…” Andalon tilted her head to the side. “What’s that mean? Oh!” She sat up straight. “Maybe Andalon is from be-ond the Night-Night?”

“Maybe?” I ran my hands through my hair and groaned. “I just don’t know anymore.”

The situation had already been more complicated than I ever wanted anything to be. But the stew wasn’t even halfway done yet. Another ingredient had been added.

“Suisei…” I muttered. “With all that he just told me, I’m left knowing fudge-all about what’s going on.” I scratched the side of my head.

Maybe DAISHU was secretly being run by the Hallowed Beast, and the gigacorporation’s conquest of the modern world had been part of the prelude for the Last Days. Maybe Dr. Horosha was an honest-to-Angel wizard. Perhaps the man was a fragment of the Godhead or the Angel? Might his true nature be similar to Andalon’s?

Actually, if anything, Suisei was more likely a sorcerer. I hadn’t seen him using any spellbooks, so, on the off-chance that game logic applied to real life, he probably had class levels in Sorcerer, rather than Wizard.

“Mr. Genneth,” Andalon asked, “what’s a wizard?”

I wanted to make a joke about the differences between sorcerers and wizards, but I didn’t have the heart to see it through.

“I don’t know anymore,” I said, shaking my head. “Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s… it’s all just too much for me. I nodded. That’s why the denial box is so useful. It lets me set things aside for later, when my brain doesn’t feel quite so much like a pot-boiled lobster.”

“Wha’s a lobster?”

For a couple seconds, I imagined a lobster into being. I let it crawl around on the floor, happily flexing its claws.

Andalon stood up, utterly delighted. “It’s got snippy things! It’s so snippy!”

“Well, at least I can make you happy,” I muttered. I dismissed the illusory crustacean with a wave of my hand.

Andalon waved goodbye. “Bye-bye, Mr. Lobster! Nice meetin’ you.”

Meanwhile, I now found myself envious of an imaginary lobster.