Diamond Mask (Galactic Milieu Trilogy) (55 page)

P
AUL
R
EMILLARD DIDN’T MUCH LIKE THE NEW
L
YLMIK ENCLAVE.
When the Supervisors required vis-à-vis encounters with human magnates in the earlier days of the enfranchisement, they would simply summon them to a quiet section of the Administrative Sphere, more or less materialize in a severe golden room, speak what was on their wispy minds, and then disappear. It was a direct, no-nonsense approach that the First Magnate had appreciated.

That had changed, perhaps because the Galactic Overlords had become concerned about the negative psychosocial effect their otherness might be having on skittish humans. They decided to mend their image, creating a Lylmik enclave in Orb where visiting was encouraged—even though the inhabitants were rarely perceptible to ordinary senses or to ultrafaculties. The artificial environment called Syrel supposedly reproduced conditions on the prehistoric Lylmik home world. (The actual planet, a barren rock orbiting the strange star Nodyt more than 27,000 lightyears from Earth, was deemed too aesthetically forbidding—and lethal to air-breathers—to be re-created.)

Paul exited the Syrel tube station into a world of crystalline pastels and elusive herbal scents. A thin opaline mist filled the superoxygenated air, and only in his immediate vicinity was the landscape clearly visible. It was as though he were the principal light source, illuminating the enclave as he walked along, while a violet scrim obscured details more than a few meters away.
Most of the ground was covered by a yielding turf of what seemed to be cellophane grass, in which transparent, feathery organisms continually sprouted and grew rapidly to heights of a dozen centimeters or so. After producing pale, glassy fruits that exploded soundlessly and released glittering spores, the things crumpled and seemed to vanish, only to begin their brief life cycle again a few minutes later.

Paul went along a pathway made of rose-quartz flagstones that passed through a patch of larger, faintly glowing, sessile lifeforms. Some were like living plass umbrellas flecked with dew; others resembled plump terrestrial jellyfish with sparkling fringes. Tall, stalked ribbon-bearers reminiscent of white or pale-pink kelp undulated languorously, now and then reaching out a gentle tendril as if to inspect the exotic passerby.

Stepping-stones led across a brook that flowed over tinted pebbles. Moon-colored little water-creatures with shining eyes zipped evasively among rock-crystal boulders at the stream’s margin. Further up the banks grew lucent fungoid shapes with diamond spikes, vitreous “reeds” topped with gauzy plumes, and organisms that mimicked exquisitely carved white-jade flowers.

The residence of the Supervisory Body stood in a twilit grove of many-branched “willow trees” that seemed to be formed of twisted, milky glass. Their lanceolate, hanging foliage was also glassy, clashing and tinkling faintly in the vapor-laden breeze. The house might have been an enormous gold nugget with a brushed finish. Its shape was irregular and no door or windows were immediately evident.

The First Magnate had visited the place many times now, doing his best to respond cordially to the awkward Lylmik attempts at sociability. These often took the form of annoying inquiries into his intimate affairs. Lylmik notions of privacy did not equate with Paul’s own, and he also disliked being reminded that the entities possessed the godlike ability to oversee anything and anyone in the galaxy if they felt like it. Fortunately (and occasionally unfortunately), they were usually disinclined to do so.

Paul followed the path to its termination before a featureless golden wall and announced:

I am here.

Immediately an iris doorway opened in the nugget’s side. He stepped over the threshold into a single softly lit room where all surfaces were subtly curved and formed from some transparent substance. The walls were slick but the floor was ribbed for comfortable walking. Within and behind them flowed currents of
deep green and indigo liquid shot through with whorls of bubbles. In the center of the room stood a golden armchair of human design. Before it, formed from extensions of the floor-ribbing, was a low dais. The metaconcerted voice of the Lylmik Supervisors spoke:

Welcome and high thoughts to you, First Magnate. Please be seated.

As Paul sat down five faintly visible whirlwinds formed in the air above the dais, making the familiar Quincunx pattern—one at each corner and one in the center of a squared diamond shape. The aerial phenomena quickly materialized into five near-humanoid heads of amiable aspect that trailed ectoplasmic filaments from the occipital region.

The central entity, the Lylmik leader called Atoning Unifex, had eyes of luminous gray and seemed to be much older than the others, even though Its illusory appearance was almost identical to theirs. It rarely spoke, apparently preferring to leave intercourse with vulgar humanity to Its associates. The eyes of the other four Supervisors were the color of backlit aquamarines.

Although they manifested a similar appearance, Paul had discovered early on that the Lylmik personalities were quite distinctive. The one called Homologous Trend was a slightly ponderous, avuncular logician, while Noetic Concordance had a serene character and was prone to mystical digressions. Asymptotic Essence was an incisive critic who did not bother to hide a biased view of humanity. Eupathic Impulse played the gadfly, had a rather slangy manner, and was not above twitting the other four—even the awesome leader—for perceived flaws in judgment, absentmindedness, or conversational vagaries. Paul rather liked Eupathic Impulse.