Iris

Whirling around in an arcing hora, Vana Berenguer danced among the others, reading what had gone before. Simplification, she thought, and the sky colored in rivers of deep yellow with her soundless cries. She had always been herself, the shadow of supposedly greater beings in need of love, comfort, friendship, physicality. It served, as did she, and in the service grew an individuality that knew no bounds. I am, she thought, complete within myself. The sky ululated in many hues all about, mirroring the different facets of her, as in the many beings of the world, and when she transferred it refused to dim. Their vision changed to accept the new background level, but the brightness could still be sensed. Temujin Krzakwa fell and, in falling, felt nullity. The sky grew transparent in response, clear and without color. The world had been lightening on him ever since he'd fled the depths of Luna, and now it grew weightless. He alone had been totally happy with the distance to which they'd gone. He was, as always, secure in his special individuality, and the loss of Brendan was a trauma that he had weathered. He chuckled, bright spots of wavering pinkness, and transferred.

To her surprise, Ariane Methol had the most to learn, the program was teaching her that fact. The sky darkened as she fell, horrified, awful muddy shades that tempered the growing mood of them all. She had only fooled herself into believing she was the center of other people's lives, the maiden goddess of her own little world. She needed others, as they had never needed her; dark pits of corroding madness opened in the sky. She fed their needs, just to gain their presence in her life. . . . The sky brightened volcanically, healing itself. I am no different, she thought. I never was. My needs are their needs; I am one with them in a binding matrix of society, a linkage of individual human beings, and that makes individuals of us all. I must be one. I must be! The sky flamed orange. We are all one, she thought out to the people falling with her, with her for the first time. I came for him and he for me, we came for each other, even the ones who were unknown in the beginning. She transferred....

And Elizabeth Toussaint was the seal of them all, bringing the group together in cohesion as she linked hands in therushing air with Demogorgon, completing the circuit she had begun when she approached him on the first day, the day they had landed on Ocypete. We are not less for having thus exposed ourselves, she thought, no one is. Sadness, blue comet trails marking their passage down the levels of the sky. I'm sorry, John! she cried and then it was audible to them all. The sky was suddenly golden again. The effigy of Brendan Sealock appeared among them, a sudden gravitational source at the focus of their circle. Demogorgon knew that, as before, it was not the man, merely his creation. GAM-and-Redux was its name, but, still, the appearance brought a pang of regret. He ached with loss and the others with him, but the sky remained intact, now unresponsive to the ways they were reacting. They were retreating from the multiple rapport that had bound them together. The subroutine was returning control to the main program, its functioning at an end, its purpose served.

How did you anticipate all this? Demogorgon whispered. It seemed impossible, even knowing, as he had always known, that the depth and feeling of this man were greater than most others were willing, in their shallowness, to suspect.

The doppelganger smiled shyly, an incongruous expression on the craggy features of a devil. He did not, it said. The power to heal all wounds is within me, more so than my brethren only because my creator was skilled at this particular craft. Someone is always the best at something. Heal all wounds . . .

They smashed apart, aflight on the ends of retreating rays, lost to each other on the edges of the expanding universe.

Demogorgon screamed, the death cry of hopelessness. There is a way!

Temujin Krzakwa reached out and seized control from the processor submatrix, driving them upward into light and life, and the Illimitor World shut down behind them, going dark.

John and Beth sat together under the CM dome, looking out across the landscape. Beth seemed subdued, unable to say quite what was occupying their thoughts. Finally the former spoke. 'I'm sorry about what happened earlier, Beth. Idon't think I really understood what was going on. I didn't mean it the way ...'

The woman shrugged and smiled slightly, a faint twisting of her pale lips. 'Don't worry about it. I didn't really know what you were asking.' She stood up and walked a little way away from him, then turned to look back. 'We never were sure of each other, even in DR, were we?' John stared at her, trying to fathom what had happened to her in the last few days. 'I don't know. Maybe Downlink Rapport isn't so all-encompassing as I thought. You'd think it would be, but . . .' She nodded. 'Yes, you'd think that, wouldn't you? But our separable selves aren't the totality of us.' She shook her head slowly and looked away again. 'Listen to me! I ought to be laughing and so should you. We use big words to hide our confusion.'

'Everyone does, Beth.' He tried to think, to force some kind of coherent idea out, but nothing would come. 'What're we talking about right now?'

'If you don't know, well . . . Hell. Maybe I don't know either.' She came back and sat at his side again. 'I came up here fired with an enthusiasm, a will to bring you back to me, to make you become one of us again. Now that I'm up here I find that I don't know what to say. Despite my old resistance to DR, I always followed your lead, lagging a little way behind. I'm really not used to thinking for myself.' She got up suddenly and walked to the ladder leading down. 'I'll talk to you again later....' John stood up, calling, 'But wait ...' She was, however, already gone. He turned back to his chair and drifted into it. The conversation had not only been less than satisfactory, it had been nonexistent. I've got to do something, he thought. The contents of a million conversations, with an unending number of people, came back to haunt him, but they were all sophomoric, useless. I spent too much time making up too many stupid ideas. Thinking and feeling aren't the same and I always knew that. Neuroelectrical patterns . . . Maybe that's what she meant. He got up again and went below, filled with acts of conscience, pursuing no goal.

Demogorgon sat with the mindless body of Brendan Sea-lock, surrounded by his maelstrom of equipment and circuitry. 'I can get you back, Brendan,' he whispered softly. 'With a little help, I can find the way!' He put his hand on the body's chest. The flesh was still warm to his touch, as if the man would wake up in a moment and things would be as they had been. . . . No, not that way. Better. The door crackled open and Krzakwa came in. He took in the room's tableau and said, 'What are you doing?'

Demogorgon looked up. 'Thinking, I guess. What did you think of our little trip?' Shrugging, the Selenite said,