Radiant

want a blemished child.' Festina jutted out her chin, raising her birthmarked cheek higher. 'My adoptive parents weren’t so picky.'

Suddenly, she whirled on me. 'Why the hell are you smiling?'

'You were adopted,' I said. I was more than just smiling — I was trying not to laugh. 'You were adopted.'

The exhilaration of comprehension. In the blink of an eye, I’d seen the truth. Why the Balrog kept filling my head with the Ghost Fountain Pagoda and the Arboretum of Heroes. Why the statues had become Tut and other Explorers, each one marked by an alien presence. Why the Balrog only infected Buddhist women, and even why that voice in Festina’s head kept repeating, Human, human, I must remain human.

I knew. I understood. Gods and Buddhas, demigods and myths. The Balrog and other powerful aliens working together on a project.

'Festina,' I said, 'you came out of nowhere, real parents unknown. You can jog half an hour with me on your shoulder and have enough strength left to fight two Rexies. You’re devoted to struggle, and refuse to rest on any sort of victory. Wherever there’s trouble in the galaxy, you happen to be in the neighborhood. Really, Festina, don’t you see?'

'See what?' she asked, her eyes fierce as lightning.

'That I’m not the only ringer in this fight.' I gave her a rueful look. 'We really are reverse mirror images.'

'I don’t know what you’re talking about.'

'No. You don’t. That’s your nature. Facing down the universe, not sitting back to understand it. Prometheus, not Buddha. You mentioned Prometheus yourself while we were talking to Ohpa. You’re the classic Western hero who defies the gods for the sake of humanity.'

She rolled her eyes. 'I’m scarcely a hero, Youn Suu. Explorers who try to be heroes end up dead.'

'You don’t have to try,' I told her. 'You just are. So am I. I’m an Eastern-style hero; you’re the Western version. Eastern heroes know; Western heroes do. Eastern heroes learn to accept; Western heroes fight to their dying breath. Eastern heroes are born with great fanfare in royal pleasure palaces; Western heroes are found floating in baskets and brought up by shepherds. Grotesque cliches, but that’s the point of the game.'

'Game? What game?' Li grumbled.

I ignored him. 'The players choose their pieces from threads of human culture.' Threads of human culture: Kaisho had used that phrase in my dream. 'The Balrog, for instance, picks Buddhist women. It seizes us, reshapes us, transforms us into our own cultural ideal. Bit by bit, we approach Tathagata. As for you, Festina… you’ve been chosen too. By some other powerful alien who’s working with the Balrog. Except that your patron picked the ideal embodied by Prometheus… and Hercules, Ulysses, all the god-defying monster-killers. You get the sword; I get the lotus. Meanwhile, someone else gets the plow, someone gets the scepter, someone gets the divine madness…'

'She’s babbling,' Li said in disgust. 'None of this makes-'

'Shut up!' Festina snapped. 'I think this is important.' She leaned close to me. 'Who’s saying this? Youn Suu? Or the Balrog?'

'I don’t know,' I answered. 'Maybe the Balrog planted this in my mind; maybe I figured it out myself. But everything’s clicked into place: everything I’ve ever seen, every class at the Academy, all the files I’ve read about what’s happening in the universe…'

I lowered my voice. 'Listen. We’re chosen. You, me, a lot of others.' I remembered all the statues I’d seen in the arboretum. 'We’ve been selected by high- ranking aliens in the League of Peoples; they’re grooming us to be champions. There’s something in Homo sapiens… or maybe in human culture… something the superior races care about. Maybe something they lost on the way to becoming powerful: we have some potential the League no longer possesses. So they have this project — this game — to push humans beyond normal. Not beyond the limits of humanity; it’s our humanness that’s valuable. But if a set of us are pushed to become embodiments of time-honored human ideals…'

'Like the Balrog pushing you to become a living Buddha?'

'Yes. The Balrog picked that particular aspect of humanity, and it’s taking me down that path. Now I’ve reached the point where I’ve finally gleaned a few insights.' I gave a rueful chuckle. 'Good thing I’m becoming the sort of ideal who understands the universe. If I got chosen to be, oh, the Ultimate Thief or the Ultimate Drunkard, we wouldn’t have a clue what was happening.'

'What about me?' Festina asked. 'I’m no goddamned ultimate.'

'Not yet. But you’re being put through your paces by whatever alien is molding you into its champion. You’re the heroic archetype, right down the line: beginning with a mysterious birth that hides your real identity and going on from there. The alien left you on a doorstep where some family would give you precisely the right upbringing. Probably watched over you as you were growing up and secretly nudged you in the right direction if ever you slipped off course. You aren’t more than human, but you’re… exactly what you need to be, mentally and physically.'

'In order to be a champion.'

'Yes.'

'So I’m engineered?'

I shrugged. 'Your genes could be all-natural if your alien patron wanted it that way — choosing two exemplary parents and trusting to chance. Some patrons might avoid direct genetic intervention, for fear of splicing out whatever crucial element we humans have. But one way or another, you were created to express an aspect of humanity your patron thinks is important.'

'A goddamned hero.'

'A European-style hero. Knight, monster-slayer, rescuer of innocents.'

'Fuck that,' Festina said. 'And fuck this whole business of competing with you or anyone else.'

'We aren’t competing,' I told her. 'The game isn’t about who’s stronger than who, it’s who achieves the final goal. Which type of champion will realize humanity’s potential. The puppet-masters behind the experiment will keep bringing champions like you and me together until we crack whatever secret we’re supposed to reveal.'

Festina stared at me a long time. Her aura said she was thinking it over: hoping it wasn’t true, fearing it was. Finally, she whispered, 'Is there some way to recognize these champions?'

I touched the birthmark on her cheek. Then I touched the ooze on my own. 'We’re marked for easy recognition. The whole damned Explorer Corps. We’re the champions — every last member.'

Festina gaped in horror. 'You mean we were all… tampered with… by aliens… from birth? Before birth? Everybody in the corps?'

I wanted to answer, Look at me. Look at you. Could it possibly be an accident we were born reverse images of each other? But the words that came out of my mouth were, 'Sorry. Can’t say more. The Mother of Time will pull out my tongue.'

'Bloody hell!' Festina roared. She grabbed me by the arms and jerked me off the ground. 'You are not going to leave things there. You’re going to tell me everything I need-'

'No,' my mouth said without my volition.

'Don’t give me that shit. How do the aliens influence the corps? How do they control who does and doesn’t become an Explorer? Good God, were they even responsible for creating the corps in the first place? And maintaining it all these years? I need answers, Youn Suu.'

'No,' I said again. 'You don’t. Too much information would jeopardize the final outcome. It’s all about what’s inherent in Homo sapiens; champions have certain traits emphasized, but nothing human has been excised. What you and I are has always been possible in the human species, even if it’s seldom attained. But learning the whole truth now would ruin our naivete. It would make us more than human. Prejudice the experiment.'

'Forcing you to become Buddha doesn’t prejudice the experiment?'

'The Buddha was entirely human. Anyway, the Balrog isn’t forcing me to become anything. It’s accelerating certain parts of the process, but I’ve taken every crucial step on my own. That’s the way it had to be, or the effort would have been wasted.' I put my hand on hers. 'You’ll have the same opportunity, Festina. I can see you think your whole life has been a lie — that you’re a rat running through someone else’s maze. But you’ve always had choices. Real choices with real consequences. They have to let you choose, or the rest is pointless.'

'I thought you said they nudged me to become what I am. They bred me, they birthed me, they controlled me…'

'They didn’t control you,' I said. 'They influenced you. They arranged for you to be raised in a certain culture. But look at it this way, Festina: ultimately, you have the League of Peoples, the most powerful beings in the universe, ensuring you have free will and a free choice. They can’t let anyone mess with you. They can guide you to the entrance of one rat maze after another, but once you’re inside, they can’t interfere. They can’t. Past a point, they have to keep their hands off.' I brushed her cheek, pretending not to see a tear in the corner of her eye. 'We hold the missing pieces, Festina — you, me, and the other Explorers. The League of Peoples needs us; they can’t fulfill themselves without us.'

'Just what I want,' Festina said, easing me away and lowering me to the sand. 'To fluff the League of Peoples because they can’t get it up themselves. Damn!'

She turned, took a few steps, and kicked at a loose stone lying on the beach. Kicked it hard. The stone was lifted off the ground and sent flying to the edge of the lake, plopping loudly into the shallows. Small fish fled from the noise; larger fish swam closer to see if it might be food. 'You realize what you’ve done?' Festina asked. 'I didn’t want to be a god, but you’ve made me one anyway. Prometheus, for Christ’s sake! You think I’m predestined to live out a legend… so even if I dodge ascension here on Muta, it doesn’t matter because I’m already halfway up Olympus.'

Her voice was so bitter, I wanted to touch her, comfort her… but she was too far away, and if I dragged myself toward her, she’d just pull away. 'If it helps,' I said, 'there’s always a chance I’m wrong. This could be disinformation planted by the Balrog to hide something else.'

'Do you think that’s likely?'

I shrugged. Some time in the preceding moments, I’d gone back to speaking for myself rather than having words thrust into my mouth. Hard to tell when it had happened; the line between me and the Balrog was no longer easy to identify.

Odd that I didn’t feel dismayed — merging with a creature who was slowly devouring me and who’d darkened my life long before Zoonau. The oozing mess on my cheek… had it really been an accident by careless gene engineers, or had spores sneaked into the lab where I was created and subtly altered the embryo? I couldn’t be sure, but I suspected the Balrog was responsible for making me an Ugly Screaming Stink-Girl.

Yet I didn’t feel anger or outrage. After a lifetime of smarting at injustice, I was relieved to think my disfigurement wasn’t random mischance or bad karma. My cheek looked that way for a reason.