Dome 6, p.8
Dome 6, page 8
Six of them in one small space should have been challenging, but they were as much a pantheon in cohabitation as they were up on the dais. Before bed, they conducted automatic duets, mirroring each other with personal ritual, sometimes together, sometimes apart, gracefully sidestepping and waltzing around, as they abluted before sleep. Phex always waited for the other five to go first before he washed up and dealt with his mass of blue hair. Hair was inevitably time-consuming for gods – they tended to have so much of it.
Then, after the lights cycled down, Phex made the tuck-in rounds. He checked the back set of three bunks first. Berril, in the top one, had a high metabolism and shivered easily. Phex had to make certain her blanket covered her properly. He tucked it in around her tiny feet, and she chirped at him happily.
“Night, Phex.”
“You warm enough?”
“You ask me that every night.”
“You get cold.”
“I’m good, thank you.”
“Fandina?”
The Dyesi was in the middle bunk, underneath Berril. But the sifter was already asleep. Dyesi dozed off easily, as if they never worried about anything. It was a gift Phex envied.
Kagee, in the lowest bunk, cracked one eye and glared at him.
Phex wouldn’t dare tuck him in, but he did do a quick visual evaluation to make sure the high cantor was safe in his cot.
Kagee rolled onto his side and presented his back to Phex.
Phex turned to Jinyesun in the top bunk nearer the door. Jin gave him a faint crest-wiggle. Phex patted the Dyesi’s shoulder gently. He didn’t linger, though – Jin didn’t like fuss.
Tyve, in the middle bunk, yanked him down for a sleepy hug.
“You have water?” he checked. She got thirsty at night.
“Mmm,” she murmured, which he took as agreement.
Phex climbed into his own bed at last, satisfied that he had done his due diligence.
His bed felt cold and empty. Usually, Missit was already in it, waiting for him. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long. Even though they were on a new ship, Missit had already figured out how to sneak around.
“You’re all asleep early,” said a golden voice.
There was a brief arc of light from the hallway as Missit pushed the curtain aside and came in. He unwound Dimsum from his neck and dropped her unceremoniously into Tyve’s bunk. Both the murmel and the Jakaa Nova protested but settled. Dimsum curled behind Tyve’s knees, and then proceeded to give herself a violent tongue bath, shaking the flimsy folding cot.
“Must you?” said Tyve to the blue beastie.
“Settle,” growled Phex, using the old crudrat command.
The bath did not pause. The murmel had already forgotten that she’d once had to work for a living. Or she just liked to ignore Phex. Spoiled little thing.
“We aren’t sleeping early, you’re late,” Kagee grumbled to Missit, but then fell, like the others, into tired silence.
One of the things Asterism collectively tried not to do was acknowledge Missit’s presence at night. It was as if they were all still pretending he never showed up. As if he were a shared hallucination.
Phex made as much room as he could for the hallucination, and Missit squeezed himself in easily – as if he were smaller and less important than everyone knew him to be.
He tucked his cold feet between Phex’s legs and arranged Phex’s arm under his head in exactly the way he preferred. His hair was braided back, but strands still got caught on Phex’s lips and chin. Phex wondered if they were strands of privilege or obligation.
“You’re here again?” he said, into the hair.
“Where else would I possibly be?” was Missit’s reply, but then he added, “Could we go somewhere else, just us, for a bit?” Phex could hear the pleading but also the desperation. He felt it too – they hadn’t been alone together in days. It felt like just under his skin itched and Missit’s strong hands were the only thing that might soothe it.
“It’s a new ship, Missit.”
“I know a place.”
Phex was weak in the face of both their need. He followed Missit out of bed and into the hallway. Behind them he heard Tyve snort.
Missit’s place was a kind of storage facility. This being a construction barge, there were plenty of compartments full of tools, drones, and equipment locked down for transport. This one seemed particularly cluttered, full of secrets, smelling musty and neglected.
It was long and deep. The corner farthest from the curtained doorway was very dark and shielded from view.
It was cold, too, but Missit had already sourced and piled up a nest of Dyesi woven blankets. He pushed Phex down into them. Phex could easily have resisted but didn’t, and got a lap full of squirming Missit for his acquiescence.
Phex swallowed Missit’s needy noises with his own mouth – this place may be secluded, but it wasn’t soundproof. He wondered if there would ever be a time when he could relax and hear what Missit’s stunning golden voice sounded like in pure pleasure.
Missit’s hands came up to bracket Phex’s face. This was new – it warranted caution. Phex paused and pressed their foreheads together, listening to their rough breathing, unable to distinguish whose was whose.
Missit’s eyes stayed closed. A moment of recovery? Phex absorbed that. The effect he had on this god, the way Missit felt in his arms, the pressure of their heads together. This transient gift.
Normally, Phex wouldn’t have said anything – he would have allowed the distance and numbness to develop between them. This time, he asked.
“What is it?”
“I just want this every day. I don’t want to sneak around. I don’t want to try to be quiet, or hide in storage closets, or…” Missit was whining.
“But we—”
Missit cut him off. “I know why. I know we can’t do it any differently. I’m not complaining just to complain. It’s only, this is it. For me. This is the thing I want, more than the dais, I think, sometimes. This, with you, it’s the only time I feel real, like I actually exist in my own skin, not just under a dome. The rest of the time, it always feels like I must be a god.”
Missit leaned back, both hands still on Phex’s face, then darted forward to peck Phex’s lips so quickly, Phex had no time to respond. He waited patiently to see what the mercurial god would do next. Maybe not a god right now, just a boy?
Missit’s eyes were now intent on Phex’s. Phex really looked into them, not getting distracted by gold flecks, trying to understand Missit’s expression, comprehend what he was trying to communicate.
To Phex, Missit was always a god, always something unachievable. Missit had descended to earth to fraternize with a flawed mortal like Phex. Confusing but acceptable as a temporary state. But in that moment, Phex understood, Missit saw him differently. Saw them differently. In the eternal quest for meaning, Phex had somehow become Missit’s truth. Missit believed in him. Not like worshipers believed in gods, or acolytes believed in the divinity, but like scientists believed in the universe. Like travelers believed in the stars. This was pure trust, not wishes or fantasy, and more humbling and overwhelming than burning desire.
But if their being together was not something either one entirely controlled, how could they not, inevitably, betray that trust? This thing they had accidentally built had no foundation.
Phex turned away from those terribly mortal yearning eyes and scattered kisses down Missit’s neck. He peppered Missit’s smooth skin with understanding. He closed his own eyes against the gold and the Dyesi-curated flesh, against the powerful voice and the cultivated charisma. With hands and mind he stripped Missit of divine raiments, of clothing and artifice. Missit became naked against him in all ways, grounded by him. The Missit underneath it all was lonely and lost, passionate and permissive, loving and trusting – and always had been. It wasn’t Missit who’d held up godliness as a barrier between them – it was Phex. And that did both of them an injustice.
They were sneaking and hiding and risking everything. If they really did care, if they really did love, whatever form that took, it wasn’t fair to either of them to think their relationship lesser by comparison to Missit’s godhood. If Missit thought they were more important, then so would Phex.
Phex licked around Missit’s collarbones and bit softly at his Adam’s apple. He transferred his reverence for Missit’s state to Missit’s body. He worshiped like no divine believer ever could, because to do this properly, he had to trust that he and Missit were equal. He had to trust Missit.
Missit arched and pressed as close as he could get, eager and hopeful.
“Kiss me more.”
Phex kissed, for the first time obedient to the boy, not the god.
The pantheon’s practice room was a converted storage bay.
It was massive but not dome-shaped. It had been cleared of everything and hastily floored with something loosely resembling dais material. Phex would be unable to practice any of his wall runs or crudrat-based tricks, because nothing was curved properly. There was a sifting booth like the ones they’d learned in as potentials, so cantors could practice separately. Even though it was bigger than their facilities on the tourship, it was a much less efficient use of space. It would be challenging for both Tillam and Asterism to rehearse at the same time, let alone for Missit and Phex to work on their duet. They would need to set up a rotating schedule.
The space hadn’t any dome paneling, either. Or, more properly, it did, but only one.
There was a single large panel of that pearly-grey reflective material that Phex had become accustomed to over the years. Now he knew this was a dead imago’s carapace, its solitary presence seemed a bit eerie. It felt like the whole echoing practice chamber was a memorial to one dead Dyesi.
Phex hadn’t told his pantheon about the origin of the dome tech. He wasn’t sure how they would react. Jinyesun and Fandina already knew, of course.
“Look! How polite of them, they left us the keyskin,” said Fandina, pleased to see the huge scale-like object leaning against one wall.
“It’s a piece for the new dome?” Berril ran over to it in excitement, like she hadn’t seen a million of them before. She unfolded her wings and ran her feathers over the surface, dusting it off. “How pretty it is alone, like gallery artwork.”
“Leave it, please, Berril,” said Phex, possibly a little too sharply. It creeped him out, her so close to death like that. He’d have to get over that feeling.
Jin gave him a funny crest-wiggle. Confused that Phex would be sharp with Berril, of all people.
Phex winced.
“That’s not just any piece, that’s the keyskin,” explained Fandina. “It’s the one that all the others will key off of. The keyskin is the one part of any dome that’s actually native to Dyesid Prime. From that, all the others for the new dome will be cloned.”
Cloned, were they? Well, that explained how the insides of all the domes were a consistent color and shape, while the ones in the caves were not. It meant that this one panel alone was taken from a dead imago. All the others would be mere copies of it. It also explained how the experience inside a dome was so consistent and so different from the caves. Each dome was basically cut from the same cloth, but the caves were a patchwork.
Quasilun had said once that Fandina was destined to become a matriarch among imagoes. Phex wondered if Fandina was also destined to become a keyskin. If decades in the future, some other pantheon would be boarding a ship to travel to a dome made from the cloned carapace of his dear friend – a reflective eulogy to a pantheon long gone and a god of a previous generation.
“Is this due reverence?” Phex wondered. “Do you care that this is your future?” he asked his sifters.
“To bring color to an entire galaxy, can you think of a better afterlife?” Fandina was sanguine.
Jin’s crests were neutral and the others just looked confused.
Dyesi logic in all things, even death. Phex wasn’t even surprised.
Perhaps the domes were less graveyards than they were beacons of memory. Perhaps keyskins were odes to imagoes who never truly died but lived on to react to the skinsift of gods brave enough to perform under them.
“Let’s get started,” said Phex, not wanting to think about it anymore.
They spent a good hour working on a new song, before deciding it was a little too much brain strain in this new practice room, on a new ship, newly reunited.
They switched to running through a regular rehearsal and well-known godsongs. Phex pretended to do many of his tricks, and struggled to make his marks when gracing as a result, because everything was timed to flips he could no longer execute.
They decided to cool down with one of Tillam’s songs, just for fun.
Of course, Missit stuck his head in just as Kagee opened the first verse.
“Can I play?” asked Missit, of Kagee.
Kagee was still struggling to process an unexpected trip home. He had relaxed a little but not entirely, and was happy to be relieved of high cantor duties.
“I’m gonna go bask in the glory of having our quarters entirely to myself for ten whole minutes,” he declared with a glower that suggested he better get ten whole minutes, or heads would roll.
“You can have fifteen,” said Missit magnanimously. He deposited the murmel and shooed her away before taking Kagee’s place on the makeshift dais.
“You really want to sing with us?” Berril was nervous.
“Are you sure?” pressed Jinyesun, equally nervous.
Tyve looked amused.
Fandina’s crests shivered with excited nerves.
Phex couldn’t fathom why they were still uncomfortable around Missit. Missit, who sneaked into his bed and shoved cold feet between his legs. Missit, who belched ridiculously loudly when the drinks were fizzy. Missit, who was never serious about anything.
Phex supposed that was some other Missit. Mortal Missit. His friend and lover. This was Missit the high cantor, god of gods.
So Phex said softly, “Let’s do it.”
It was Tillam’s song, and having been on tour with Tillam, Asterism hadn’t performed it since their potential days. But Phex was accustomed to singing it now, so it was only the graces who had to reinvent their part of the equation.
Tyve and Berril didn’t even try to imitate Zil and Tern. Although they probably could have done an adequate job. Over the years, Tillam’s graces had toned down the complexity and acrobatic strain of their movements. They were getting older and they couldn’t risk the flips and jumps and catches that came so easily to Asterism and its chiropteran. Besides, Tillam had always been a pantheon more about cantor than grace.
But even though they could do it, Berril and Tyve chose not to attempt the original choreography. Instead, they adapted bits and chunks of Asterism’s other pieces, and then melded and combined these with some fun experimental moves.
The result was a performance that, under a dome, would have looked nothing like Tillam’s original, although it didn’t sound too far off.
Missit clearly had fun with it and them. He really seemed to enjoy recoloring his own old songs. It was as if, when performing with a different pantheon, he actually thought about and experienced his own godsongs in entirely new ways. A song he had been singing for over a decade could be given new life.
They could only see what patterns and colors they were creating in a limited way, when facing the keyskin. Thus, only at certain points in the performance did they even know what they were doing as gods. That was strange. Phex hadn’t realized until that moment how much of the dome around him was something he reacted to, even if only by instinct and with his peripheral vision.
This turned out to be a good thing, since without a dome, there was no possibility of godsong or godfix, and they ended up not being alone after all.
Phex only really registered that they had an audience after they ended the piece. But seeing who it was and knowing what he and Missit could do with their voices together, he had reason to be grateful.
Most of the bodyguards had collected to watch near the entrance. Some of the spaceship’s complement were there too, and all three of their supervisory acolytes.
“That was fun,” said Missit, not really caring that they’d been observed, looking up at Phex with big, happy eyes.
Phex privately agreed.
Berril and Tyve were both smiling. Jin and Fandina were puffy-crested with delight. Everyone had enjoyed themselves.
“It’s an honor to sift for you,” said Jinyesun to Missit.
“Don’t bother with ritual words, sweetie. We’re all friends here.” Missit grinned at the Dyesi. “One more time?”
“Yes, please!” called someone from the audience.
They did the whole song a second time. If possible, it was even more enjoyable.
Berril stumbled once but only grinned hugely, having to deploy her wings at an inopportune moment to keep her balance.
Then Missit changed the pace on them in the last chorus, so they all had to slow down. The graces looked a bit like they were wading through pudding, which caused both them and Missit to fall into a fit of giggles after the last note.
Jin and Fandina skinsifted beautifully through it all. It was a joy to get to simply watch them and not have his gaze constantly drawn to the glory of what they did to a dome. Just the six of them made for a simple, focused beauty, but beautiful nonetheless. It reminded Phex of the first time he’d seen a Dyesi sift in person – purple eyes and a cafe cupola on a forgotten moon in an obscure corner of the galaxy.
They stopped after the second round and stretched. Their impromptu audience gave them an impromptu round of applause – claps, yells, bows, or clicks, depending on their cultural background. Then they all left, quietly and efficiently, back about their duties.
Only the three acolytes came up to them. “That was rather enjoyable, thank you.”
“We were only playing,” explained Tyve, a touch defensively.
