Hari Kunzru - Gods Without Men

“Why is it so tall?”

“Ah, I’m glad you asked that. We determined that the Mux should be placed in a conical tower, so that the tip of the transmitting crystal is in a precise harmonic relationship with the dimensions of the Temple of Solomon.”

“It looks like a rocket.”

“I assure you, it’s not designed for physical travel.”

Everyone laughed. The Guide good-naturedly called for quiet.

“Tonight, I can reveal something very special. In precisely one hour we will be making the very first test of the Mux.”

There were gasps, and a burst of spontaneous applause.

“As this is just a prototype, and since there are no other Muxes to network with human Oracles elsewhere on Earth, we won’t test this aspect of the capabilities. For a short time, I will place myself in total communion with the Command and the wider cosmos. After the experiment, I anticipate having to rest for some hours or days. It’s going to be physically grueling, and I have no way of knowing how it will turn out. In order to prime the Mux, we need to charge the battery, so we can direct energy into the system. That’s the other reason I’ve brought you all here tonight.”

As he spoke, Clark Davis and Manny Vargas carried a heavy-looking wooden box into the center of the chamber and fixed it to a tall tripod. It looked like an old-fashioned camera, the sort of machine a photographer would use to take a high-school graduation picture.

“You are among the most spiritually powerful of my collaborators,” the Guide continued. “The Mux works on a mixture of electrical and etheric energy to amplify the spiritual force of the user. This battery is an etheric storage unit, designed to hold prayer energy in a fixed form. Now, Oriana will lead you in a mantra, and each of you will direct your prayers into the battery through the copper terminal on the front of the casing.”

They lined up in front of the device. Oriana took up a karate-like stance, side on, one palm held out flat a few inches from the surface. Led by Clark Davis, they all began to chant aum mane padme hum, aum mane padme hum.… The pace was frenetic, urgent, and Joanie was inadvertently reminded of King Kong or one of those other movies where the heroine got captured by natives and was about to be sacrificed to the primitive gods. Oriana intoned a line of prayer. “Blessed are the wise ones, for they walk through the darkness and ignorance of the world, spreading Light.” As she said the last word, she twisted her body and jutted out her palm, projecting an invisible force into the machine. Clark Davis went next, saying the same prayer, making the same pushing gesture. Joanie realized that most of the people in the room must have done this before. If it hadn’t been obvious already, now it certainly was: There were inner circles within the inner circle — and she’d been found worthy of inclusion, of ascent to the next level! As she waited her turn, she took care to memorize the lines, so as not to garble them when it came time to make her prayer. Standing in front of the box, she made the correct motion and was sure she felt something, some personal energy, transferring from her to the battery. They performed the ritual three times, each person stepping up, saying the lines and pushing their prayer into the box. By the end, the chanting was going at a breakneck speed and she felt breathless, giddy.

During all this time the Guide simply sat and watched. At last he motioned for everyone to sit down. As Davis and Vargas removed the battery, he slumped down farther in his carved wooden chair. He seemed tired, and Joanie found herself wondering how old he actually was. Almost as soon as the impression of age came, it was dispelled: He reached for the headset attached to the brass machine beside him and slipped it on; immediately, his head was jerked violently backward and his body tensed as if suddenly flooded with electricity. With much pain and effort he appeared to master the flow, lowering his chin toward his chest as if encountering huge resistance. Then he began to speak. Joanie was shocked. His voice was completely different, low and raspy, coming from somewhere deep in his throat.

“Salutations! I am Esola, Master of Magnetics, 8,600th projection, 525th wave. I am standing by. Discontinue.”

Again he spasmed and jerked back his head. He spoke again, this time in a high-pitched, possibly feminine tone.

“I am Kendra, Recordkeeper of the 36th projection, 6th wave. I too am standing by. Discontinue.”

Then the Guide, in his own voice, asked the two presences for their assessment of the experiment. Esola answered first.

“According to my instrumentation, the battery is fully charged. Discontinue.”

“I have noted the transference of energy in the cosmic ledger,” added Kendra. “All is cleared for you to test the multiplex device. Discontinue.”

The Guide thanked them, exchanged cordial salutations and blessings, then removed the headset. It appeared the Command had given the go-ahead. He stood up, took Oriana’s hand and gestured for everyone to follow him up the stairs.

Outside the night was clear and crisp. The stars overhead were bright pinpricks of light in the blue-black sky. Joanie felt cold in her skimpy Cohort outfit and wished she’d brought a sweater. Out in the desert she could see campfires, people passing back and forth in front of them like wraiths. The distinction between earth and air was hazy. She felt as if she were already in space, floating free in the cold, clear ether between the planets. Cooking smells drifted across the camp, fragments of conversation, shouts and laughter. Somewhere someone was playing a guitar. They made their way over to the Mux tower, a conical shadow almost obscured by the three large shadow fingers of the Pinnacle Rocks. Some of the men started up a generator, which sputtered into life and began a regular chug-chug growl. A run of cable led from it into the body of the Mux. Someone else brought a large lamp, like a theater spotlight, and directed it at the tower. A crowd was beginning to gather round, asking questions and trying to see what was going on. Clark Davis directed the Cohort to form a circle round the base, as Manny and some others carried the prayer battery up the tower and installed it in the capsule. Joanie peered into the darkness, trying to see if Wanda was among the onlookers. She hoped she’d had the sense to put Judy to bed. The technicians came down again, briefly conferring with Davis and the Guide. As the onlookers whispered and pointed, the Guide hugged Oriana, then grabbed the rungs of the ladder and began to ascend.

Lisa had the cases open on the bed. The room was small and cramped, papered with an unpleasant pattern of purple flowers. As soon as Jaz got him in, Raj stopped crying, wriggled out of his arms and went off to flush the toilet. Jaz hadn’t the energy to stop him. He was obsessed with toilets. Dabbling his fingers in the water. Sticking his head deep into the bowl to examine the flow. He tried the flush again, before the cistern had refilled. Jaz could hear the hollow thud as he pulled the handle. And again. He could do that for hours.

Jaz sat down in an armchair. The room stank of some kind of artificially scented cleaning product. Carcinogens and lavender.

“Do you need a hand?”

Lisa shook her head.

“You OK?”

“Sure.”

He tried to take over, pulling out one of his shirts and reaching for a hanger.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“You’ll mix everything up.”

He sat down again. Raj came barreling into the room and tugged at Lisa, who tried to carry on unpacking as he violently twisted her T-shirt.

“Come on,” Jaz pleaded. “Leave Mommy alone. Here’s Bah.”