Free The Celestial Steam Locomotive (The Song of Earth) by Michael G. Coney Page B

exclaimed in delight. It was so pretty, and nobody was getting wet.  
     
     
     

 
Reincorporation
     
    The Rainbow was malfunctioning in other ways, too. Recently the images had been sporadically washed over with an unpleasant green color, and the movements of the Dream People had become jerky, occasionally freezing for a few seconds.  
    “Somewhere in there,” said Juni grimly, “is a girl who knows how to operate the special effects. You’d better find her soon, Zozula. It’ll take ages to train someone else, and heaven knows what damage will have been done by then. We must keep Reality within reasonable bounds, otherwise the Dream People will begin to believe a spiral moon is the norm. And how does that fit them for normal life Outside?”  
    The other Cuidadors had retired for the night, all except Zozula, haggard and grief-stricken, sitting at the console and searching endlessly, filling the Rainbow Room with battling dragons, hurricanes, floating islands, Bale Wolves, convivial scenes in spacebars, lovemaking in zero gravity. Everything became green again, quite suddenly, as though the sight of all this artificial pleasure made the organic constituents of the Rainbow feel nauseated.  
    And every so often the images shifted, showing quick flashes of Reality: the interior of the Dome, the jungle, the ocean. Bits of the past were plucked from real history: a primitive execution. Happentracks of the Ifalong were displayed in a frightening nova. As though the Rainbow—that Earth-girdling, linked, organic-mechanical-electronic repository of human knowledge and intelligence—were going crazy.  
    “I have to find her,” whispered Zozula to himself. “Eulalie said... Eulalie...” He pressed his lips together.  
    Juni’s voice came from behind, startling him. “Much more of this and the mind of every blubber will be wiped clean. And then where would we be?”  
    “Somebody will have to go in through the Do-Portal,” said Zozula.  
    “Go in and do what?”  
    “There are... creatures in there. Half-human, half-Rainbow. They may know what the trouble is. We can ask them, at least. I’m not getting anywhere with this console.”  
    “Well, I’m not going in there.”  
    A door opened and Brutus appeared, effortlessly wheeling a big metal container hung about with life-support systems. As if this were a signal, a huge replica of him appeared in the middle of the Rainbow Room, peering this way and that from under heavy brows while he worked with strong and nimble fingers, whittling a stick. An angry red wash swilled over this scene from another happentrack. The real Brutus stopped in his tracks, watching the scene with alarm.  
    “Maybe we should send Brutus in there,” said Zozula. “The Rainbow seems to have some kind of empathy with him.”  
    “Not Brutus. Not a Specialist,” said Juni.  
    “Why not?” He looked at her in surprise.  
    “It’s not... appropriate.”  
    “Well, he’s Selena’s assistant, after all. She says he has an amazing ability with programs that she herself had found unintelligible.”  
    The Rainbow suddenly tolled, a deep bell-like reverberation. There was a gibber of accelerated sound. The Brutus-image was dancing about like a performing animal. “Who else can we send in?” shouted Zozula above the din. “Do you want us to call a meeting of Cuidadors and discuss it? You know what that means.”  
    “Zo—I don’t care what else you do, but you can’t use a Specialist for this job. Not this particular job, you understand me?”  
    “No, I don’t.”  
    Juni made a small gesture of impatience, glancing at Brutus, who had drawn closer, mesmerized by his own image. She said quietly, “The blubbers are True Humans, Zo. Or they will be, once we get the genetic program sorted out. Their minds, their thoughts in the Rainbow—they’re True Human minds.”  
    “I know that, for God’s sake.”  
    “Well, do I have to spell it out for you? I’m