Do Comets Dream? Part 12

Then, out of nothingness- From between the twin suns it came-an orb of spinning light with a dozen tails-in moments it had grown from a point to a circle- The enemy's thanopstru! Artas thought.

He had to disengage the hyperdrive somehow, had to steer himself into a position to stop it! If I collide with it head on, he thought. Artas sent commands to the comet's...o...b..ard nerve center. He worked the waldoes inside the comet's chambers as easily as if they were his own limbs-he tugged at the new memories he was now connected to, pulling out specs and plans, trying to rig the computer to override its programmed pathway- "Behold," the Shivan-Jalar whispered. "What a privilege it is to witness the world's ending."

The privy council was gathered around the throne now, each of them prostrate, in awe, making a formal tableau of obeisance to the power of the G.o.ds. If any of them felt fear or panic, they had mastered it; the inevitability of death made panic meaningless.

G.o.d for a day, Dr. Halliday was thinking, as he peered at the burning minarets through the eyes of the Shivan-Jalar.

For a moment, a single moment, Ariela was thinking as tendrils of poison began to slither into the holiest of holies. And she kissed her beloved one more time, trying to draw the moment out as best she could, but the poison was already corrupting her breathing, and the tears were beginning to spurt from the acrid fumes.

The last thing Taruna saw, as the tide of deathlight swept across the sky- Artas, alone, forsaken, in the cold dark emptiness of s.p.a.ce, and- The angel.

"Save my son," she murmured. The heat was unendurable.

The angel stood there, against the burning city, a thousand times the height of a man, the angel with the dark ringlets and haunting eyes, the angel who had called herself Deanna-she stood there with her arms outstretched- "My son-you will be with him-in that desolate future-you must save him-promise me-promise me!" Taruna screamed.

And the angel smiled an enigmatic smile before she dissipated and the fire consumed Taruna.

The comet dodged! And swerved! I could smash headlong into him, Artas thought. But then I would fail in my missionnever to sleep until Thanet is destroyed. He steered the thanopstru back into the path of the enemy. Perhaps if I come so close that it has to change flight path or be destroyed- This was dangerous, so dangerous. The boys of Tanith had a game they played with their hoverboards, facing each other across a bridge, accelerating toward each other, seeing who would lose his nerve first- Artas did not understand. He knew only that the creature he had seen that morning-when he still lived in the alley of the pleasure women-was still with him. "Give me strength," his mind whispered, "whoever you are, whatever-"

The thanopstru was a large-scale weapon, designed to shatter a world-not to battle other star vessels at close quarters. It had a primitive system of shields and a few defensive banks of energy beams that could be deployed, but they drew energy from the experimental hyperdrive.

I can take him out, Artas thought.

With a supreme effort, he wrenched himself off course and set an intersect flight path toward his enemy and- Lashed out, death beams that. seemed to come from a thousand fingers- He had grazed the enemy! The Thanetian thanopstru was spinning out of control. Artas drew more power, pursued- The Thanetian dodged. Artas darted.

The Thanetian began to tumble toward Tanith's atmosphere and- Artas spun away.

Was there another lonely boy inside that comet, programmed with implacable hatred?

No time to think of that. Artas reversed course, plunged himself downward toward the gravity well, knowing in his heart that it was too late- The demon comet was a fireball-soon it would impact on the main continent-and Artas realized in moments he too was going to add to the destruction of his homeworld.

The enemy thanopstru was on a collision course with Tanith, and nothing would stop it. It would activate. Everyone would die. Everyone.

It was too late to save them. Only vengeance remained.

Artas reached out with his nerves of silicon, his sinews of steel-reached into the comet's core to pull out every erg of energy from its sputtering warp drive. He dredged up his last remaining strength. The gravity well was drawing him in. He tried to wrest himself away, like a wayward child struggling free from his mother's arms. Tanith was his mother, holding on, calling his name, but Tanith was no more, and only hate remained.

In a moment the warp drive would kick in.

In a moment he would get his revenge.

He was beyond the star system now, and the twin spheres of Tanith's suns were already becoming just two more stars, still the brightest, but no longer dominating the blackness of s.p.a.ce.

Engage! he commanded the comet's drive. His silicon nerves locked on, his brain sent the preprogrammed signal that would activate the faster-than-light engines.

But there was nothing.

The Shivan-Jalar had been right. The worst-case scenario was in effect.

He had five thousand years of waking dream ahead of him, five thousand years for hate to fester, to grow, to become unstoppable.

The angel named Adam said, We'll meet again.

And faded.

On Tanith, there was light-

Part Four

The Planet That Waited for Death The Shivan-Jalar is my protector; I am but a crumb that has fallen from his table.

The High Shivantak is as the right hand of the Shivan-Jalar; he shall be to me as a G.o.d.

They shall lead me toward the fields of light; They shall squeeze for me the juice of the peftifesht, And I shall neither hunger nor thirst.

But for them would I have no soul, But for them would I sing no song.

What to me is the shadow of death?

Death is but a shadow, And the Shivan-Jalar is the light.

-from the Holy Panvivlion ONCE AGAIN, PICARD TURNED to Dr. Halliday's field notes. Soon, the Captain would face the High Shivantak himself. He needed all the information he could glean.

CONFIDENTIAL REPORT:.

Dr. Robert Halliday's field notes Let me try to say a few words about the religion of the Thanetians. I have been trying to make sense of it all since getting here.

First, as I've said in previous reports, they believe that everything that has ever happened will happen again, and that everything that is happening now has already happened. I don't know how many members of the board reading these notes are familiar with ancient India, but that's an important old Earth civilization with the same cyclical view of the universe. They also used to have a caste system, but nothing like as intricate as the one here, with the complex dietary laws attendant upon each.

Their concept of G.o.dhood is very interesting. Superficially, there seem to be many of them, and they're always invoking various G.o.ds when they are annoyed. There's even a G.o.d for constipation. And there are statues of the G.o.ds everywhere, of course, shrines, little nooks on street corners where one can leave offerings, and so on; that too is like ancient India and such cultures. But when it comes to putting your finger on a G.o.d as a supernatural being, the Thanetians become pretty nebulous. They will start to tell you that all the G.o.ds are aspects of each other, and when you press them they will say that the High Shivantak is the sole person who can interpret the nature of G.o.dhead. And the High Shivantak, so far, isn't talking, although there are times when I think that he appropriates the essence of G.o.dhood unto himself.

The High Shivantak, in theory, rules as the regent for the Shivan-Jalar, except that there hasn't been one of those in all of Thanet's recorded history. From time to time, the Shivantak makes p.r.o.nouncements in the name of the Shivan-Jalar, and many a.s.sume he is communicating with that mythical being by way of some kind of psychic projection. Another possibility is that he is simply making it all up in order to appear even more powerful than he actually is.

His position is by no means ceremonial, even though bureaucrats do just about everything on Thanet; his every whim is catered to, and he is the one person on Thanet who is exempt from the heresy laws.

Ah, yes, those heresy laws! Once in a while, their equivalent of the Spanish Inquisition goes on a rampage, and, barbaric as it sounds, they actually do burn people at the stake. It's a very sophisticated stake, with all the trappings of higher civilization, but a stake nonetheless. If one says the wrong thing, a heresy trial can be a drawn-out process, and lawyers for such cases belong to a caste that is not allowed to enter public buildings; they must project a hologram into the court to avoid contamination by a heretic's touch. As one can imagine, then, there is a lot of prejudgment involved as soon as the word "heretic" is invoked, and few are acquitted. This witch-hunting orthodoxy is the darkness that underlies the mozaic-like beauty of this planet's culture.

When the High Shivantak leaves his roost, his feet are not permitted to touch the ground. He rides on a palanquin powered by a low-level antigravity device, with ceremonial guards before and behind. Half-naked woman with censers walk in front of the guards to strew flowers and spread the fragrance of his divinity around. As one might imagine, it's not conducive to humility. Indeed, the caste system itself tends to intensify people's propensity to lord it over others, and to grovel; there's always someone to be better than, and worse than, in this society.

The High Shivantak's day is circ.u.mscribed by ritual. His rising and sleeping are regulated by astrological calculations; and each evening he must speak a blessing from the uppermost story of his palace over the entire city. Some Thanetians wait outside in the square all afternoon in order to receive the blessing personally. It is believed that receiving one thousand or more such blessings in the course of a lifetime will cause the supplicant to be reborn, during the next five-thousand-year cycle, in a caste one grade higher than his present caste. Since there seem to be a pretty much endless number of caste grades, this more or less ensures a constant presence of a vast throng outside the palace from early afternoon onward. There are also those who believe that the dawn will not come without the blessing having been given the previous evening.

There are many rumors about the High Shivantak, some of which are gossipy speculation of the sort that any high royal is bound to have said about him: his s.e.xual habits, his gluttony, and so on.

Far more useful to the Federation is the belief, held by most people in the capital city, that the High Shivantak has a habit of "playing both ends against the middle," and that he keeps his bureaucrats constantly on their toes by a.s.signing them to secret missions and then-deliberately, it is said-forgetting those missions completely.

In other words, he out-Machiavellis Machiavelli, if any of you Federation bureaucrats have any memory of who Machiavelli was.

Chapter Twenty-One.

Asylum PICARD LOOKED AWAY from Halliday's field notes. There was much fascinating material here, and also much of Halliday's own personality-smug and self-congratulatory at times, but also keenly incisive and knowledgeable. This High Shivantak was clearly a ma.s.s of contradictions, and the more that was known about him, the better.

Picard wore full dress uniform, in preparation for an audience with the Shivantak in the last hours before their world would change forever.

There was someone at the door. "Come," Picard said gravely.

And in a moment, Amba.s.sador Straun was sitting across from Picard in the ready room. His daughter stood beside him. It was astonishing to Picard how their roles had become reversed. For the daughter was afire with the discovery of myriad new worlds to comprehend, but the amba.s.sador was in a daze, his old beliefs gone forever.

The amba.s.sador was still trying to a.s.similate all the revelations; Picard decided that it was best to leave him in peace.

"The High Shivantak has invited me, and the Enterprise's key crew members, into his august presence," Picard said. "We'll be discussing with him the final disposition of the thanopstru, and the details of the rescue mission. But-I see that you will not be coming with us," he added.

"Alas, Captain, I cannot," said Straun.

"But you are his representative to us still, are you not?"

"I cannot reconcile my service to the High Shivantak with the heresy that sits heavy on my heart," said the amba.s.sador softly. "And besides, Captain, I was not invited. And no one sets foot uninvited in the High Shivantak's presence-not even an amba.s.sador to an all-powerful alien federation."

"Amba.s.sador Straun, I don't envy your position," said Captain Picard. "I too, once-felt the trauma of being a.s.similated in an alien culture-my thoughts no longer being my own-everything about who I am dictated by an outside intelligence." The scars of Picard's experience with the Borg would not heal easily, despite the pa.s.sing of time.

"Captain Picard," said the amba.s.sador, "I would like to ask you formally what my daughter asked for informally: I do have a sentence of execution hanging over my head, and I think I can genuinely claim that, as it is a sentence for heresy, I am being persecuted for my religious beliefs. My daughter has explained to me how this concept works among your people. I am requesting-asylum."

"And I'm granting it," said the captain. "Good luck to both you and your daughter."

Kio spoke up for the first time, "I didn't say that I am asking for asylum, Captain," she said.

"Oh. Forgive me, Kio. I a.s.sumed-" Picard thought of the young lieutenant she had been so taken with.

"I'm not going to run away. Oh, I'll travel to the Federation with my father, I'll try to see all I can see-but I'll come back."

"Yes, of course," Picard said.

"Your party is waiting in the transporter room, Captain," the ship's computer said.

"If you'll excuse me," said Picard.

"Of course," the amba.s.sador said, and prepared to be escorted to his quarters.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

The Politics of Self-Destruction EVERYTHING IN THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER was designed to accentuate the High Shivantak's lordliness and splendor-and to make his supplicants appear as puny and humble as possible. Lord Kaltenbis, the chamberlain, stood at the foot of the throne, and though Picard was the representative of the Federation itself with its myriad worlds, he was not permitted to address the High Shivantak directly, but only through this intermediary.

From Picard's vantage point, the High Shivantak seemed little more that a blur of gold and brightly colored feathers. As Kaltenbis spoke, the blur moved; the captain could see arms waving. Then, it seemed, Kaltenbis began backing down the throne in a hurry. By the time he reached the floor level, he seemed quite out of sorts. In fact, he glared at Pi-card, and left the chamber without a word.

The High Shivantak rose.

These people certainly had a sense of the majestic. As soon as he was on his feet, trumpets blasted from seven corners of the chamber. Courtiers, round about the hall, fell on their faces, not daring to gaze on the High Shivantak's face.

The Shivantak clapped his hands.

Soundlessly, the audience chamber emptied. It was like magic. The stream of people were simply siphoned off into corridors and hallways, in a ritual that had clearly been practiced a thousand times.

The man who came down the steps was robed in the accoutrements of G.o.dhood, but there was no G.o.dliness in his face. Instead, Picard observed some very human emotions: concern, instability, and insecurity.

"I have done what no High Shivantak has ever done," he said gravely. "Never in five thousand years of recorded history. I have dismissed everyone from the high chamber. Therefore there will be no record of what we speak, no remembrance, no recollection. This moment is outside history; if we will it so, it will not have happened. Do you understand what I'm saying, Captain Picard?"

"Yes, Your Radiance," said the captain. "On Earth, where I come from, this was known as deniability."

"Ah, politics," said the High Shivantak. "Our cultures may have a wealth of differences, but always there are the people plotting behind the scenes; always there are secret meetings; I've been reading up a little on your history, Captain."

"The Federation isn't perfect," Picard said, smiling a little. "We haven't always done the right thing, but we've evolved some basic principles that we believe in-and that we try to live by."

"Indeed. But here, in this quadrant of what we have just discovered to be a very populated galaxy indeed, the Federation, imperfect as you call it, seems to be the larger reality; and it is always the destiny of the larger reality to dictate to the smaller; truth is defined, I think, as the confluence of many private illusions, and the majority must prevail; how strange it is for me, who have always been at the center of my own pocket universe, to discover that I am a minority, and my whole worldview an illusion spun from ignorance! You see, Captain, how it is with me."

"Birth is always painful, rebirth yet more so," said Picard, quoting the Thanetian holy book.

"I see that you know the Panvivlion," said the High Shivantak, smiling also, though Picard could see the strain behind that smile. "Or is it simply that your handlers have distilled for you that which would be most pleasing to my ear?"

"You give me too much credit, Your Radiance," said Picard. "I'm not a trained diplomat, merely a starship captain."

"Then allow us to be honest with you, Captain." They were eye to eye now, and Picard sensed that the High Shivantak had rarely allowed himself to appear this vulnerable. And yet, he knew, even vulnerability could be a political tool, and even the end of the world could be the endgame of a cosmic chess match. "For years-ever since my elevation to the Shivantakate-I've believed there might be more to the universe than what is described in the great book. But such beliefs, of course, being heresy, and I, of course, being the guardian of all orthodoxy, have never given utterance to such beliefs. We have been waiting for millennia for the end of the world, Captain, and the end of the world seemed clearly to be coming, right on schedule; and that is my problem. That is the reason I've had two reactions to each of the astonishing events that have plagued this last year of my rule-the public and the private. Publicly, I condemned Straun sar-Bensu to execution for heresy; privately, I sent him to the Enterprise to continue to engage in a dialogue with the very aliens who sp.a.w.ned that heresy.

"Now you have come to me, and you have sent me the data record synthesized for me by your Commander Data; and I have experienced the simulation of the events of five thousand years ago with mixed emotions. You understand how it must be for me: to see a sister culture so like ourselves, so committed to our destruction, and to know that we too were once motivated by such mindless hate, even though in this incarnation of Thanet's civilization the past survives only as garbled mythology."

"I realize that it's been trying for you-"

"More than trying. And that is why, even now, we must have a public as well as a private solution. If the end of the world is to be averted, it must happen in a way that does not jar with our worldview-or elseor else, Captain Picard, there will be chaos!" There was silence in the chamber, the kind of silence that follows a statement of unpleasant but irrefutable truth. Despite his wealth and power, the High Shivantak's position was not enviable. The preservation of his subjects' lives counted for little if those lives were stripped of all meaning.

"My underlings here-they think they protect me completely from the outside world," the High Shivantak continued. "The many gifts your people have given us-they locked them away in a secret treasure chamber, hoping, perhaps, that no one would ever look upon them. But in the small hours of the night, when none of my attendants dared disturb me-ah, then, Captain Picard, I wandered through the corridors of this palace, through secret pa.s.sageways even the servants do not know about, and I saturated myself in the Federation's myriad cultures! I've watched a Klingon ten-opera cycle from beginning to end. I've listened to the cold logic of Vulcan poetry. Yet as much as I've learned from your cultures, I have still found nothing that will help me save the souls as well as the lives of my people."

The saving of souls as well as lives. Many people had grappled with like dilemmas in the course of human history. So many times the end of the world had been predicted, and so many times the Apocalypse had failed to arrive.