"You shall not sleep through the warping of space-time, not sleep until the moment comes when you shall set the machineries of death in motion."
"I shall not sleep."
"You shall not sleep even should the hyperdrive fail, and you be forced to fly the lonely journey in real time."
"No, I shall not sleep, for I am the thanopstru."
"The force that shall fuel you will be cold hatred, and hatred shall run in your veins instead of blood, and hatred will animate your every thought."
"I shall hate." He drank again.
"You are the emissary of fate."
"I am fate itself." He drank.
A strange coldness seeped into his limbs. Two guards lifted him up by his arms-a slip of a child he was, frail and impassive as the power of the fortified peftifesht took hold of him.
"Are you forgetting?" the Shivan-Jalar said softly.
"I am forgetting," said Artas, his voice settling into a strange monotone.
"Do you have any last wishes?" said the Shivan-Jalar. "Soon you will speak no more."
"My mother," he said. "Couldn't she-couldn't she be happy?"
The Holy Father clapped his hands. Almost instantly, they brought his mother to him, carrying her on a perfumed bier; though she wore the insignia of the prostitutes' caste, she was appareled in such luxury she could have been a queen, or a demigoddess.
"Taruna esSarion," the guard announced.
"Let this be the last time you are called by that name," said the Shivan-Jalar, raising his orb high. "For now you shall be called Taruna Batar Thanopstratis, the Mother of the Star of Death. Your image shall be placed at the entranceway to every Mnemo-Thanasium and High Temple in the world. And with this ritual deathblow"-he gave a command, and a guard rushed toward her with a scimitar, and pretended to decapitate her-"I end your former life, and bring you to a rebirth as a member of the high caste of Errolam."
The people around them gasped. Errolam was one of the highest of all castes, reserved only for the concubines of the highest religious authorities. Artas could see, through the veil of peftifesht-induced confusion, that his mother was in a transport of emotion. Perhaps she was to be the consort of the Shivan-Jalar himself! Vaguely, he could sense the excitement of all around; but the peftifesht was dulling his mind-he was already withdrawing from the world of the senses.
"Taruna s'Errolam," said the Shivan-Jalar. "Are you content?"
"Yes, my lord," she said as she prostrated herself from her position on the bier.
"And your son," said the Shivan-Jalar, "shall be my daughter's consort, for I see they are already much taken with each other."
"You do my family prime honor," said his mother, and placed her folded palms to her lips in a gesture of gratitude.
"Then kiss your child farewell."
Taruna descended from the litter. She took her child in her arms. Artas wanted to embrace her warmly, wanted to crush her to him, show her how much he loved her, how he had done this for her, not for any personal glory-but the drug was working fast now, and consciousness was becoming murkier moment by moment.
"My son," she said softly.
Mother! he cried out in his mind, but she could not hear him.
But five thousand years thence, another woman did hear. A woman not his mother, but who had felt his mother's feelings-her elation, her bereavement.
Who are you? he cried out in his mind.
A single word, incomprehensible, reverberated in his head: Troi, Troi, Troi.
And the other woman called to him through the chaos of space-time: Artas, Artas, do not weep.
Chapter Twenty.
Devivement "THIS IS APPALLING," Deanna Troi cried, and Picard, watching the spectacle unfold on multiple screens on the bridge of the Enterprise, could not have agreed more.
Picard said, "Counselor, perhaps you should withdraw."
"No," she said. "Captain, I have to experience this until the very end. I can't analyze this situation with only half the information."
"Dr. Crusher?" Picard said.
"It's taking its toll," said Beverly. "But her vital signs are still-viable."
Picard said, "Counselor, I'll leave this to your own judgment. I know that you will pull out of this cybernetic melding if you sense too much danger to yourself."
But Deanna did not respond; she had already re-submerged herself in the ancient story.
There were steps to ascend; hundreds of steps, and hundreds of high officials in their robes of state. The smaller sun had crossed the face of the larger; the heat was almost unbearable. Artas, now clothed only in the translucent Cloak of the Invincible, was being carried up the steps by eight guards on a boy-sized golden shield. He lay as though dead.
Indhuon, walking beside him, knew that his brother was not yet dead. There was still some human consciousness left in him, but soon that would be gone as his mind was joined to the greater consciousness of the thanopstru. Next to him was Ariela. He could scarcely believe he had gone from his humble origins to the consort-elect of the Shivan-Jalar's daughter, but Artas's supreme sacrifice was already bringing his family some of the greatest rewards one could achieve in this world.
Above them, the shell of the thanopstru glittered against the face of the double sun, almost blinding; on the first step beneath it, the devivement cylinder, in which Artas would go to immortality. Once he entered the cylinder, the boy would be considered a god.
And he would be brother to a god-and one of the most sought-after men on the planet.
Indhuon watched as a doorway opened in the cylinder. The honor guards lifted the shield up, and then the four nearest the cylinder knelt down so that his brother could be slid into the tiny cavity inside. Within, Indhuon knew, coma-inducing gases seethed. Once his brother was completely sedated, tendrils of silicon-based pseudolife would begin to invade his body, slithering up into his brain, sharing his identity, stealing his soul and reprogramming it with nothing but the desire to kill.
Now, according to the ritual formula, the relatives of the god would have to turn their backs on the boy, one by one. There were only two relatives present, of course; Indhuon knew that a man who gives a prostitute a child would never acknowledge such a thing, and so there was only his mother and himself, no band of weeping, proud relatives.
He gripped Ariela's hand, and broke away to stand beside the shield. His mother was there too. She had descended from her litter, and was standing over Artas's face, resolutely holding back her tears. Her new robes of the caste of Errolam shimmered in the suns. A coronet of light swathed her luxuriant hair. My mother is truly beautiful, Indhuon thought. It was the streak of sadness in her, accentuating the darkness around her eyes, the hint of worry at the edges of her lips, that made her all the more beautiful.
The turning of the back ceremony was to happen in order of age; therefore, Indhuon would be the last creature of flesh and blood to lay eyes on his brother's face. After that, the cylinder would be closed, as a coffin was closed before being consigned to the Mnemo-Thanasium. The former Artas would be dead and the god would be born.
How must his mother be feeling? Indhuon thought. His mother-my mother.
Deanna could hear Taruna's thoughts, as clearly as if they were speaking face-to-face. She was thinking Yes, yes, I will be consort to a demigod now, it's what I've always wished. I'll try to forget the one I hugged, the one I sang to sleep-I'll try to forget but I know I'm going to be haunted by it, oh gods, I remember the blast of blinding pain when I knew he was emerging from me, he was such a difficult birth, I remember holding him and he wouldn't even cry, wouldn't even make a sound, as if he already knew he wasn't going to stay with me very long, as if to say Mother, Mother, don't be too close to me-how I love you, my Artashki, my angel, my pride.
Though Deanna's body was still in the heart of the comet, connected through Data and the dailong's monstrous network of links to this distant events, her mind was right there in the ancient world; she could see the vibrant, colors of the city, double-brilliant and double-shadowed by the dance of its twin suns, she could see, through Taruna's eyes, the boy, his hands folded across his chest like a Pharaoh about to be mummified; his eyes were still open, unblinking; they were windows into a yawning emptiness.
And Taruna turned away from her son's face, and now it was the brother's turn. Indhuon stroked his brother's face; already it seemed to have grown cold.
"Good-bye, little brother," he said.
The cylinder closed.
A primitive device of metal wires and pulleys hoisted it upright.
In front of them, there was the thanopstru: a metallic sphere, its surface artificially pitted to resemble a natural object.
Looking at the alien past through Indhuon's eyes, Simon Tarses was interested in the workings of the thanopstru. As it rose up, a crystalline humming permeated the air, and from far below a collective murmur from the crowd swelled like a gathering ocean storm. There was nothing in this technology that appeared to resemble any device of the Federation. Whatever this was, it was an independent discovery.
I wish I knew more, Simon thought.
And then he heard, echoing through the conduit of Data's mind, the response-So do I.
Simon looked through Indhuon's eyes and saw Ariela, and behind Ariela's eyes he knew that the consciousness of Kio was present-and that Kio and Ariela shared a genetic connection that spanned many five-thousand-year cycles. That was the reason, no doubt, for the rigid caste system defined in the Panvivlion; it kept the families intact from cycle to cycle no matter who was lost.
I wish I could kiss you, Simon thought.
But you can! came Kio's thoughts.
And suddenly he realized it was true, for the diplomatic necessities that divided Simon and Kio did not affect Indhuon and Ariela. Quite the opposite; everything and everyone smiled upon the union of the two Tanithians.
Before he could finish the thought, it was happening. Indhuon and Ariela were clinging to each other. And the Shivan-Jalar, immersed in his recitation from the Panvivlion, didn't move to stop them. They kissed, and thus it was that Simon and Kio also kissed, each finding the taste of alien lips strangely intoxicating.
How strange it is, Simon thought. For years I've been haunted by an event that made me feel an outcast among people who were supposed to accept me. Now, among aliens, in an alien body, I feel a sense of belonging. There is something about this young woman that reaches only me. A secret message that has been written for me alone. That has waited for me on the other side of the galaxy, that would have gone unsaid if this one-in-a-trillion confluence of chance events had not occurred. It was almost enough to make him buy the Thanetian concept of total predestination.
The thanopstru was now halfway up the sky, and the suns were setting. The pits and blemishes were invisible now. Artas was a sphere of light, glittering, brilliant, a new star burning blue-white against the deepening sky.
Now, traditionally, would follow a night of celebration, a night for the downing of peftifesht and the chewing of xakuna leaves. There would be merriment and laughter and Artas would be toasted in a million households. Sending death to Thanet was the supreme joy.
It was then that Indhuon saw the strange lights in the sky.
He could hear curious murmurings around him. The Shivan-Jalar's council was pointing, staring. The crowd, far below, stirred.
There were thousands of them, points of light that wove in and out of each other, multicolored, dancing, darting- "Thanet!" the Shivan-Jalar exclaimed.
Simon, with his historical vantage point, knew right away what was happening. Thanet must be attacking. The five-thousand-year cycle was a thing of eerie precision. Who knew how many cycles had passed, how many times this self-destructive pattern had been played out?
His reaction must have been severe, because it seemed to have bled through into Indhuon's consciousness, and now Indhuon was blurting out: "They're attacking us-the Thanetians are attacking us again!"
"Again?" Indhuon noticed the Shivan-Jalar looking at him strangely, as, overhead, more lights speckled the darkling sky.
Indhuon gripped Ariela's hand. The Shivan-Jalar had actually descended from his high seat. He was within arms' length of Indhuon, and the young man knew that to touch the Shivan-Jalar was sacrilege-yet now it seemed no longer to matter. For the Shivan-Jalar was touching him-stroking Indhuon's cheek, squeezing his arm, and Indhuon could see tears now, and he could only half-understand why this man, the holiest personage on the planet, would weep, would want to embrace him.
"I thought," said the master of the world, "that I alone was afflicted by visions of previous epochs-that I alone was able to penetrate the veil of darkness that separates us from the world of five thousand years ago-."
"Holy Father," Indhuon said, as the first wave of deathstars exploded silently high above the atmosphere, flower-bursts of radiation-too far away yet to harm anyone. These were the premature blasts, weapons that had blown up too far up to destroy-a light show to augur the end. "I've only just begun to hear some inner voice-only now, only today. The voice identifies himself with a strange name: Simon Tarses. It is not a language I have ever heard-a language he refers to as Fe-de-re-shan."
"Then the scripture is fulfilled," the Shivan-Jalar said softly. "The words in the Panvivlion are: When dusk falls on the world, the blind shall see, and the seeing shall see beyond; the deaf shall hear, and the hearing shall hear voices from the past and the future. I have claimed to hear voices, because my high office requires it; often what I said was an echo of an echo, a distorted quote plucked from an ancient text. But suddenly, yesterday, there was a voice in my head too, one that identified himself as Bo-bha-lee-dei. He is a sage from the future, full of amazing wisdom, and when I see through his eyes I see wonders I have never imaged before. It is because of him that today I addressed my privy council and actually had the courage to make plain the doubts that war within me, doubts that will soon be stilled by the greatest silence man can know. What do your voices say?"
"Holy Father," Indhuon said, "they say that we are all going to die-and that our planet will be laid waste, forever this time." And Indhuon marveled, because he who was most high was sharing his secret thoughts with a mere youth, even though that youth was brother to a god. "The creature called Simon Tarses speaks to me from five thousand years in the future-and he seems to know my brother by name-"
"Which means that the race to build the perfect thanopstru is lost," said the Holy Father, "and Tanith will not survive. They did it first. And ours will fail. Our hyperdrive is an illusion. Our scientists have creatednothing! Our entire civilization has had no meaning at all!"
"No, my lord!" cried Indhuon.
And then Ariela spoke. "How can you say that, Father? You know that time levels all accomplishments. It says so in the Panvivlion. We're lucky to have seen what we've seen. I'm lucky because even though we'll be dead in a few minutes, I'm in love, and my last kiss is going to be illuminated by the grandest fireworks display of all time, and-" She was racked with sobs, and Indhuon held her tight, feeling her slight frame thrust hard against him. Was this really love? There would be no more chances to find out. And so they kissed again, in public, forgetting all shame, and Ariela's father said nothing.
The god-king of Tanith only blinked back his tears.
Far below, the mob was restless, but they did not yet realize the end was imminent; doubtless they thought the display in the sky was just the celebratory fireworks. Indeed, he could hear cheering and chanting of slogans-perhaps he was only imagining the undercurrent of unease.
"They will know soon enough," said the Holy Father. "Another two or three attack waves, and death will begin to rain down." He motioned to the guards. The entire conversation had taken place within a small perimeter; the council, apprehensive, was not privy to it. They saw only a young man receiving unheard-of favor from the highest in the land, and Indhuon could see them chattering among themselves, still, even now, plotting for advancement, wondering who would next rise and fall in the Shivan-Jalar's favor.
The Shivan-Jalar placed his hands on the heads of his daughter and Indhuon. Ariela knelt down, and Indhuon, sensing a moment of great solemnity, went down on his knees beside her.
"When you arise," said the Shivan-Jalar, "you shall be one flesh, and joint heirs to all that is mine; I declare that you are wed now, the last lovers of the world, the last beautiful thing we can produce to show that we, the Tanithian peoples, once possessed a noble civilization in a watery world in a remote arm of the great galaxy. Rise, my son and daughter. Rise and inherit what's left of the world."
And from deep inside himself, Indhuon heard the voice of the creature named Simon Tarses whisper.
"Mother."
He looked up. An acrid scent was seeping through the atmosphere. He knew that it was poison. Above, the deathstars were shooting back and forth, their trails spiraling, corkscrewing, weaving intricate patterns of destruction. He gazed at the parapets below him. The artificial mountain his brother had climbed to godhood was already aflame. Rivers of acid had become rivers of lethal fumes. Fire was running down the slopes. Men and women were ablaze. He could not hear the screaming clearly through the shield of force. It was all enacted in miniature. For a few moments, Indhuon had the perspective of a god.
And he thought of his brother.
For five thousand years, he would never sleep.
Artas! she cried out in her mind- Her last thought was of her child in her arms-rocking him to sleep-humming an ancient lullaby- And the sky was burning.
Far below, fire ran down the streets-the city was a burning skein-and the two lovers kissed, and through their lips two lovers of the distant future kissed also-for one pair, existence was ending; for the other, life was just beginning- The thanopstru sliced through the world's atmosphere in an instant-and Artas floated in the half-world-his body was metal now, invulnerable-his nerves were of silicon-his eyes saw all around him through hundreds of photosensors on the comet's surface-he hurtled through the emptiness-and Adam, still linked to the thanopstru's consciousness, felt the power of it all, could feel the drunkenness of power and peftifesht coursing through his system- If a lonely boy with extraordinary talents were given the chance to be something this important, this potent-Adam felt Artas's rage, too, how it was being channeled toward this one moment of destruction that must come, inevitably, this moment when a boy would have the annihilating power of godhead.
And yet- Beneath that rage there was something else too.
The loneliness.
Adam remembered how he'd wandered the corridors of the institute, before his father had sent for him to come to Thanet; he remembered, too, walking the streets of Thanet all by himself, never belonging, always the outsider. He had seen deep into Artas's soul with even his limited empathie abilities. There was a reason he had been chosen to be linked to Artas. Perhaps it was the influence of Thanet's fate-driven culture that made him think so, but the feeling ran deeper than that.
A thousand kilometers over Tanith-two thousand-only in an instant it seemed. And then Artas saw-and Adam saw through Artas's thousand eyes, the panels on the smooth surface of the artificial comet-First, the world itself.
An ocean world; blue and white, cloud-wrapped, colors of moonstone and sapphire. The world's six continents set in the ocean like emerald mosaic stones, tiny against the expanse of blue. Beautiful and doomed.
It was beginning now. The oceanside metropolis set in the largest of the island continents was starting to glow. Artas could see pinpricks of blinding fire. And now the fire was spilling out of the city, running in rivulets across the continent. He knew that each rivulet must be a hundred kilometers wide for him to be able to see it here-a spiderweb of flame now, spreading, spreading-and the atmosphere was changing color, darkening, as a poison began to spread-thousands of shooting stars were falling into the atmosphere, igniting as they hit oxygen-Arias thought of his mother and brother-I sacrificed everything for them, he thought-my death was supposed to make her the most important woman in the world- a saint, the consort of a god -and now-it's come to nothing-nothing at all- Except-wouldn't there be survivors? There always had been, if he understood what the Shivan-Jalar had been going on about in Artas's last moments of being human.
His rage grew.