"You're the best friend I ever had," he said suddenly.
"Why?"
"Because you can always make me laugh, and because you're really patient with me. No one else is. It's always, 'Adam, not now,' or 'Adam, shut up.' "
"I am honored to receive your friendship, and I shall try to prove worthy of it," said Data. "Was that a good response?"
"The best," Adam said.
They had wandered far from the pier now, through alleys and into a labyrinthine marketplace which amazingly enough was doing brisk business-though Data noticed that little money was changing hands. Instead, the sellers in their canvas-covered stalls were giving everything away.
"A beautiful rug, sir," said an old woman, gripping his arm. "My family spent a year weaving it-let it be yours for the last minutes of this cycle, so that my family can claim the karmic virtue of generosity and be reborn in a higher caste-"
Data looked at the soft tapestry, realizing it must have taken intense labor, all of it by hand. "I could not deprive you of such a treasure," he said.
"Take it," said Adam. "It's pau-shafar, a sacred gift; refusing is very bad manners on this planet."
"But Adam," Data said, "I know it is a very valuable object, and I also know that the world is not really going to end in half an hour! So it would feel as though I am cheating her."
"Still, take it," Adam said.
It was silky smooth. It was so sheer that it folded easily into a square that he could throw over one shoulder, yet it felt strong. The images it depicted were wondrous scenes of ancient Thanetian mythology: the emergence of the first dailong from the primordial ocean, the divine cycle of the cosmos, the sacred mandala of the High Shivantak. The pictures moved, for the fibers of which the rug was woven were programmed with a short-term color memory algorithm-though the look was primitive, the technology assuredly was not.
The narrow aisles of the market, which operated under an awning of translucent canvaslike material through which one could still see the constant displays of fireworks in the sky above, were crammed with people, all trying to give things away. As quickly as the merchants handed away their treasures, the recipients tried to unhand them. Members of the beggar caste, traditionally near the bottom of the hierarchy, were decked in finery, with quashgai feathers and pointed pagoda hats that would have cost a lifetime's panhandling.
"Take my seven-jeweled ring, my alien friend," said one merchant to Data, pressing it into his hand.
"Take it, take it," Adam said, stuffing another valuable bauble into his pocket. "If you feel guilty, you can always give it back when the world doesn't end."
Data paused to listen to a communication from the ship.
It was Worf's gruff voice. "All Federation citizens still on Thanet will be transported back to the ship in six minutes," he said. "The mission to save the child Artas has failed, I repeat, failed; the comet will be destroyed as soon as everyone is safely on board the Enterprise."
"Adam, we must go."
Chapter Twenty-Four.
The Comet's Song THE TRANSPORTER ROOM was in chaos. Deanna was materializing from within the comet, Worf and a shaken Byers from the surface, while Engvig was being transported directly to sickbay, and various Federation stragglers from the planet-Dr. Halliday, Kio, and Simon Tarses-were coming through now.
Geordi La Forge was there to greet them and to order all the relevant personnel to the bridge to witness the destruction of the comet.
The transporter thrummed again. This time it was Data and Adam.
"Adam!" said Halliday. "You shouldn't go wandering like that-"
"You never stopped me before," Adam said. "Besides, Data and I made a discovery that-"
La Forge interrupted them. "We only have a few moments. Captain Picard is about to give the order."
"Ballard is dead," said Worf. "She died with honor. I believe that some of her remains may yet be recovered."
On the bridge, the mood was solemn. On screen, the thanopstru was about to intersect the upper atmosphere of Thanet; in fifteen minutes, it would do so, and the friction of the air would cause its outer layers to glow like a second sun; it would be too late at that point to annihilate the comet, because the planet-destroying weapons within it would be triggered too close to the surface.
Deanna Troi stood between the captain and Commander Riker. Picard realized that she was more deeply conflicted than any of the others. For them, this was still a simple matter of saving an entire world; but she had seen into the heart of the weapon's mother, had made promises to her- "Counselor Troi," Picard said mildly, "you may be excused if you like."
"Thank you, sir. But I feel the least I can do is stay," Troi said.
He patted her arm with a strong sympathetic hand.
Ambassador Straun had shed his diplomatic robes and was now wearing a simple off-duty jumpsuit; he looked well, Picard thought. His robes had dwarfed him; now he seemed more in command of his fate.
Kio sar-Bensu came rushing in, followed by Simon Tarses. She ran to her father and embraced him. "Father, Father-I'm proud of you," she said. She seemed radiant.
"Are you ready, Mr. La Forge?" he asked.
"Whenever you are, Captain!" came the voice of La Forge from down in engineering.
"In that case, you may commence the countdown upon my-"
At that moment, a very agitated Adam Halliday entered, followed by Commander Data.
"Captain, you gotta listen," Adam said. "Data has an idea-an intuitive leap, actually. You should be proud."
Data began to sing.
From his lips there came not the soft-spoken, overly grammatical utterance of an android, but something eerily different. It was the voice of an ancient woman, inconsolable at the loss of a child, and the song was the haunting melody of Taruna's lullaby.
The melody began simply, but on the phrases copper ring, silver chain, crown of gold the music arced upward in an elaborate melisma. The voice cracked on the high notes; the very crevices of the song seemed filled with an ancient dust. This was the voice of Taruna, Artas's mother-if she had lived another five thousand years, if every one of those years had been filled with longing for her lost child. Data had somehow imbued this unsophisticated folk tune with a timeless pathos.
Even Worf seemed visibly moved. Was he thinking of the parallels to some Klingon opera? Picard knew immediately what Data's plan must be. And he concurred with it.
"Open a channel to the thanopstru," he said. "I think we need Artas to hear this song."
"Yes, sir," said Geordi La Forge.
On screen they saw the heart of the comet now, the boy in his tank, a close-up of his emotionless face and ever-open eyes.
"Begin the countdown," Captain Picard said. "I am not holding up the mission-but you may proceed simultaneously with the lullaby."
"Aye, sir!" came the voices of Data and La Forge simultaneously.
"Four minutes," the computer said. "Three minutes, fifty seconds."
"Counselor Troi," Picard said. "What do you sense?"
Still that rage. The rage was like a roiling, twisting, red-hot cloud, billowing about, with the boy's cold determination as its still small center.
Deanna reached out. She tried not to flinch from all that anger. She could feel the boy resist the probing of her mindafter all, he had similar talents to her, that was one reason he had been selected for this task. She could feel him erect emotional brick walls to keep her out. And yet the walls were crumbling even as he shored them up.
Deanna said, "He senses a new trick, a new way to undermine him. He's even angrier."
How could so much rage emanate from one mind? There had to be a breaking point-there had to be.
"He hears the music," she said.
And the lullaby filled the air, on the bridge as well as in the heart of the comet. Toward the end the song soared up, strained for a high note that never came; and then the melody plummeted once more, ending in a lugubrious half-sigh.
"Your mother sang this to you," Straun was telling his daughter, "when she rocked you in her arms-I haven't thought of her in so long-I thought it was some quaint peasant song from her home island-I didn't know-"
"I remember," Kio said, and she was weeping.
"Twenty seconds," the computer said. "Fifteen. Ten, nine, eight."
Worf said, "Captain, there is a change in the thanopstru 's vector."
Abruptly, on screen, the boy's eyes closed.
"I feel sorrow," Deanna said. "Loss."
Truly, after five thousand years, the boy was allowing himself to feel grief for the first time. After the mindless and insensate rage-the mourning. And finally- Tears streamed down the boy's cheeks, melded with the thick nutrient fluid.
"I feel resignation-I feel-deeply hidden beneath the suffering-a kind of joy."
How had this nugget of joy, of goodness, survived all that terrible programming? Truly, Deanna thought, there is a core of goodness within the spirit of all sentient beings-no matter how much we may try to bury it in evil.
"Captain," came La Forge's voice, "there is a tremendous surge of energy coming from the comet-I think it's ... reversing course by itself."
"On screen," said Picard.
The boy's face faded. Now they could see Thanet floating against the starstream; Klastravo, its sun, burned far beyond. In the foreground, the comet was coming to a shuddering halt, moments short of hitting Thanet's ionosphere.
"Captain," Deanna said, "the rage is stilled. I'm feeling-sleep. The sleep of a child in its mother's arms."
"Stand down from destruct mode," ordered Commander Riker as Picard nodded his assent.
The comet was changing direction. It was using the planet's gravity as a slingshot, sending itself back out into deep space, away from Klastravo, away from death.
"Will he-die, Counselor?" Ambassador Straun asked.
Deanna closed her eyes. Although Artas was receding from her range, his emotions were so powerful, so amplified by five thousand years of solitude that they still infiltrated her psyche.
"I'm getting a stream of images-a field of billowing grass. An ocean. A wind. A boy running through the open meadow. The embrace of a woman. It's Artas. He's sleeping," she said. "He's dreaming sweet dreams."
As the thanopstru made its way toward the darkness, it appeared less and less like a weapon of death, and more and more like that eternal symbol of hope and of wishes come true-the shooting star.
"Permission to return planetside, Captain?" Simon Tarses asked.
"Unfinished business, Lieutenant?" Picard said.
"Aye, sir."
"Now hear this," Picard announced. "We are not meddlers-at least, never by choice. All unfinished business on Thanet is to be concluded by 0700 hours, at which point we will steal away and leave the people of this world to their own rebirth."
There was a silence; then slowly, one by one, the crew members began to applaud, until, as the sleeping death star disappeared into blackness, the applause surged over Deanna's senses like a tide, buoying her up, calming her fractured spirit.
Chapter Twenty-Five.
The Bells of Shivan-Sare MOMENTS BEFORE THE END of the world, Simon Tarses and Kio sar-Bensu beamed into the grand forum in front of the High Shivantak's citadel. It was as though they had not left. Everywhere were the celebrants, leaping, chanting, banging on timbrels and cymbals. The sky was alive with fireworks exploding into shapes of exotic flowers and insects. From hot-air balloons above the square, orchestras of children blowing on giant seashells played enthusiastic, strident antiphonies. From the highest parapet, a lit window could be seen. As Kio and Simon squeezed their way through the tumult, they could hear people muttering that the High Shivantak would soon show himself-that the great Bells of Shivan-Sare would finally sound.
"The bells?" Simon asked a man who was passing out zul cakes.
"They were built at the dawn of time," said the old man, "and they will sound only in the moments before the destruction of the world."
"Where are they?"
"Somewhere in the bowels of the High Shivantak's palace," he said. "You're an alien, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"And yet you remain here with us. I see that it's love that keeps you here, that makes you willing to brave the fiery baptism and rebirth."
Simon blushed and looked at Kio, who was smiling shyly.
They kissed. And Simon remembered another kiss, another time.
"I was thinking about that too," Kio said.
"You're a telepath?"
"No. But sometimes-" The fireworks were coming thick and fast now, the sky was brilliant with patterns of gold, great gashes of neon blue and vermilion. "Sometimes we just think alike. I know you were thinking something like-five thousand years ago, maybe that was us, maybe we were those people in another life. Their lives fit us so readily, like clothes we've worn so many times that they drape to our bodies just so."
"But-my culture doesn't believe in reincarnation." And Reincarnation. He hadn't given it much thought before he met Kio, but now-It seemed like a fine idea, the soul going on and on, from time to time, even from world to world.
"Stop! Listen."
There came an ominous rumble, so deep-toned that it seemed to shake the very foundations of the plaza.