The crowd broke out into an uproar. The Bells of Shivan-Sare! It was time! The cycle was ending! As if at a signal, with astonishing precision and solemnity, the crowd fell prostrate, facing the topmost parapet of the High Shivantak's palace.
"Look at them!" Worf said. "Utterly fatalistic."
A wall of Ten-Forward, which normally showed a view of space around the Enterprise, was now transmitting images of the Shivantak's citadel.
"As the view pans across the crowd," Data said, scanning the viewscreen in far greater resolution than a human eye could, "I do note that two out of the thousands are not prostrate."
"And who might they be?"
"Lieutenant Simon Tarses, and Kio, daughter of the Thanetian ambassador," said Data.
Like a death knell, the Bells of Shivan-Sare boomed over the throng. The Thanetians lay with their faces flat against the ground, in a position they had learned in childhood.
The bell tolled. Data knew that its sound would be picked up and broadcast over the entire planet. Indeed, the computer was showing more scenes of Thanet now-a lone longship, its crew all prostrate, listening to the knell on a primitive radio; a farm, with the herders lying down next to their klariots, who bleated and gamboled in the windswept grass-and back to the city.
And then it stopped.
The crew were silent, waiting to see what would happen next.
The fireworks ended.
One by one, all the lights in the city were blinking out.
The music was stilled.
Darkness fell on Thanet, a profound, primal darkness such as had been known only at the dawn of their civilization, before artificial illumination, before even the rediscovery of fire; and Data knew that this was the High Shivantak's doing. He could not destroy the world, but he could turn off the world's power switch.
The crew held its collective breath.
And in that moment of ultimate darkness, under the alien stars, Simon and Kio, perhaps the only people on the entire planet not bound by its past, embraced with the fervor of the young; they seemed to be saying farewell to childhood as well as to the old Thanet. In the stillness, Simon could almost hear the heartbeat of the world.
Then came another sound.
Simon broke away. In the pale starlight, he could make out shifting shapes. He knew that none of the populace had raised themselves up from the ground; they still awaited death. But something was going on in the palace of the High Shivantak. There were rumblings. Clankings. Sounds like the shifting of giant gears that had not been greased in a thousand years.
What was happening? The very pavement was vibrating now, and then it began to ripple as though the paving stones were shifting, sorting and resorting themselves like the tiles in one of those ancient puzzle games.
Then came the thunder. Not thunder from the sky, but from the many-tiered palace of the High Shivantak. The crack of stone against stone.
"No," Kio was murmuring, "It didn't work-the world is ending anyway!"
He held her tightly.
Then, abruptly, there was light- Picard entered Ten-Forward in time to hear the first death knell. He watched in fascination as the crowd fell to the ground. He too heard the strange crashing sounds. But from the vantage point of the ship, with its sensitive tracking devices and its ability to compensate for darkness by seeing far into the infrared, Picard and his crew members could see a great deal more than the denizens of Thanet could.
They could see that the seven-tiered citadel was transforming itself. Hydraulic devices were pushing up the sides, changing the lowest levels into towers with mushrooming minaret roofs. The tower that contained the Shivantak's Holy of Holies was slowly descending to the ground. Parapets were folding like the wings of butterflies. The ancient stones sighed as they shifted.
Data said, "The Shivantak's palace was designed to reshape itself!"
"How old is that building?" Riker asked.
"The blueprints are encoded in one of the chapters of the Panvivlion," Dr. Halliday said. "I'll be damned-the sacred texts actually had a built-in escape clause, just in case no thanopstru showed up to destroy the world."
"But did the High Shivantak know?" Worf said.
"Yes and no," Picard said with a mysterious smile.
"How?" the Klingon asked.
"It all boils down to faith, Mr. Worf. Faith in our ability to keep our promise to protect his world-"
"And faith in his planet's ability to protect itself," Dr. Halliday finished.
"Look," said Deanna. "The lights are coming back on in the city."
Simon Tarses and Kio were still the only ones standing when the lights came on; and the people of Thanet were still on their faces, for no one had commanded them to rise.
But the square was not the same square. For one thing, the Holiest of Holiest had disappeared completely. Instead, there was a small house, little more than a cottage, in the center of a plaza; Simon recognized the house, which had once been the gleaming cupola that topped the highest tower in the city, the dwelling place of the god-king.
He held Kio's hand tightly.
Soft music began to play from unseen sources. The door of the house opened, and a man emerged. Simon had to squint to see him; the light that shone around the plaza, pouring from sources concealed within what had once been the palace, was searingly bright; his eyes smarted.
The man wore a simple white robe. He had long, unkempt white hair; he seemed immeasurably old. Simon remembered back on Earth, how some people used to depict God as an old man in a white robe-or sometimes it was Father Time who was depicted that way. This fellow, a little bent with age, was coming down the steps.
When he spoke, the new walls that had risen around them in the darkness reflected his voices, and his words echoed and reechoed; though his was the wheezing voice of an old man, it spoke with authority, and was audible to all.
"Citizens of Thanet," he said, "you have all died and now you are reborn. Look around you; the city is not the city. Search your hearts, and you will know that you are not as you once were. I was once the High Shivantak of this world, but now, as you see, my feet are touching the ground, and therefore I am no longer the most high. And my seat among the clouds has come down to the earth, that the scripture might be fulfilled, which says: 'He that had once been highest became lowest.' You have passed from one life to the next with your memories of the past intact and no sense of passing at all save for a few moments of jarring darkness; this is the miracle spoken of in the Panvivlion, which says: 'You shall be snatched up and returned to a world that is not the world.' Rejoice, Thanetians. And do not weep, that I am no longer your leader. For the Holy Panvivlion decrees that power shall pass to a child, for 'The power to rule passed into the hands of the one child who had shown no fear.' There is in fact such a child among you. For though all of you remain prostrated, hardly daring to gaze upon me, there is one in the crowd who never prostrated herself, who faced the darkness boldly and without any terror of death at all-"
And suddenly Simon knew what must happen next. He turned to Kio. "He's giving you this planet, Kio! A whole world, a whole new people, reborn, for you to lead-"
Kio said, "That's ridiculous," but as she said so, members of the crowd had begun to lift themselves up from the ground, and many began pointing toward her, and then one or two of the less timid approached, began to touch her, the hem of her tunic, even her cheek-and suddenly they had hoisted her up on their shoulders, and they were saying, "Your feet can't touch the ground, you're our new Shivantak now," and they were carrying her toward where the old man was still standing, and someone noticed that Simon had been with her, and he found himself, too, being lifted up, being carried aloft, and the crowd was cheering now, he was riding the sea of Thanetians, like a dailong skimming the ocean.
At the center of the plaza, Kio forced them to let her down. She went up to the High Shivantak, who immediately fell to his knees in front of her.
She glanced at Simon, clearly unsure of what she should do next. Simon understood how she felt. He had spent so many years feeling unsure of himself; of where he belonged; and of what he could accomplish. But now, he realized, he was capable of faith after all, if not in himself then in Kio. He smiled at her, willing her to read his thoughts. She smiled back.
"I am yet young," she said, "and if I am to lead the world, I must learn everything I can about the Federation, about the many alien races in our galaxy; for the knowledge we used to have has become meaningless, just as the Panvivlion says. But my first decree is clear: I abolish the caste system. Let each person find his own level in the world, based on his own talents and ambitions."
"There'll be chaos!" someone shouted.
"No," she said. "This is a new beginning. We will begin as equals. And here is my second decree. I am going to leave you. I need to study among the people of the Federation. I need to work out which ideas are best exchanged and which belong exclusively to ourselves. I do not know how long I will be gone for. In the meantime, I appoint as regent the one who was High Shivantak in the previous cycle. I trust he will accept my decision."
Humbly, the Shivantak nodded.
Chapter Twenty-Six.
Artas A MEADOW OF GRAY-GREEN GRASS. A breeze. A deep blue sky. A dark, mysterious sea. Clouds, too, silver clouds fringed with gilt and purple; the moon that danced and the moon that wept.
A bridge across the ocean.
The bridge woven from the insubstantial; from the webs of arachnids in the deep forest, from the shadows of running children, from the fringes of rainbow-and yet the bridge seemed to support his feet as he took a few tentative steps.
Beneath him, the ocean howled. In the distance, a dailong breached the tide, and many moons danced over the jeweled waves.
You don't have to forget anymore.
He could hear his mother's voice, singing to him in the wind.
But Mother, why do you sound so ancient?
Time has passed, my son. Time for you to begin to heal.
My anger - Let it go.
Am I dreaming? Am I truly dreaming?
You have stood at the brink to the country of dreams for five millennia, son, and now you will cross over to the other shore -the far side of the sea.
Are you. really my mother?
Yes.
But this is a dream.
You have lived a dream up till this moment.
Am I dead?
Life, death -these are the concerns of those who still inhabit the world of shadows.
Am I to forget?
No, son. Remember. Remember everything. And when you have remembered to the full, as though you downed a full glass of the most potent peftifesht-then let go. Let it all dissipate into the air. And then, when you are ready, cross the bridge. I'll be waiting.
For a long time, Artas stood on the first step. The memories came flooding back. The song was the catalyst. He remembered hearing the song, lying in his mother's warm embrace, long before he even knew the meaning of the words. His mother had heard the song too, and her mother before her; that lullaby was what connected him to pasts beyond remembering, to futures beyond imagining.
He knew he would be ready soon-but he wanted to savor the sound of the ocean-just another moment-just another-another-
Chapter Twenty-Seven.
Ready Room THERE WAS A QUEUE to see the captain; for a few moments, Picard sat back, enjoying rare solitude. But duty called. A captain cannot afford too much of the luxury of aloneness.
The first ones to come in were his officers-one at a time, he commended them, said those things that a captain must say to boost morale and to congratulate them on a job well done. And then there were the arrangements for Patricia Ballard's funeral; Picard had not known her well, but her death saddened him; there had been, perhaps, no need for casualties on this mission.
Perhaps, as the Thanetians believed, her noble sacrifice would allow her to be reborn in a higher caste.
"Next," said Captain Picard. "Ah, Dr. Halliday."
The venerable xenologist barely made it through the door. His son Adam was in tow.
"Good job, Adam," said Picard. "And Dr. Halliday-your reports were invaluable to Starfleet and the Federation. Thank you."
"Just doing my job, Captain," Halliday said, "and gaming a lot of weight in the process. With seventeen castes and hundreds of subcastes and all those dietary laws, there certainly were a lot of dishes to taste on Thanet."
"I have been asked to offer you a temporary consulship on Thanet," said Picard, "until such time as a permanent diplomatic mission is established."
"Yippee!" Adam cried. "We're staying. Can Commander Data stay too?"
"I'm afraid not, Adam. We wouldn't be able to do without him."
"But he was the only one I ever made friends with here."
"I believe Commander Data has a rug he needs to return to someone on Thanet; shall we-lend him to you for a few days?"
"Captain, you're the best!"
"Thank you, Captain," Dr. Halliday added. "I must admit that sometimes I get a little-distracted. But it gives me pleasure when my son is happy."
They said their good-byes.
Then there was the young ensign Envig, his wounds quickly healed through Dr. Crusher's rapid intervention.
"So," Picard said to Tormod, "do you think you'll have something to report back to the prizewinning essay committee?"
"Yes, indeed, sir!" Tormod said.
"Perhaps you'll consider a career in Starfleet in the future; I am sure I can provide a letter of recommendation. As long as you keep those grades up."
"Yes, sir," said Tormod, saluting smartly. "In these past days, I've done everything-I've helped rescue a planet, lived through a diplomatic crisis, seen a millennia-long feud averted, and made friends with some great people. I've touched history, Captain, shaken its hand. If this is what a week in Starfleet is like, I can imagine what an entire career would be-"
The next person to come in was Lieutenant Simon Tarses. He was with Kio sar-Bensu-and she looked particularly fetching in uniform, for Picard had made her an acting ensign for the duration of the voyage back to Earth.
"Lieutenant Tarses reporting, sir."