"Yes, it's a stirring sight, Captain," the ambassador, seated on the captain's right, was saying. "It's so sad that it must all end soon."
Silence fell. It was time for the real business of the evening.
Picard glanced across to Counselor Troi, seated at his left. She gripped the double goblet hard; no doubt she was experiencing Straun's feelings of hopelessness and fear.
"Must," said Picard, "is a difficult word-when one is speaking of the destruction of an entire civilization."
"Yet it is something we have been taught all our lives to expect, Captain," said the ambassador. "It is no great burden to know that our existence is circumscribed, that the circle must one day close upon itself, that we are both the end and the beginning of things."
"Even when that end is so easily averted?"
"Averted?" The ambassador seemed appalled. "It is indeed an honor, a miracle, that the gods have afforded us this glimpse of the greater universe at the moment of our destruction. But no, of course we do not seek aversion. That would be heresy!"
"Heresy?" said Picard.
"The High Shivantak would never permit such an outrage."
"And yet, Your Excellency," said Commander Data, "we have the High Shivantak's letter."
A holographic scroll appeared in the air above the dining table. It bore the great seal of the Shivantak himself.
We thank you for your enlightening us, the document began, about the nature of things beyond. If what you say is true, let it be tried. Let us at least have a chance for life.
The ambassador gazed at the document-and seemed ever more confused and mortified as he skimmed the words. "This must be a forgery," he whispered. "You are trying to subvert all we believe in."
"I fear that it is not," Picard said.
The ambassador's consternation was genuine, Picard realized, not some diplomatic feint. There was more going on here than met the eye. Perhaps this was not going to be a quick errand of friendship after all.
Ambassador Straun continued to stare at the hologram. Deception! he thought. Now who was deceiving whom? Was it these aliens, and did they have some strange agenda of galactic domination? No scripture mentioned what might happen if the world were not to be destroyed every five thousand years. The Thanetians would surely have no moral right to exist-perhaps they could even be reduced to a zombie-like state of slavery.
An even more frightening possibility was that it was the Shivantak himself who- No! The holiest of the holy, profaning the very beliefs he existed to protect-beyond belief! And yet- Nothing, thought Ambassador Straun, is certain anymore.
In a subdued voice, he said, "I will listen."
Picard said, "Mr. Data will explain the situation, and Mr. La Forge will show you how we propose to solve it for you."
Straun listened.
"Your Excellency," Data said, "there is a belief on your planet that all civilization comes to an end every five thousand years with the coming of a fiery star, a harbinger of destruction whom you call Deathbringer. The belief is so deeply ingrained as to have the force of fact. And there are other facts that seem to lend support to your cyclical view of history. For example, your recorded history is only five thousand years old, and there is definite archaeological evidence of a huge cataclysm at the very beginning of your history."
"Of course it has the force of fact!" Straun exclaimed. "Why would it not?"
"Please hear me out, Your Excellency," said Data. "I have analyzed all the information available to me so far, and the descriptions of the Deathbringer in your scriptures and in your literature and art are about ninety-seven point two percent consistent with the hypothesis that this instrument of destruction is in fact some kind of comet. Comets, as you know, are satellites with a highly eccentric orbit that brings them very close to the sun, then carries them far off beyond the boundaries of the star system. A five-thousand-year orbital cycle is not uncommon. Perhaps, the cataclysm of five thousand years ago was a near-collision of some kind during the comet's last cycle. If so, it would explain the belief in a five-thousand-year cosmic cycle, and also why civilization seemed to start up so quickly and so abruptly from what seems to be almost nothing."
Straun sat in stunned silence, but he could see that Kio was listening, not in shock, but in awe and-hope. He wanted to stalk out of the room at once, to call out the full forces of the antiheresy league with its inquisitions, dogma trials, and executions of false prophets, but the hope in his daughter's eyes was something he could not turn his back on.
The future is the past, said the opening lines of the Panvivlion.
If she really believed in a future, the ambassador thought, could he dare to take it away from her?
For her sake, he continued to listen.
Now it was the dark-skinned one's turn to speak. This man, an engineer or scientist, it seemed, wore a strange prosthesis about his eyes, as did the Priestesses of the Oracle when they breathed the sacred fumes of Ar-Jan-Fang in order to interpret the commands of the gods. Perhaps it too had some kind of oracular function. Certainly it lent him an aura of religious mystery, and when he spoke his words were full of multisyllabic conundrums such as the priestesses were wont to insert into their utterances in order to render perfectly simple prophecies more dramatic-sounding.
"We have confirmed," he said, "that there is indeed a cometoid object on a trajectory that would intersect the inner Klastravo system within a few hours. We can anticipate actual collision with Thanet in about seventy-seven point three standard hours."
"So our scriptures are correct," said Straun, as relieved by the confirmation of his beliefs as he was mournful about the death of Kio's dreams of a bright future.
"Yes," said La Forge. "But the collision won't happen, sir. The prevention of comet disaster is pretty routine; we can fine-tune our phasers to pulverize it long before it reaches Thanet's orbit." As he spoke, the hologram of the Shivantak's missive vanished and was replaced by a schematic of the Klastravo system. They had plotted the Deathbringer's path; a fiery comet was winging its way toward their planet, the whole represented in miniature with such lifelike accuracy he could almost reach out and cup the entire world in his hand.
There it was. The end, as foretold, as sung about in a thousand odes. The Deathbringer inexorable, implacable. But then, from the edge of the viewing area, a starship materialized. The Enterprise. A few quick bursts of light, surgical in their accuracy, and the Deathbringer was no more. Just like that.
"Would you like to see that again?" La Forge said.
Ambassador Straun nodded numbly. Seeing was believing, but the third and fourth replay were not enough for him. His master-the High Shivantak-already knew of this. He had sent him-an undersecretary, a nobody-into this place. Straun was being set up for a heresy trial-he was sure of it! But what difference could all of this plotting make so near to the end of the world? Unless the Shivantak did not plan for the world to end! Unless the unthinkable were true-and in his heart of hearts, he knew it must be. The "Shivantak was a consummate politician. If there was a way he could cling to power, to life, and an undersecretary could be sacrificed, a heretic who had somehow manipulated the aliens into saving the world-a heretic who could be made a scapegoat-it made a twisted sort of sense. Set up to take the fall!
Or am I just paranoid? he wondered.
"Forgive me," he temporized. "It is all so overwhelming."
"Perhaps-something familiar will ease your mind," Picard said. He clapped his hands; the hologram of the Klastravo system dissipated. In its place was a platter of poached cassowary eggs topped with whispering algae from the snowy slopes of Ilimantang. The kind of delicate dessert that graced only the tables of High Shivantaks and their priestesses of nocturnal pleasure.
"Not that familiar," he said wryly. He had always wanted to try Cassowary eggs. If he still believed that his life, that his very world, was coming to an end, he probably would have reached for one. But now his arm felt numb and his stomach roiled. The past hour's events had caused the ambassador to lose his appetite for even the most intriguing confections.
Reflexively he glanced at his daughter, hoping to find comfort in her beautiful face, but her eyes were fixed upon that boy-that crewman. Wonderful, he thought sourly. She's falling in love with a barbarian, and a low-status one at that. Couldn't she at least have picked a high-ranking officer. Now she would not just die in shame. She would live her last moments in shame. Just wonderful.
Picard's voice intruded on his thoughts.
"We have the Federation's formal response to the Shivantak's letter," said Picard, and two crew members in dress uniform entered the holographic chamber bearing a gilded chest on a silver tray covered with feathers. They bowed in keeping with Thanetian custom, and handed the tray to the ambassador, who waved his hand over it three times and inclined his left wrist in the formal gesture of acknowledgment.
He then waved it away, and the two crew members retreated with it to the background.
"I shall carry the message to my master," he said.
But who was his master now? Was the Shivantak now a heretic himself-and thus no longer worthy of allegiance? Ambassador Straun kept these mysteries in his heart, and bowed humbly even as he cursed these aliens for trampling on everything he had ever believed in.
Chapter Seven.
Artas AND STILL HE FLOATED.
Subtly, imperceptibly, the dreams were changing. The voices were strident, urgent. He wanted to wake up. He hadn't felt that way before, not since the journey began.
He dreamed of lights. Twinkling red lights. More voices. Alarms. Levers. Switches. Twisted ribbons of metal glistened in the half-dark. This was very different from the fields, the ocean. Usually his dreams were nothing but warmth, nothing but softness. His dreams were there to help him forget the cold hard metal prison that was his whole existence ... but now, something impinged upon that inner paradise. Something was changing. The journey was truly ending.
This was strange.
There was something out of place.
Forget! the voices screamed. He was afraid.
Or-another memory surfaced. Tantalizing.
Are you my mother? he asked the alien voice.
It did not answer him for a long time-but finally, with a certain sadness he did not think he had ever heard before, the voice said, No.
If only I could weep, he thought to himself.
He could not quite remember what weeping was, but he knew he would feel better afterward, because someone would enfold him in her arms, and he would sleep.
Chapter Eight.
Asylum SOON THE TRAUMA would be over. Ambassador Straun was relieved to be returning to Thanet, even though he knew that he would soon be facing a confrontation with the High Shivantak.
A heresy trial, perhaps? In a way it didn't much matter. Infamy or honor, all would be washed away when the great cycle returned to its beginning, when the mighty Ur-Dailong swallowed its own tail, when the karmic quotient of every soul would have its counter reset to zero. Unless ... No. He must banish all doubt. These were the teachings of the Panvivlion; these were the sayings by which he lived.
At 0900 hours by the aliens' curiously rigid system of reckoning time, he was walking toward the transporter room with this disturbing bald man whom they called "captain." The hospitality he had received aboard this vessel would of course be reciprocated on Thanet; a lavish reception was planned, and a party from the Enterprise would attend. Some were there already; there was that obscene parody of a human being, the android who spoke in riddles, and a few others he dimly recalled from last night's dinner. This creature seemed to be exhibiting a bizarre hyperactivity, breathing heavily, with his hands trembling and his lips constantly trying out different smiles and frowns.
At length the ambassador couldn't control his curiosity and said, "Are you ill, Mr. Data? You appear abnormally agitated."
"I am attempting to demonstrate the proper level of excitement," said the android. "I am about to set foot on a world new to the Federation. It is an exceptionally thrilling moment, hence I am causing my extremities to palpitate and increasing the pace of my heartbeat and breathing. It is all part of learning to fit in with humans, Mr. Ambassador."
"In our culture," said the ambassador, "we place great importance on never trying to become what one is not."
"You are overdoing it a little, Commander," said the captain mildly.
The commander immediately went very still. It was unnerving, how the creature could switch parts of itself on and off. These were an unholy race indeed, for they blurred the distinctions between the highborn and the lowborn ... even between the animate and the inanimate! He would have a great deal to report to the Shivantak, assuming that they didn't hustle him off to a heresy trial within minutes of his return to the real world.
His daughter was due to meet them there. In a moment of weakness, he had permitted her out of his sight, for a last-minute tour of some sort of menagerie. She loved animals. He loved her, wanted above all to humor her wishes now that their time together was so limited; he hated the handsome young man they had assigned to escort her everywhere, distrusted the way he tried to anticipate her every whim. But it was only for an hour. Then it would all be over. Yes. So it was written. He would believe.
He and the captain reached the little chamber with the instant-travel machines. She was not there.
"Ah, young people," said Captain Picard. "They do love to keep us waiting."
Straun didn't like the intimacy that "us" implied, so he just smiled grimly. "My patience is not infinite," he said.
Several long moments passed.
The captain continued to smile. Oh, those reassuring glances, those ever so patronizing looks! This alien actually pitied him. He thought he was some deluded, self-destructive fool, and not the guardian of his world's eternal truth.
"What have you done with my daughter?" Straun said, succumbing to a sudden panic.
"I'm sure she is on her way," said Captain Picard, his voice oozing the serenity of one who does not have his own daughter to protect. Truly, these people were insufferable!
"Computer-location of Kio and Crewman Tarses," the Captain continued seemingly into the empty air.
"In Holodeck Two, Captain," said a disembodied voice.
"Beam them here immediately," said Picard to the transporter technician.
A flash of rainbow light, and there they were. In mid-embrace. The temerity of it! Straun was trembling with as much agitation as the artificial human had shown earlier in his obscene mockery of human emotion.
"Father, I can explain-" she began. Meanwhile the young man was hastily concocting lies to soothe his captain-some nonsense about the constant presence of someone named "Engvig," and the trio's innocent stroll through something called "the buffalo exhibit." Quite suddenly, the boy claimed, Straun's daughter-his decent honorable Kio-had thrown her arms around Tarses's neck. To even suggest such a disgrace-it was simply unbearable.
"I was just-entertaining her. Obeying orders," the boy concluded lamely.
Kio was not at all sheepish after she recovered from her momentary embarrassment. "Entertaining me! Is that what you call it? You've shown me doorways into other universes, you've tugged at my heartstrings and my emotions, you even caused me to break the sacred laws of the Panvivlion and-you call it entertainment? Were you entertaining me or myself? Were you just toying with me?"
Simon Tarses just stood there, his lying mouth hanging open, his eyes stupid with shock. Picard frowned, but held his tongue.
A monumental rage stirred in Straun. A day and a night among aliens-and his daughter had practically become one! What had they been doing in that so-called holodeck, what filthy alien secrets had she been learning? And what if she had somehow already yielded up-her precious ara-ta-zorn, that thing which may never be yielded to a man without the seal of approval of the Shivantak's Conjugal Affairs Office? It was all too much! In his life, he had never so much as said a harsh word to his daughter-he had left all the disciplining to his late wife;-but this was the last straw. He was going mad. He threw aside all diplomatic pretense and pulled her to him. His bony hands went for her throat.
"You bring shame on me, you-you-arataq!" he screamed. There! The most insulting word in the Thanetian language had escaped his lips.
Kio twisted free. And then-and this was far worse than if she had wept, or spat back some insult-she began to laugh.
"Is this what it's come to, Father? Your world is about to be pulverized by a comet, and you still want me to protect my purity? For what?"
"Captain!" Tarses protested. Picard's palm covered his brow as he shook his head in dismay.
"Not my world, daughter-the world. Our universe. The very hub of our existences."
"Father," she said, "I've tasted sweet zul from the mountaintops of Aragur! I've sipped the juices of the forbidden purple pomelo! Those are the highest taboos in our society, Father! After that, what's a little sex?"
Ambassador Straun slapped his daughter's face. Immediately, he felt a strong hand grip his arm, presumably to restrain him from striking her again. He looked up into the angry eyes of Jean-Luc Picard.
"That is enough!" the captain thundered. But the human needn't worry. Straun would not raise his hand to his sweet, innocent daughter again. None of this was her doing. These words weren't her words. Henceforth he would lay the blame where it belonged. Right at the feet of Simon Tarses.
"I swear, sir, I never, never in a thousand years. ..."
"That's enough out of you too, crewman."
"Father," Kio said, "I'm not going back." To the captain, imploringly, she turned and said, "They can't make me. I'm going to die if I go back. Everyone's going to die, and they don't even care."
"No one's going to die," said the captain. "I've given the Shivantak the Federation's word that this disaster will be averted-"