If you have arms to hold me.
And he knew that he had no arms, and he would have wept bitterly if he could, but he had no tear ducts, no eyes save the sensors that continually fed him data: proximity, acceleration, time till impact.
Still, someone was coming.
Someone who cared.
Perhaps he could be loved again.
Chapter Thirteen.
Inside the Dragon THE DRAGON'S HEAD was a labyrinth. Corridors branched; the walls pulsated, were covered with an oily membrane; a rancid liquid oozed from a million pores. The dailongzhen led the landing party farther and farther downward, or at least it seemed downward to Simon Tarses, although his sense of up and down was all askew. Everything proceeded according to some ancient ritual; two of the oarsmen were swinging gilded censers that belched forth sick-sweet fumes; two more held torches aloft, leading the way, pausing now and then to utter incantations as though to allay the dragon's spirit. Simon could not help but be caught up in the exotic rhythm of the ritual. The incense seemed to fill his nostrils; it seemed to intensify the chanting, the clanging of ritual gongs, the garish colors of the dailong's innards. He was getting a headache from the din in his ears.
Only Data was unaffected. Simon watched him as he examined the fleshy walls, at one point even appearing to taste the liquid that was dripping down. "Intriguing," he was saying to himself. "An unusually high silicon content."
Adam, the little boy, was chattering away at Data's side. He seemed quite devoted to the android. Ahead, the boy's father moved purposefully behind the dailongzhen. The incense billowed now; there was a kind of wind inside the tunnels here, and Simon could not help but breathe in the fumes. They were making him woozy.
"I'm dizzy," he said as the android stopped to examine another curious feature, an array of tentacular arms that waved delicately back and forth like a sea anemone. "Something in the incense."
"That," said Halliday, "is gruyesh, the secret ingredient in the incense. It's mildly hallucinogenic, and an essential adjunct to most of their religious rituals."
"Don't breathe in too much at a time," said Adam. "You can get drunk on the fumes."
Simon had visions of his Romulan ancestors carousing with their drinking vessels brimming with ale.
At length, after descending what seemed to be a spiral staircase made of bone and cartilage, and crossing what seemed to be a rope bridge over a boiling river of bile, they came to an inner chamber. The strange thing was, the room had a passing resemblance to the bridge of a starship. There were outcroppings of bone, and a central thronelike structure on which the dailongzhen sat himself, gripping two of the tentacle-like excrescences in his hands.
"Awaken, O spirit of the deep!" he intoned. The chamber was small and most of the oarsmen were waiting in the corridor that had led here. Only the men with the censers remained, and they stood on either side of the dailongzhen, dousing him with the pungent vapors. Adam, Data, Martinez, and Halliday each sat on one of the bony seats; Simon found himself nestled against a cavity in the wall; the flesh gave way, contoured itself to his body, almost as though it were designed that way.
From the corridor beyond came the sound of chanting and the cacophonous jangling of exotic percussion instruments. Then, abruptly, the noise ceased.
The dailongzhen stood up. His eyes glowed.
He gripped the tentacles tightly and began to rock back and forth, howling. And around them, images began to form. The ocean. The convoy of skiffs that had pulled up alongside the dailong. The crowd of Thanetians, laughing, parading about on the dragon's back, rejoicing as the waves beat against the flanks of the great creature.
"Astonishing," Data whispered. "These are membraneous ... viewscreens, projecting pictures from sensors attached to the outside of the creature. They are made from a mesh of rods and cones-like a human eye-and produce images in reaction to-"
"This is like the bridge of a starship," Simon said softly. For, as the dailongzhen began to wave his arms, there was movement, and the images in the screens were changing, shifting direction-the dailongzhen was steering the sea dragon! A stomach-wrenching turn, and he saw now, they had made a full turn and were heading in the direction of the harbor. He could see, rearing up above the waves, the spires and minarets and twisted towers and diamantine domes, and even, in the misty height, the very palace of the High Shivantak-and the whole image ghostly, fringed with refractive rainbows. They were skimming the ocean's surface now, the dailong rapidly contracting and expanding its musculature. Several moons had risen, and their light danced against the purple of setting Klastravo.
"And this," Halliday was explaining, "is how they travel. Short distances, they use little boats, they have canals and artificial waterways, naturally, but-but the wide-open spaces of their world are all water, and these creatures are their ocean liners-guided by telepathic navigators half-drunk on the vapors of gruyesh."
And now the dailongzhen seemed to have settled into a kind of trance, and the great creature was settling. A deep thrumming permeated the chamber.
"And this," said Halliday, "is one of the profound mysteries of this planet. These creatures-the principle mode of transportation-don't seem to be entirely natural. But the Thanetians didn't build them. No. They rely on these ritual hunts to bring in a new beast every time they require another vessel. But the dailong are triumphs of bioengineering."
"I bet the answer is right here somewhere," Simon said. "Any ship this complex must have a computer, right? It might not be a computer as we know it, but well, isn't Commander Data living proof that computers don't have to look like computers?"
"I believe you are correct," said Data. "We are within the interior of an extremely large artificial intelligence, and the dailongzhen is navigating by means of a human/machine interface, crude but effective. Dr. Halliday, is it permitted for me to attempt to interface with this machine?"
Halliday said, "I don't see why not. I've been attempting to interface with one for months, and no one has said I couldn't."
Around them, the rainbow-fringed viewscreens showed vistas of Thanet's oceans; to starboard, the capital city loomed up in front of a setting sun and whirling moons. The dailongzhen was fully in control now, and the dragon sailed smoothly; they could see, on one screen, its body stretched out across the sea, with finlike appendages propelling it through the waves. Overhead, a flock of snowy inari birds flew in geometric formation that shifted periodically against gathering darkness.
"Those bunches of tentacles," Halliday said, "that line the walls. As you can see, these people are able to communicate with the dailong in some way through them. I've always thought they were some kind of psionic amplifier, and that the dailongzhen must have some kind of telepathic talent that can link to the creatures; but perhaps there's a more technological side to it all."
"Is there a location here," asked Data, "with an especially high concentration of the tentacles? A data node, perhaps?"
"Yes," said Halliday. "Behind the control throne, there's usually a passageway that leads to-I've always thought of it as a brain of sorts."
Carefully, Halliday threaded his way through the crowd of celebrants. Absorbed in their chanting, the throng parted for the group and closed up again without missing a beat. Behind the throne, there was a round opening in the wall; a ring of muscle-like flesh encircled it, and they could see a tunnel descending into gloom. Simon noticed that young Adam had pushed his way to the front of the queue; he showed no fear as he led the way into darkness, feeling his way along the dank walls.
In the passageway, they could barely see. "Don't they have any lights in this place?" Adam said.
No sooner had she spoken than the walls began to glow with a faint bluish phosphorescence. The passageway was widening. "It's almost as if-it understood you!" Simon said.
"The dailong does appear to be conscious of your human thoughts," Data said.
"Not human, maybe," Adam said. "After all, I am part Betazoid."
"Part is the part we must emphasize here," said Dr. Halliday. "And we're not a hundred percent sure of which part." Father and son laughed.
"And therefore in possession of rudimentary telepathic abilities?" asked Data.
"Really good intuition, at least," Adam's father said.
"Look!" Adam cried. "Down there!"
Sure enough, they could see another of the rainbow-fringed doorways, around which the dragonflesh pulsated and oozed. The belly of the beast, Simon thought, thinking of myths he had heard. The last few yards of the passageway descended steeply, but to his surprise there was a bony flight of steps and even a rail made of a tendonlike material, and the lights brightened. If he hadn't been convinced before that this creature was made by a humanoid species, he certainly was now.
The chamber they found themselves in was completely symmetrical, with a circular wall covered with small tentacles. They were delicate, fibrous strands that glowed an eerie blue and waved back and forth as though immersed in the waters of the sea.
The ceiling was another viewscreen, divided into sections that each seemed to monitor the outside world from a different direction. In the center of the room were raised platforms; as Data, Tormod, and the others reached the platforms, soft tongues of flesh rose up and licked their hands.
"I do believe the creature is trying to locate some kind of input-output port," he said. "Perhaps I should provide some assistance."
Data held out one arm and with his other hand opened up his forearm to reveal a mass of hardware. Simon watched in awe as, snakelike, the tentacles slithered and hissed and found connections inside the commander's body.
"What are you experiencing?" Halliday asked.
"A welter of images-streams, rivers of information," Data said mildly. "It is unquestionably intriguing."
"But what is it you see?" said Halliday. "I've been here for months, trying to find out what makes this planet tick-and you seem to have gotten right through to it in a day."
"I believe," Data said, "that I can make much of this information available to the entire group."
And suddenly the room was whirling. Fumes rose up from the floor-incense, the salt spray of the sea-and images were coalescing out the mist-the floor was buckling-an involuntary cry escaped Simon's throat. Had the dailongzhen lost control, was the dragon vessel capsizing? But no-this was a far more familiar kind of disorientation. It was as though this brain chamber were transforming into a holodeck.
And then, all of a sudden, they were on board a Viking longship, very much like the model Engvig had set up in Simon's quarters.
The sun that beat down on them was more blue than the sun of Earth, and the mountains that jutted up in the distance were of a deep purple hue, and crystalline, but the salt tang of the sea was achingly familiar.
The prow of the ship was carved into the same visage as the dailong's, though now, of course, in miniature. The sea was a different hue, more gray somehow. Lizardfish with tails and fins leaped from the water.
This was a vessel like the skiff they had come on, with chanting oarsmen, all of wood. But Simon and the other members of his party were no longer in their modern clothes-they wore tunics fringed with fur, and to his amazement there was a bronze dirk in his belt, with a handle studded with bright green gemstones. Data was wearing a dailongzhen-like costume, with a priestly headdress and a white robe.
"Amazing," said Halliday. "The realism of it-it's every bit as sophisticated as holodeck technology."
"Where are we?" Simon asked. "What are we doing here?"
Data said, "We are in a kind of library-a vast information retrieval system. Apparently, this information has been waiting for us for several thousand years. It is the key to the true history of Thanet."
"But why are we here, where is this?" asked Halliday. "This is a seascape that almost looks like Thanet-but not quite. The sun is wrong, the texture of the sea is subtly different."
"Quite so, Dr. Halliday," Data said. "We're not on Thanet at all. Thanet is not the Thanetians' native planet."
Together, Data and the others began to experience history-a colorful history, a history of trauma and bloodshed-a history that was nothing like the so-called ancient wisdom the Thanetians had received from their sacred texts..
Chapter Fourteen.
The Comet's Heart DEANNA TROI felt the momentary disjuncture of the transporter. In an instant, she materialized inside the comet. She was dizzy. It was the gravity. The corridor she was in corkscrewed up and around and over and the center of gravity didn't seem to be in one place. And then there was the tide of infantile desolation, sweeping over her, threatening to engulf her, drown her-her stomach turned. She reached out for anything, anyone And Riker was there, holding her for a moment. She looked into his eyes. Saw the calm center of him, knew that deep within him was the ghost of an old love; she felt it and was comforted. "I'm here, Deanna," he said softly.
The air was thin here, but breathable; the O2 level at least seemed tolerable. But the anxiety level was almost unmanageable. Pinpricks of fear and desolation bombarded her. Slowly she got a grip on herself, steadied herself. All in a day's work for an empath, she told herself wryly. If only people knew how much it takes out of you, keeping yourself open like this.
A dim, sourceless light permeated the passageway. It had a bluish tinge; there was a coldness to it; Deanna shuddered.
"Well," Riker said, "this is artificial all right." He peered around. The walls at first seemed featureless, but as their eyes grew used to the light, she started to see patterns-lines etched into the metallic surface-ancient circuits, perhaps. This was no ordinary passageway. They were inside a machine of some kind, one sophisticated enough to have targeted Thanet-a weapon.
"We're inside," Riker communicated to the bridge.
"Listen," Deanna said.
At first it was a low moaning, almost at the threshold of hearing.
"But there's no wind here," Riker said.
"You sense it," said Deanna. "You, too, Will. So it's more than just an empathie vibration in the air."
The moaning increased in volume. It tugged at her very heartstrings. Within the windlike sighing there was a human voice-the cry of a child. "This comet is alive," she said softly. "More than that-it's sentient."
The sighing crescendoed. Within the windlike wuthering, a child's voice was now clearly audible. Deanna felt a vibration within her soul-that sense of loss-without-hope-of-retrieval, as though she had lost an entire race, an entire species, as though she were the last survivor of some planet-smashing holocaust. She knew of only a few beings who lived surrounded by such an aura. She had felt it with Guinan sometimes, had wondered how a person could carry such a weight within themselves and still be so much at peace.
"I guess we should just follow the voice," said Riker.
"Yes."
There was a sensation of falling. The voice was definitely down; it came from below, from a place that humans thought of as the abyss-inferno-hell.
Around her, so vivid-she could not distinguish reality from illusion, image upon image now-an ocean of fire-screams of dying-cities aflame-a child fleeing through the labyrinthine passageways of a doomed city-columns of a great temple snapping like twigs, roofs caving in, warriors sliced in two by great swaths of laser death. The tunnel became more twisted now, spiraling. They passed through tiny cells like the chambers inside a conch shell.
At length they came to an inner chamber. A womb, Deanna thought. It was so narrow that she and Riker could barely squeeze inside. And inside the womb-a child-a boy, Deanna realized, not quite at the age of puberty-a boy who was much too far from home.
Gravity righted itself here, and they found themselves standing before the child as though before an altar. Naked, he floated in a pod of some transparent material, a nutrient fluid bathing him; his eyes were open, but unaware, as though in an unnatural sleep. There were metal tendrils weaving about his feet and hands, and a dozen cyborg connectors sprouted from his shaved head.
His fingers were webbed-this boy was clearly of the same species as the Thanetians. Yet how many parsecs had this comet traversed? There was a mystery here, and Deanna realized that the only way to bring a true resolution to the Thanetians' dilemma was to find the answers.
If only the boy could speak.
And then he did speak, in a way.
You are the one who is not my mother -yet stands in her place, he said.
His lips did not move, but she clearly heard the voice in her mind. Startled, she looked at Riker. He too seemed puzzled.
"I heard a voice," Deanna said.
"And I felt-something," Riker said. "If even I can feel it, I can imagine how it must be affecting you."
Who are you? Deanna called out in her mind.
I am the thanopstru, the voice whispered. She knew the word. It was a Thanetian word, and it meant bringer of death. It was the name, in the Sa cred Panvivlion, of the destroyer that would come at the end of time.
But this instrument of divine vengeance was supposed to be some terrible force of nature, surely-not a terrified little boy.
Help me, help me, oh help me.
And then, as Deanna gazed on the child's face, feeling his immeasurable torment, she saw a single tear form in his right eye-and slide down his cheek before dissolving into the nutrients that bathed him.
"Of course I will," Deanna whispered. "Of course." She backed up the words with a powerful current of goodwill and affection, drawing on feelings she had known as a child-warmth, love, the protecting arms of a loving parent.
Don't, said the voice within. No, no, don't tell me those things-they contradict-the program-they violate-the conditioning-they-And then, a deeper voice, rhythmic, terrifying: Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill! Kill!
Part Three