Do Comets Dream? Part 2

"I will fight deception with deception. As they come with a false hope, so shall I send a false amba.s.sador. I meet falsehood with falsehood. I shall not deceive you, however, Straun sar-Bensu; you are in danger."

"And yet, Your Radiance, if the world is indeed ending in a few short moon-turns, that danger is meaningless."

"I know. And that is why I trust you. You may draw from the treasury what you need to make a show of it; let's not have these galactic travelers think we are so utterly provincial."

And the s.h.i.+vantak had dismissed him with a wave, and turned to the ministrations of his pleasure women. In the end, Straun had not drawn ma.s.sive amounts from the s.h.i.+vantak's bursary; what was the point? He wasn't to be a real amba.s.sador, but a p.a.w.n in the s.h.i.+vantak's battle against heresy-a battle that was being waged even now, mere days before the end of the world.

He had collected his child from the seminary, paid a swift visit to his dead ancestors' ashes, laid in the Mnemo-Thanasium next to the Temple of Karturias; and then he had boarded one of the newfangled lightriders, with a crew of just three, for the rendezvous with this Enterprise.

Enterprise! The very name felt barbaric. A race that valued the concept of "enterprise" enough to name stars.h.i.+ps after it! How bizarre. They surely had no idea at all that every creature in the universe had its proper place in the grand mandala. It was probably every man for himself in their culture- compet.i.tion instead of cooperation, everyone ignoring their caste, even, Brahmat forbid, equality between s.e.xes and races! Truly, the s.h.i.+vantak had cast him into a den of ferocious Konaubeasts. And Kio's enthusiasm for the journey made things all the more awkward.

There's nothing I can do about all this, Straun decided. "There's nothing I can do about all this" was perhaps the most common saying among his people, who believed above all that everything in the universe was preordained, that everything had already happened and would happen again. Still, it was comforting to think it. Contradictory thoughts were dangerous, bewildering-even bordered on the heretical.

He adjusted his robes, s.h.i.+fted the links in his chain of office, repainted the webs between his fingers with the colors of authority, and applied more silver dust to his wig, repeating three times the incantation to the Controllers of Fate, as he had done each morning before dusting the computers in the department of labor allocation.

And sat in meditation, awaiting what fate would bring next.

Chapter Five.

The Labyrinth SHE WAS EXTRAORDINARY. Simon had never encountered anything like her, her delicate hands framed by fragile webbing, her eyes of deepest mauve, their almond shape surmounted by angular eyebrows and a swirl of dark blue hair. Kio siv-Straun sar-Bensu wore a garment composed of a web of single-celled organisms, a living fabric that changed color according to her moods as it fed on the pheromones secreted on her skin. The garment was accentuated by what looked like a large insect, attached to her shoulder by a golden thread, its chitinous exoskeleton a spectrum of iridescent colors.

When he thought about it, he realized that Engvig's presence was more of a blessing than a burden. Though the acting ensign may not have seen himself as the perfect chaperone, he was unwittingly playing that role. For Kio, who was clearly warmer and more demonstrative than most people from her world, was oddly reserved when Engvig was around. Simon didn't know whether to feel relieved or disappointed, so he continually switched back and forth between the two reactions.

"Come," he said, "I'll show you what we do to amuse ourselves."

Someone had left an ancient Earth mythology program-Theseus and the Minotaur-running. It seemed a suitable choice, what could be dryer, less romantic, safer, than an old story? As they entered, corridors led in all directions. The fearsome howl of some kind of nightmare creature echoed, amplified by the cavernous walls, covered with murals of naked youths performing acrobatics with raging bulls. Simon didn't know the specifics of the tale, but he dimly recalled hearing it had something to do with a ball of yarn and a terrifying monster. So perhaps it was not quite as dry as he had thought, but it certainly didn't seem romantic, which was a good thing. Or so he tried to convince himself, as he saw Kio's exquisite deep-set eyes grow wide in wonder. "Somewhere in this so-called labyrinth there's a giant man-devouring bull, and we have to find it and exterminate it," he told Engvig.

"We'll have it mopped up in no time," the acting ensign said, "and the universe safe for humanity once more." And-plucking a great sword that seemed to materialize out of thin air-he ran down a corridor that, by the magic of computer morphing, twisted and corkscrewed into another and another out of sight, and was gone.

"I forgot to tell him about the ball of yarn," Simon said.

"Yarn?" Kio asked him.

"The hero ties it to the portal, thus-" The yarn popped into his hand, and Kio was suitably impressed, and he tied one end to a doork.n.o.b that had also just sprung into existence, in a spanking-fresh door that had just opened up into another sequence of corridors. "-and so Theseus is able to find his way back after killing the monster."

Kio gasped. In place of her somber "end of the world" garment, there was a diaphonous Greek chiton that seemed to have been spun from the sheerest thread-from cobwebs. From moonlight. Simon looked away, tried to concentrate on the murals, but the barely clothed frolicking youths pictured therein didn't distract him as he had hoped. They seemed to mock him instead. Why had Picard chosen him for this a.s.signment? And where was Engvig! A breeze from the tunnels stirred Kio's sweet-smelling hair.

"Mr. Ta.r.s.es -Simon I..."

"Shall we look for the monster?" he interrupted her. She looked irritated. Probably thought he was rude, which wasn't the worst thing that could happen under the circ.u.mstances. This was an odd sort of diplomacy, though, in which making a poor impression was preferable to making too good an impression . Simon tied the other end of the yarn to his belt and resisted the temptation to take Kio's hand as he led her down the hallway.

The floor of the corridor appeared unsteady. Then it became a sporadic vibration-an unnerving sound at the threshold of hearing-the footsteps of a great beast-"The minotaur!" Simon said.

"And you're going to fight it off? To protect me?" Kio beamed at him.

"Uh, actually it's getting a little late. Why don't we leave the monster to Mr. Engvig."

"And what will you and I do?" she said, placing her delicate, webbed fingers on his shoulder. Ta.r.s.es swallowed.

Sheepishly, Simon said, "How about a tour of the s.h.i.+p?"

"Will you show me your quarters?" she asked quickly.

"Why don't we start with Engineering?" he countered.

He had been showing her the different levels of the s.h.i.+p, and she had been fascinated by everything, even by those details whose scientific explanations he himself was barely able to understand.

Luckily when they got to his quarters, Ensign Engvig was already back from the holodeck, setting up shop. Instead of the neat, spartan furnis.h.i.+ngs, there was a huge model of some kind of primitive sea vessel with a dragon's head and little round s.h.i.+elds down the sides.

Simon turned to Engvig. "Back so soon?"

"Yes, sir!" said the young man. "Killing that monster was a snap. I suddenly remembered about it from Mythology 101, so I got myself a ball of yarn. I really appreciate the lesson in problem-solving, sir!"

"I have a problem you could solve," Kio said coyly.

"Yes, ma'am!"

"I'm getting awfully thirsty. Could you possibly fetch a drink for me from that lovely room with the starscape?"

"Ten-Forward? Certainly!"

And he was gone. Kio beamed at Simon. Simon called after Engvig, "Don't be long!"

"So barren," she said, "so spa.r.s.e." It was true. Apart from Engvig's bags, of course, and that longs.h.i.+p model. Now that the boy was gone, he found himself staring at it. It was rather fascinating, and he did remember, vaguely, stories about adventuresome Vikings in his studies of Earth history-a compulsory subject at the Academy, and one of the least relevant, some said.

"It looks just like a dailong," Kio said. "Do you think this Earth of yours once had them?"

"What's a dailong?"

She laughed. "You don't know? It's a sea dragon, so vast that you could build a city on its head. And we do."

"I doubt that Engvig's little s.h.i.+p is long enough for that," Simon said.

She was endlessly fascinated by replicators. Simon watched, amused, as she tried to figure out how many Thanetian native dishes had already been programmed into its repertoire. It seemed that almost every dish it produced was forbidden to her; these people had a complicated system of caste, and each caste was allowed only certain foods.

"Every caste eats in its specified restaurants," she said. "Don't you have that? It's the only way to stay pure. I'm not sure that replicator food would really qualify."

"On the other hand," Simon said, "it's not 'really' food made from 'real' ingredients."

"That's true. It's a fantasy." Boldly, she took a bite of the xeriposa, a kind of chocolate snail. She looked for a moment as if she was going to choke, but she kept it down-and then she smiled. "Wow. I haven't been struck dead by the Lance of the Eternal Tartillion."

Simon realized that she had made a major leap of faith. It might have seemed a small step to him, but she had crossed a bridge, transcended her pocket universe to touch the great galaxy beyond. Simon had had to make the same leap once. To leave his nebulous past hiding his Romulan heritage-to bind his ident.i.ty, his future to that of the Federation. And with that leap of faith had come many bad things. Accusations and a traumatic witch-hunt. But wonderful things, too. Picard's impa.s.sioned defense of his rights. And his continuing a.s.sociation with this fine s.h.i.+p, this fine crew.

Even the awe in the s.h.i.+ning eyes of that young acting ensign wasn't so bad, even if the kid did tend to disappear at the most awkward times. What was taking him so long anyway? Suddenly Ta.r.s.es understood why Kio had chosen Ten-Forward as Engvig's destination. She knew. Just from looking at the kid, she knew he couldn't resist lingering, hoping to catch another Enterprise celebrity in a moment of relaxation so he could chat them up. Simon winced at the thought of his charge pestering Commander Riker, or worse yet, Worf.

"I could almost forget," she said, "that you people are all just shadows, specters of what-might-have-been, that you're just here to haunt the final days of the world-just as was foretold in the Panvivlion, the book all honest souls must live and die by." Her lilting voice broke his reverie.

He knew he should not contradict her. Civilizations in their myriad forms are sacrosanct-that was the philosophy behind the Prime Directive and the whole rationale of Starfleet's att.i.tude toward other worlds. But he couldn't help himself. He didn't want her to believe that she was doomed, He knew she didn't want to believe it either.

"What if-what if-" he began.

"I know what you're going to say," she said. "The Panvivlion warns us that in the end times we will be sorely tempted."

Tempted indeed, Simon thought. But it was not his place, he knew, to tempt this beautiful and perceptive young woman away from any of the beliefs or practices of her world.

"I'd better escort you back to your father," Simon stammered.

Chapter Six.

The Banquet THEY HAD SET UP the banquet hall in Holodeck Four instead of one of the great reception lounges. This was all about setting the Thanetians' minds at ease, surrounding them with the trappings of their own culture. It was particularly important to tread lightly, since the Federation had only become aware of the Klastravo system's civilization about a year before, and though the Thanetians had indeed achieved s.p.a.ce travel, they did not seem to have the worldview of starfarers.

Dominating the dining hall was a fifteen-meter-long statue of a dailong, one of the giant sea serpents that seemed to be a very important part of Thanet's watery environment, and which seemed to figure in many aspects of their civilization.

Picard did hot feel particularly comfortable in the Thanetian ceremonial headdress with its bright purple and neon green feathers. Still, one had endured far worse in the pursuit of galactic friends.h.i.+p.

Right now Commander Data was preparing Captain Picard and the senior crew members for the various eating rituals. Bemused, the captain watched the android explain the entire thing in earnest, grave tones, though what they were actually about to do had a touch of the theater of the absurd about it.

"You will have to grasp the neck of the ravenlizard with your right hand, Captain," he said mildly, "like so." He held up the holographic animal, which seemed to have the temperament of an annoyed mink. "And then snap it with a deft flick of the wrist, allowing the juices to run into the left bowl of the double goblet. Then, raise the goblet with your left hand, twirl the stem so that the effervescent liquor from the right bowl begins to trickle through the filter."

"A people who kills what it eats at the dinner table understands the spirit of the warrior," said Worf with unmistakable admiration.

"We are not actually killing anything, Commander," Data explained patiently. "This is a holographic simulation. Only the amba.s.sador's party will actually perform any animal executions. But, in the interests of diplomacy-"

"Diplomacy," the Klingon snorted. Picard fought the urge to smile. There were certain constants in the universe and Worf' s cantankerousness was one of them.

"It is my understanding that the killing of the ravenlizard is supposed to represent the subservience of all life to the laws of the great mandala of existence."

"What will we actually be eating?" asked Dr. Crusher.

"I believe you will find that yours has been imbued with the texture and taste of something more familiar and pleasant to yourself."

She took a sip. "Chocolate pudding!" she exclaimed, as much in irony as delight.

"Computer," Data said, "give us the grand council chamber of the palace of the High s.h.i.+vantak."

Around them, columns shot up in the air, each one carved with cunning images of G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses-many of the poses, to say the least, a little risque. Murals painted themselves across stone walls, and again the scenes were of hunting, dancing, and amorous pleasures. A ceiling began to form above their heads, and there were more images of love and pleasure in all its forms.

"Those Thanetians sure know how to live!" Dr. Crusher said with a smile.

"Or how to party at any rate," said La Forge, whose ravenlizard had managed to escape unscathed, and was now running around on the banqueting table, uttering strange hooting noises.

"I fail to see how one can know how to live," Data said. "Living is not a learned phenomenon."

A silvery moonlight filtered in through gauzed bay windows; from the other end of the chamber came a ruddier light, a different moon, for Thanet's night sky was graced by a complex dance of satellites.

"Computer," Data said, "intensify the hue on that second moon. It is not quite as I recall." The room became moodier; vivid red light washed over the stone carvings.

When Picard looked more closely at what appeared at first to be images of hedonism, he saw that the culture was haunted by death as well as love; for intermingled with all those scenes of pleasure were little reminders of mortality. A bedpost topped by a human skull looking over intertwined lovers; a rotting corpse peering from behind a curtain.

No question about it, Thanet was an interesting place.

"They are on their way," Data said. "Shall I commence the welcoming music?"

Picard nodded. When the music began, he smiled. This, at least, was familiar: Kamin's cla.s.sic arrangement of Mozart's clarinet concerto for Ressikan flute and bamboo organ-a piece the captain himself had played once, in a memory shared with that great ancient musician!

The music complemented the holodeck program perfectly, smoothing over what would otherwise have been a most garish spectacle. Lightveils parted to reveal the amba.s.sador, who was garbed in several layers of robes and extravagant headgear. The webs between his fingers were painted, and there was a patterned circle intricately painted on his brow, a miniature mandala. The amba.s.sador seemed agitated. "My child!" he said. "Kio has not returned to my quarters."

Commander Data asked the s.h.i.+p to locate Simon Ta.r.s.es. No sooner had he spoken than the illusory veils of light flew open to reveal the young crewman and the amba.s.sador's daughter. Ensign Engvig was skulking in the background.

"This is your guide? Captain Picard, I must protest. I a.s.sumed you would have picked someone more suitable, an older woman, perhaps, or-"

"Oh, Father, really," said Kio.

"I meant no harm, Your Excellency," said Ta.r.s.es. "I was just showing her how things worked. And then, Ensign Engvig got lost-" Ta.r.s.es glared at the poor boy who hovered anxiously in the background.

"I had trouble getting back to Mr. Ta.r.s.es's quarters from Ten-Forward."

The amba.s.sador raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, Father, nothing happened!" She appealed to the captain. "On Thanet, they think they only have a week left to live, so people have been wildly giving way to, well, their baser instincts. These people aren't like that at all, Father," she added. "Their planet isn't about to be crushed to smithereens. And if it were, they'd do something about it."

"Heresy!" the amba.s.sador exclaimed. But she only laughed.

She was as captivating as her father was ungainly, in a simple flowing garment of sarducca, a living, sheer fabric woven from one-celled creatures that grew into angstrom-thin filaments and lived off the fluids secreted by the human organism.

Captain Picard frowned. He had hoped for a less negative reaction from the amba.s.sador, but was not particularly surprised that the selection of Ta.r.s.es had not gone over well. Truth be told, Picard himself would have made a less controversial choice, if Crewman Ta.r.s.es had not been the next name on the roster for guide duty. But skipping over the young officer would have sent the wrong message to Thanetians, to Starfleet and to Ta.r.s.es himself; a message that a half-Romulan could never be trusted, even with the simplest a.s.signments.

"Your daughter, Amba.s.sador, is perfectly safe with Mr. Ta.r.s.es, as she is with any member of my crew," Picard said in a voice that he hoped broadcast his intention to brook no further insults to Simon Ta.r.s.es.

Straun opened his mouth, clearly wanting to reply, but then apparently changed his mind. He glared briefly at poor Ta.r.s.es, who looked utterly miserable, and then stomped off the transporter pad, causing the colorful metallic ornaments on his hat to knock into each other and rattle in an echo of the amba.s.sador's indignation. It was time to break the tension.

Picard smiled, signaling for the Mozart-Kamin to begin once more. "I trust you find this venue a little more familiar than the alien corridors of our s.h.i.+p. Shall we sit?"

Soon the officers and diplomats were all seated, and ravenlizards' necks were being snapped, both holographically and in the flesh; Ta.r.s.es, the captain noted, did well after a moment or two of hesitation, while Engvig seemed to have no trouble serving the various beverages.

The first half of the dinner was taken up with pleasantries. How lovely your world is, congratulations on having recently conquered s.p.a.ce, and most of all, How impressive the dailong look as they breach and sound from Thanet's tempestuous oceans.