Part 5 (2/2)
Picard nodded to his second-in-command. ”Commence destruction of the comet,” Riker said, and La Forge initiated the sequence.
”Five minutes till impact,” he said.
”Four minutes, fifty seconds,” the computer continued the countdown.
”Wait, Commander!” La Forge said suddenly. ”There's a signal coming in from-a Thanetian craft-asking permission to beam aboard-it's the Thanetian amba.s.sador.”
Riker said, ”We do have plenty of time, Captain. The amba.s.sador ought to be a witness to this; it's routine for us, major history for them.”
”Agreed. Escort him to the bridge,” Picard commanded.
He summoned Deanna Troi to his side. ”Do you sense anything?” he asked softly as Amba.s.sador Straun emerged from the elevator, flanked by ensigns. Behind him walked the daughter, whom everyone had last seen desperately pleading for asylum.
”Confusion-ambiguity,” she said, sotto voce, reaching out, sensing the man's emotions whirling within the alien's mind. ”He can't believe he's here. But-the daughter's mind-set is more interesting. She's almost a different person-reborn-in charge of herself and her surroundings.”
”Greetings, Captain,” said Amba.s.sador Straun. ”The High s.h.i.+vantak sends me as a religious observer to your rites of exorcism. They may be futile against the Pyrohelion, which has been ordained since time began five thousand years ago, but he has asked that every moment of our history be officially recorded, even up to the final millisecond.” He stopped to stare at the comet, which now filled the screen, almost eclipsing the fiery globe that was Klastravo.
”I'm sorry to speak out of turn, Captain Picard,” said Kio sar-Bensu, ”but there's an added bonus. If the world should be destroyed, as the Panvivlion predicts, we would still be observing, and we would not actually be on the world; there might be a loophole, you see.”
”Sacrilege!” Straun could barely get the word out, but his daughter went on speaking.
”And in that case,” she said, ”I would humbly resubmit my pet.i.tion for asylum, this time as a sentient being without a homeworld.”
”And I'm sure your pet.i.tion would be approved,” said Riker.
An ensign showed the visitors to some seats. Again, Picard asked Commander Riker to start the destruction.
”Initiate the sequence,” Riker said.
”Sequence reinitiated,” La Forge said. ”Five minutes.”
The computer resumed the countdown. Four minutes, fifty seconds-forty-thirty-three minutes, ten seconds- ”No!” Troi shouted suddenly.
She had reacted before even realizing what she was reacting to-a harrowing pang of loss and disillusion-a cry of pain that had lasted for millennia and could not be heard because there was no organ of speech to cry out-the desolate, stifled wailing of a lost child.
”What is it, Counselor?” Picard asked.
”Trust me on this, Captain! Stop the sequence!”
Picard nodded. Riker held up his hand. Sequence on hold at two minutes, twenty-seven seconds, said the computer.
”Something is alive on that comet!” said Troi. ”It's so-intense, so-” A wave of nausea now. She almost buckled from the impact of it.
Riker was speaking now. ”Captain,” he said, ”imaging suggests some kind of hollow chamber inside the comet-in the shape of a perfect octahedron.”
”An artificial comet, then,” said Picard.
”With some kind of intelligence, perhaps,” La Forge said.
”More than intelligence-it has emotion,” Troi gasped. ”Raw, unfiltered emotion that's built up over thousands of years-”
”The Panvivlion was right!” cried Amba.s.sador Straun, coming to life suddenly. ”This is no natural phenomenon that a few concentrated bursts of light can dissipate. This is the hand of the G.o.ds! Of course it has intelligence-of course it has emotion-this so-called comet is the G.o.d of the Last Days, the Inconsolable, the Eater of the World, he that is called Sorex Pyrohilael, he whose name can only be uttered by-”
”Nonsense, Father,” said the daughter, ”I'm sure they'll find an explanation for it all in due course.”
”Due course! They only have two days.”
”A lot can happen in two days,” Deanna found herself saying. ”Miracles have happened in a lot less.”
”Miracle or not,” the captain said, ”the presence of a life-form changes the equation entirely.”
Then he turned to Troi, who was still reeling from the onslaught of emotions from the heart of the comet. ”Do you think-”
”I know what you're going to ask, Captain,” Troi said. ”You want me to go in closer.”
”You're the only one who-can feel with it.”
”Of course. I'll do it.”
”I want the transporter room on standby to beam you back the instant you reach a threshold you cannot safely tolerate,” Picard said. ”And-Riker will be with you.”
On screen, against the sea of stars, the comet continued to streak toward Thanet, and Klastravo burned bright, a beacon of death.
Chapter Twelve.
Artas THEN, IN THE FINAL HOURS, he thought he could hear another voice.
Not the harsh metal-voice that denied him his childhood; this seemed softer, this seemed, in the end, soothing. A flash: dark hair, ringlets, deep haunting eyes. But it was not his mother either. It was a stranger. She knew neither his name nor even his species.
She spoke to him across the gulf of s.p.a.ce. And time as well perhaps, though time had little meaning to him anymore.
She said to him, I'm coming. Hold on a little longer.
And he said, ”Will you sing to me?”
And the voice said, If I can.
He said, ”And will I put my arms around your neck, and will you hold me?”
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