by S P Somtow
This had to be the Ten-Forward lounge, celebrated in song and story—it had even made its way into The Second Volsunga Saga, a controversial epic poem in Old Norse that continued the adventures of ancient heroes into modern times. I’ll just stay nice and invisible, Tormod thought, and try to do the osmosis thing.
There was a slight feeling of disorientation; he blinked; the panoramic vista was suddenly quite different now; where there had been stars there were delicate skeins of streaking light. But no one seemed to notice—they all just went on drinking and chatting. The miracle of warp drive, and to these people it was as humdrum as a change in the wind at sea.
“Well!” It was a woman’s voice, rich and comforting. “I’m glad someone hasn’t lost his sense of wonder.”
“You read my mind!” he blurted out. Then he turned to see yet another Starfleet celebrity, Deanna [19] Troi, leaning against the wall and smiling at him. “Oh ... excuse me. Of course you read my mind. You’re—ah—I used to read about you.”
He searched for words, was once again—as often in the past two days—at a loss. How could he tell her how he pored over every encyclopedia, every simulation, even old-fashioned printed books, for every detail he could glean about this ship, its crew, its fabled missions?
“I don’t read minds per se,” said the counselor. “But I do sense—your wonder. It’s a beautiful thing. Why, you’re blushing, Ensign. Have you met the captain?”
Only then did Tormod notice that she was standing next to his childhood idol, the man whose exploits he had followed in the news and in all those romantic space travel memoirs and adventure simulations as a boy. “Oh, my God,” he managed to stammer, “I used to have a holographic collector card of you.”
“Ah yes.” Captain Picard winced slightly. “The Heroes of the Federation series. I don’t know why they let them talk me into being on one of those.”
Mortified, Tormod realized he had forgotten to call the captain “sir.”
“It’s all right,” said the counselor, once again uncannily plucking the very thoughts from his mind, “I’m sure the captain will overlook it, just this once.” And she winked at him. Winked at him! Almost as if he were one of them!
“Engvig, isn’t it?” said Captain Picard. “They’re sending them to me rather young, aren’t they?”
[20] “Well, sir, I—well, I wrote this essay, you see, and I won a prize that includes becoming an acting ensign and writing up a—”
“Yes, I know, I read your essay. Congratulations on your temporary commission, young man; I assume this assignment will give you the self-confidence you will need when you begin your studies at the Academy in earnest.”
Once more, Tormod was taken aback. He could only stammer out, “Sir.”
“Shall we give the young man a bit of a thrill?” the captain went on. “I know you probably believe we’re going to be running around saving the universe every five minutes, but our presence in the Klastravo system is going to be merely ceremonial, I’m afraid. Still, why don’t you wait on the Thanetian ambassador at the dinner in his honor this evening? He’s got a child your age; perhaps you could practice diplomacy of a more informal sort. Help conduct a short tour, that sort of thing.”
Tormod could hardly believe his ears. “But sir, I barely know the Enterprise myself yet.”
“Then it will be a great journey of discovery for the two of you. You’ll report to Mr. Tarses at nineteen hundred hours; he’ll brief you.”
“But sir—”
“Filing a protest, Ensign?”
“Well, sir, no, sir, I mean—I haven’t had a very sophisticated life. I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean, I never even went to a big city until I won that prize.”
[21] “Engvig,” said the captain in all seriousness, “never let anyone look down on you for growing up in the country.”
Then there was a twinkle in his eye and Tormod suddenly felt that this man, who had crossed the galaxy from end to end, who had fought battles, saved worlds, and held the fate of thousands in his hands, understood him, really understood him. That, he realized, must be how he inspired so much loyalty. After only a few minutes, Tormod felt ready to give up everything to serve such a man on such a starship. It would be worth it. What a gift this man had.
He tried to imagine what it would be like belonging to this crew for real, rather than just serving on a single ceremonial mission as a result of winning an essay prize. I wouldn’t just be standing around gaping, he thought. I’d volunteer something. Give of myself.
“I could teach him how to sail a Viking longship, sir,” Engvig found himself offering. “You can count on me.”
“Make it so, Ensign. Now, I’m going to assign you to Mr. Tarses. He’ll do what he can with you in the short time you have. Your things are on board already, correct?”
“Aye, sir.”
“You will move your belongings to Mr. Tarses’s quarters for the duration of this voyage. Live with him, eat with him, learn from him.”
“Mr. Tarses—? Wasn’t he the—”
Tormod tried to remember what little he could [22] about this character. Tarses—Simon Tarses, he suddenly remembered—wasn’t exactly a collectible card from the Great Starship Captains series. The name had to do with something darker. Betrayal. Espionage.
“Wasn’t he the what, Ensign?”
“I’m not sure, sir. But I think he was accused of—”
“Spying,” came a voice. “Accused and acquitted.”
The man who had entered the Ten-Forward lounge was not at all as Tomod Engvig imagined. He remembered the story now; before coming on this voyage, he had done copious research, and a picture of Simon Tarses had appeared as a footnote to an encyclopedia entry on Espionage, Romulan. That picture had shown a young, smiling face; this face, though still young in years, had worry lines. The episode had left its mark on him, still haunted him, perhaps. Tormod was suddenly afraid. He turned to Captain Picard, hoping for some reassurance.
But the captain was already off, making his way through the crowd, deep in conversation with Troi.
“Come on, kid,” said Tarses. “Let’s get you started around here.”
“Yes, sir,” said Tormod.
“Don’t look, so starstruck,” Tarses said.
But, having heard Captain Picard’s signature three-word command actually addressed to him in person was pretty overwhelming for the young ensign. I’d better get over all this fast, he thought to himself. But I can’t totally believe that the [23] Enterprise’s presence in Klastravo is “purely ceremonial.” Everything I’ve heard and read about this ship points in a different direction. Nothing about the Enterprise is ever routine. It might start off routine, but it never ends up that way.
And though the captain had just cautioned him about his youthful fantasies of saving the universe, he wasn’t ready to let go of them just yet.
Chapter Three
Simon Tarses
THE LAST THING Simon Tarses wanted was a little camp follower. The acting ensign’s simple adoration of everything about Starfleet, including this half-Romulan with a shadowy past, however, made it impossible to dislike him. In fact, the kid kind of grew on him after a while. He was a short pale fellow who nevertheless saw himself as a seven-foot-tall Viking, and that in itself was rather sweet.
Now, having been assigned the slightly delicate mission of steering Ambassador Straun’s child around the ship, which showed a much-needed level of trust from Captain Picard, he was also being saddled with baby-sitting this essay-contest winner from some village on Earth. Still, some trust was better than none at all.
[25] After all, it hadn’t been that long ago that he had been the poster child for every Romulophobe in Starfleet’s upper echelons. Now that the fuss had died down, there had occasionally been some reverse discrimination instead—those who claimed that his Romulan ancestry had triggered a “guilt reflex” to get him attached to the better, less routine missions.
As they left Ten-Forward, Simo
n regretted being so curt with the acting ensign. “I didn’t want to say it in front of the captain,” he said, “but you may save the universe yet. On the Enterprise, nothing is ever what you expect.”
“I gathered that,” Engvig said, “from my studies. In fact—now that I think of it—I have heard of you before.”
“I was once the subject of an impassioned speech,” Simon said, “about liberty, and truth, and the core values of the Federation.” He tried to make it flippant, but even the kid could probably tell that Simon’s wounds had not yet healed.
“I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s all right,” Simon said. “Just don’t take those core values for granted. Never. Promise me that.”
“Yes, sir.” He snapped to attention. Somehow, it made it seem like an act of devotion, of faith. He sure had a lot of innocence in him; Simon hoped it wouldn’t crash and burn. As it had with him.
As they wandered farther down the corridor, Simon felt strangely protective of the young man. He wondered whether Picard had felt the same way [26] about him. After all, there had never been any need for the grand starship captain to defend one minor officer.
“What do think he’s like?” Engvig said. “I mean, this—ambassador’s child we’re supposed to look after?”
“Diplomatic brats come in all shapes and sizes,” Simon said, “but they’re usually trouble. Not in themselves—it’s not their fault their parents are who they are—but because diplomats are all too human.”
“Even aliens?”
“Just an expression,” Simon said. Engvig blushed.
“There’ll be a short quiz next period,” he said.
“Yes, sir,” Engvig said.
“I was just joking.”
“I haven’t totally learned when people around here are joking or not,” sir,” said Engvig.
“How old did you say you were?”
“Seventeen, sir.”
“I see. No wonder. Well, people will be pulling your leg a lot around here. Goes with the age.”
“Yes, sir. But—what were you saying about diplomats? It was very interesting.”
“Like everyone else they love their children. And that means that when galactic politics are at stake, a little trouble their children get into can accidentally change history.”
“Sir, we’re walking right past Ambassador Straun’s apartments.”
[27] The kid had the Enterprise’s geography memorized. “Don’t show off,” said Simon.
“I won’t, sir,” Engvig said, chastened.
The two stopped in front of the guest quarters and Simon announced himself. And suddenly, the child of Ambassador Straun sar-Bensu stood before them.
More than a child. A young woman.
“I am Kio sar-Bensu,” she said. Her eyes were downcast.
They did not speak for a moment. When Kio looked up at last, she shaded her eyes with hands that opened to reveal a dainty vestigial webbing that had been darkened with a purple cosmetic dye.
“My name is Simon Tarses,” Simon said. “I have been assigned to show you around the starship.”
She didn’t respond at first. And then Simon saw, in the background, her father, studying him with a stare that was both disdainful and a little fearful. She looked back at her father; he nodded.
“It is an honor to greet you in these end times,” said Kio sar-Bensu softly. “May you return in a more elevated incarnation level than the lowly body you are about to leave behind.”
Simon was taken aback, then remembered that these people were new to the idea that there existed anyone other than themselves in the universe. And they believed that all civilization was about to end in a matter of days. It was a ritual formula they used. But formula or not, the words had a special poignancy coming from her lips. Very soft, full [28] lips—Simon shook himself. What was he thinking?! The very last thing he could afford was a romance that would undoubtedly spark an interplanetary incident. Captain Picard would be furious; worse yet he’d be disappointed. ...
Ensign Envig was staring too, he then noticed with some chagrin. Another dangerous sign. Smart, enthusiastic, eager—and full of raging hormones!
He wondered whether he could find a tactful way to ditch the little guy, to spare his feelings if nothing else. After all, if Kio sar-Bensu was out of Simon’s league, Envig didn’t have a snowball’s chance on Vulcan with her.
Tarses offered his arm to the diplomat’s daughter.
Kio sar-Bensu stared at it for a moment, nonplussed. “To lead the way,” he explained. “To steady you. So you can have someone to lean on in this unfamiliar wilderness.”
“You are very charming, Mr. Tarses,” Kio said sweetly, “and I’m not quite as alien as you think—though on our world, fraternizing between the castes would be considered, well, a little—gauche.”
“We have no caste system on the Enterprise,” Simon said..
“Exactly,” said Kio sar-Bensu, smiling again, “and thus I forgive you, and take your arm with gratitude, in the spirit in which it is offered.”
He led her down the corridor. The Norwegian followed at a distance.
“Have you ever been in a holodeck?” Simon asked.
[29] “No,” Kio said. “It sounds—exciting.”
“Oh it is,” said Simon. “It’s a place where anything you can possibly imagine—can be real. And anything you don’t want to imagine—can be made to disappear,” he added, barely resisting the temptation to indicate the ensign with a flick of the head.
Chapter Four
Straun sar-Bensu
AMBASSADOR STRAUN SAR-BENSU felt like the pretender he was, after having been beamed aboard this impressive floating alien palace, greeted with astonishing pomp and cacophonous music, and now shown to quarters that would have impressed even the High Shivantak of his homeworld. He had, after all, arrived without any honor guard, without any of the usual bevies of pleasure maidens, attendants, dancers, and acrobats that would normally accompany even a minor envoy to a backwater tribe. He had come only with his child Kio, whom he had brought only because the young one surely needed a little diversion, a taste of what might have been, if the world were not coming to an end in seven more moon-turns.
That five thousand years of glorious history [31] should come to this! But that was the beauty of the eternal cycle, the grand encirclement of time, the perfect mandala of existence.
His whole life had been a journey toward the Pyrohelion, the grand extinguishing of all existence that had been prophesied since the beginning of history. It had been his highest honor to have been born in the last days of the world, to be privileged to witness the moment when one cycle would end and another begin.
The young, of course, did not truly understand.
Poor Kio. The child was occupied right now—they had sent some of their own young ones as entertainment, to show off the mysteries of this alien vessel. Why open his daughter’s eyes to all this wonder, when soon those eyes would be closed forever? It was a paradox. Surely, in these end times, there should be a closing of doorways, a sense of resignation—not the sudden opening up of a million new possibilities.
And yet—
The coming of the Enterprise had not been prophesied.
Well, not strictly, not with quite the precision that so many other things had been.
What was that curious verse in the Panvivlion?
When the moment shall come and the world shall cease to be, there will come harbingers of false hopes, and the young shall dream of that which might have been; yet the thread of the times has already been spun, and the maker shall return to the unmaker, and the mandala shall be rendered perfect.
[32] Was the Enterprise a harbinger of false hope? The High Shivantak had certainly thought so. But he had to deal with it.
Man shall not grow wings, nor shall he penetrate the veil of eternity.
Straun recited the familiar verses to himself, making the sign of the grand circle over his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. The ri
tual comforted him.
He remembered his audience with the Shivantak.
—the aged one, seated on a throne of gilt and ravenlizard skin, his ceremonial crown of meter-tall chlorquetzal tailfeathers catching the light of the Moon That Sings, four celestial maidens prostrate at his feet—
“You are Straun sar-Bensu?” The voice was heavy with age and care. Straun remained with his face to the floor, not daring to gaze directly at the Shivantak’s face.
“Yes, Your Radiance,” he said humbly, “I am a third undersecretary in the department of labor allocation.”
“You are now an ambassador.”
“Your Radiance! Surely not I!”
“True, you have not the qualifications. Indeed, your file shows a certain—lack of piety at times, even a questioning of the Ultimate Truths within the Panvivlion. Normally you would be sent to a reeducation camp, but in these last days, much is not as it should be. We require someone with a slightly ... skewed vision of the world. There is a false prophet.”
[33] “Your Radiance?”
The scent of copal-frankincense wafted through the throne room. In the distance, a woman intoned the evening call to prayer.
“Men have grown wings in the last few years. But you knew that.”
“Yes, Your Radiance. Your priests of science have visited some nearby stars in the new lightrider ships. And you have encountered aliens that resemble us greatly.”
“The only body part they lack is the vestigial webbing we have between our fingers and toes,” agreed the Shivantak. “And it is that very similarity that makes their heresy all the more terrifying. They have planted doubt in the minds of some—” and at this moment, Straun chanced to look up for a moment, and he saw in the venerable leader’s eyes a flicker that might suggest that even he doubted—He quickly looked down again. The thought he had just had was unthinkable. The entire cosmos would collapse if the hierarchy of belief and truth were shattered.