Relief fluttered through Jigme. Taisuke’s apt quote, atop the Incarnation’s sternness, had routed the war party.
“The Embassy will remain,” said the Treasured King. “They will be given the freedom of Vajra, saving only the Holy Precincts. We must remember the oath of the Amida Buddha: ‘Though I attain Buddhahood, I shall never be complete until people everywhere, hearing my name, learn right ideas about life and death, and gain that perfect wisdom that will keep their minds pure and tranquil in the midst of the world’s greed and suffering.’”
“What of Gyangtse, Rinpoche?” O’Neill’s voice seemed harsh after the graceful words of Scripture.
The Gyalpo Rinpoche cocked his head and thought for a moment. Suddenly the Incarnation seemed very human and very frail, and Jigme’s heart surged with love for the old man.
“We will deal with that at the Picnic Festival,” said the Incarnation.
* * *
From his position by the lake, Jigme could see tents and banners dotting the lower slopes of Tingsum like bright spring flowers. The Picnic Festival lasted a week, and unlike most of the other holidays had no real religious connection. It was a week-long campout during which almost the entire population of the Diamond City and the surrounding monasteries moved into the open and spent their time making merry.
Jigme could see the giant yellow hovertent of the Gyalpo Rinpoche surrounded by saffron-robed guards, the guards present not to protect the Treasured King from attackers, but rather to preserve his tranquility against invasions by devout pilgrims in search of a blessing. The guards—monks armed with staves, their shoulders padded hugely to make them look more formidable—served the additional purpose of keeping the Sang away from the Treasured King until the conclusion of the festival, something for which Jigme was devoutly grateful. He didn’t want any political confrontations disturbing the joy of the holiday. Fortunately Ambassador !urq seemed content to wait until her scheduled appearance at a party given by the Incarnation on the final afternoon.
Children splashed barefoot in the shallows of the lake, and others played chibi on the sward beside, trying to keep a shuttlecock aloft using the feet alone. Jigme found himself watching a redheaded boy on the verge of adolescence, admiring the boy’s grace, the way the knobbed spine and sharp shoulders moved under his pale skin. His bony ankles hadn’t missed the shuttlecock yet. Jigme was sufficiently lost in his reverie that he did not hear the sound of boots on the grass beside him.
“Jigme Dzasa?”
Jigme looked up with a guilty start. !urq stood beside him, wearing hardy outdoor clothing. Her legs were wrapped up to the shoulder. Jigme stood hastily and bowed.
“Your pardon, Ambassador. I didn’t hear you.”
The Sang’s feathery antennae waved cheerfully in the breeze. “I thought I would lead a party up Tingsum. Would you care to join us?”
What Jigme wanted to do was continue watching the ball game, but he assented with a smile. Climbing mountains: that was the sort of thing the Sang were always up to. They wanted to demonstrate they could conquer anything.
“Perhaps you should find a pony,” !urq said. “Then you could keep up with us.”
Jigme took a pony from the Library’s corral and followed the waffle patterns of !urq’s boots into the trees on the lower slopes. Three other Sang were along on the expedition; they clicked and gobbled to one another as they trotted cheerfully along. Behind toiled three Maskers-of-burden carrying food and climbing equipment. If the Sang noticed the incongruity demonstrated by the human’s using a quadruped as a beast of burden while they, centauroids, used a bipedal race as servants, they politely refrained from mentioning it. The pony’s genetically altered cloven forefeet took the mountain trail easily, nimbler than the Sang in their heavy boots. Jigme noticed that this made the Sang work harder, trying to outdo the dumb beast.
They came to a high mountain meadow and paused, looking down at the huge field of tents that ringed the smooth violet lake. In the middle of the meadow was a three-meter tower of crystal, weathered and yellow, ringed by rubble flaked off during the hard winters. One of the Sang trotted over to examine it.
“I thought the crystal was instructed to stay well below the surface,” he said.
“There must have been a house here once,” Jigme said. “The crystal would have been instructed to grow up through the surface to provide Library access.”
!urq trotted across a stretch of grass, her head down. “Here’s the beginning of the foundation line,” she said. She gestured with an arm. “It runs from here to over there.”
The Sang cantered over the ground, frisky as children, to discover the remnants of the foundation. The Sang were always keen, Jigme found, on discovering things. They had not yet learned that there was only one thing worth discovering, and it had nothing to do with old ruins.
!urq examined the pillar of crystal, touched its crumbling surface. “And over eighty percent of the planet is composed of this?” she said.
“All except the crust,” Jigme said. “The crystal was instructed to convert most of the planet’s material. That is why our heavy metals have to come from mined asteroids, and why we build mostly in natural materials. This house was probably of wood and laminated cloth, and it most likely burned in an accident.”
!urq picked up a bit of crystal from the ring of rubble that surrounded the pillar. “And you can store information in this.”
“All the information we have,” Jigme said reverently. “All the information in the universe, eventually.” Involuntarily, his hands formed the teaching mudra. “The Library is a hologram of the universe. The Blessed Bodhisattva Bob Miller was a reflection of the Library, its first Incarnation. The current Incarnation is the forty-first.”
!urq’s antennae flickered in the wind. She tossed the piece of crystal from hand to hand. “All the information you possess,” she said. “That is a powerful tool. Or weapon.”
“A tool, yes. The original builders of the Library considered it only a tool. Only something to help them order things, to assist them in governing. They did not comprehend that once the Diamond Mountain contained enough information, once it gathered enough energy, it would become more than the sum of its parts. That it would become the Mind of Buddha, the universe in small, and that the Mind, out of its compassion, would seek to incarnate itself as a human.”
“The Library is self-aware?” !urq asked. She seemed to find the notion startling.
Jigme could only shrug. “Is the universe self-aware?”
!urq made a series of meditative clicking noises.
“Inside the Diamond Mountain,” Jigme said, “there are processes going on that we cannot comprehend. The Library was designed to be nearly autonomous; it is now so large we cannot keep track of everything, because we would need a mind as large as the Library to process the information. Many of the energy and data transfers that we can track are very subtle, involving energies that are not fully understood. Yet we can track some of them. When an Incarnation dies, we can see the trace his spirit makes through the Library—like an atomic particle that comes apart in a shower of short-lived particles, we see it principally through its effects on other energies—and we can see part of those energies move from one place to another, from one body to another, becoming another Incarnation.”
!urq’s antennae moved skeptically. “You can document this?”
“We can produce spectra showing the tracks of energy through matter. Is that documentation?”
“I would say, with all respect, your case remains unproven.”
“I do not seek to prove anything.” Jigme smiled. “The Gyalpo Rinpoche is his own proof, his own truth. Buddha is truth. All else is illusion.”
!urq put the piece of crystal in her pocket. “If this was our Library,” she said, “we would prove things one way or another.”
“You would see only your own reflection. Existence on the quantum level is largely a matter of belief. On that level, mind is as powerful as matter. We
believe that the Gyalpo Rinpoche is an Incarnation of the Library; does that belief help make it so?”
“You ask me questions based on a system of belief that I do not share. How can you expect me to answer?”
“Belief is powerful. Belief can incarnate itself.”
“Belief can incarnate itself as delusion.”
“Delusion can incarnate itself as reality.” Jigme stood in his stirrups, stretching his legs, and then settled back into his saddle. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “It’s quite true. There was a man who went for a drive, over the pass yonder.” He pointed across the valley, at the low blue pass, the Kampa La, between the mountains Tampa and Tsang. “It was a pleasant day, and he put the car’s top down. A windstorm came up as he was riding near a crossroads, and his fur hat blew off his head into a thorn bush, where he couldn’t reach it. He simply drove on his way.
“Other people walked past the bush, and they saw something inside. They told each other they’d seen something odd there. The hat got weathered and less easy to recognize. Soon the locals were telling travelers to beware the thing near the crossroads, and someone else suggested the thing might be a demon, and soon people were warning others about the demon in the bush.”
“Delusion,” said !urq.
“It was delusion,” Jigme agreed. “But it was not delusion when the hat grew arms, legs, and teeth, and when it began chasing people up and down the Kampa La. The Ministry of Magic had to send a naljorpa to perform a rite of chöd and banish the thing.”
!urq’s antennae gave a meditative quiver. “People see what they want to see,” she said.
“The delusion had incarnated itself. The case is classic: the Ministries of Science and Magic performed an inquiry. They could trace the patterns of energy through the crystal structure of the Library: the power of the growing belief, the reaction when the belief was fulfilled, the dispersing of the energy when chöd was performed.” Jigme gave a laugh. “In the end, the naljorpa brought back an old, weathered hat. Just bits of fur and leather.”
“The naljorpa got a good reward, no doubt,” said !urq, “for bringing back this moldy bit of fur.”
“Probably. Not my department, actually.”
“It seems possible, here on Vajra, to make a good living out of others’ delusions. My government would not permit such things.”
“What do the people lose by being credulous?” Jigme asked. “Only money, which is earthly, and that is a pitiful thing to worry about. It would matter only that the act of giving is sincere.”
!urq gave a toss of her head. “We should continue up the mountain, Rinpoche.”
“Certainly.” Jigme kicked his pony into a trot. He wondered if he had just convinced !urq that his government was corrupt in allowing fakirs to gull the population. Jigme knew there were many ways to Enlightenment and that the soul must try them all. Just because the preacher was corrupt did not mean his message was untrue. How to convince !urq of that? he wondered.
“We believe it is good to test oneself against things,” !urq said. “Life is struggle, and one must remain sharp. Ready for whatever happens.”
“In the Parinibbana-sutra, the Blessed One says that the point of his teaching is to control our own minds. Then one can be ready.”
“Of course we control our minds, Rinpoche. If we could not control our minds, we would not achieve mastery. If we do not achieve mastery, then we are nothing.”
“I am pleased, then,” Jigme smiled, “that you and the Buddha are in agreement.”
To which !urq had no reply, save only to launch herself savagely at the next climb, while Jigme followed easily on his cloven-hoofed pony.
* * *
The scent of incense and flowers filled the Gyalpo Rinpoche’s giant yellow tent. The Treasured King, a silk khata around his neck, sat in the lotus posture on soft grass. The bottoms of his feet were stained green. Ambassador !urq stood ponderously before him, lower lip thrust forward, her four arms in a formal stance, the Incarnation’s knotted scarf draped over her shoulders.
Jigme watched, standing next to the erect, angry figure of Dr. O’Neill. He took comfort from the ever-serene smile of Miss Taisuke, sitting on the grass across the tent.
“Ambassador Colonel, I am happy you have joined us on holiday.”
“We are pleased to participate in your festivals, Omniscient,” said !urq.
“The spring flowers are lovely, are they not? It’s worthwhile to take a whole week to enjoy them. In so doing, we remember the words of Shakyamuni, who tells us to enjoy the blossoms of Enlightenment in their season and harvest the fruit of the right path.”
“Is there a season, Omniscient, for discussing the matter of Gyangtse?”
Right to the point, Jigme thought. !urq might never learn the oblique manner of speech that predominated at the high ministerial levels.
The Incarnation was not disturbed. “Surely matters may be discussed in any season,” he said.
“The planet is desirable, Omniscient. Your settlement violates our border. My government demands your immediate evacuation.”
Dr. O’Neill’s breath hissed out at the word demand. Jigme could see her ears redden with fury.
“The first humans reached the planet before the border negotiations were completed,” the Incarnation said equably. “They did not realize they were setting in violation of the agreement.”
“That does not invalidate the agreement.”
“Conceded, Ambassador. Still, would it not be unjust, after all their hard labor, to ask them to move?”
!urq’s antennae bobbed politely. “Does not your Blessed One admit that life is composed of suffering? Does the Buddha not condemn the demon of worldly desires? What desire could be more worldly than a desire to possess a world?”
Jigme was impressed. Definitely, he thought, she was getting better at this sort of thing.
“In the same text,” said Jigme, “Shakyamuni tells us to refrain from disputes, and not repel one another like water and oil, but like milk and water mingle together.” He opened his hands in an offering gesture. “Will your government not accept a new planet in exchange? Or better yet, will they not dispose of this border altogether, and allow a free commerce between our races?”
“What new planet?” !urq’s arms formed a querying posture.
“We explore constantly in order to fulfill the mandate of the Library and provide it with more data. Our survey records are available through your Library access. Choose any planet that has not yet been inhabited by humans.”
“Any planet chosen will be outside of our zone of influence, far from our own frontiers and easily cut off from our home sphere.”
“Why would we cut you off, Ambassador?”
“Gyangtse is of strategic significance. It is a penetration of our border.”
“Let us then dispose of the border entirely.”
!urq’s antennae stood erect. Her arms took a martial position. “You humans are larger, more populous. You would overwhelm us by sheer numbers. The border must remain inviolate.”
“Let us then have greater commerce across the border than before. With increased knowledge, distrust will diminish.”
“You would send missionaries. I know there are Jesuits and Gelugspa who have been training for years in hopes of obtaining converts or martyrdom in the Sang dominions.”
“It would be a shame to disappoint them.” There was a slight smile on the Incarnation’s face.
!urq’s arms formed an obstinate pattern. “They would stir up trouble among the Maskers. They would preach to the credulous among my own race. My government must protect its own people.”
“The message of Shakyamuni is not a political message, Ambassador.”
“That is a matter of interpretation, Omniscient.”
“Will you transmit my offer to your government?”
!urq held her stance for a long moment. Jigme could sense Dr. O’Neill’s fury in the alien’s obstinacy. “I will do so, Omniscient,” sai
d the Ambassador. “Though I have no confidence that it will be accepted.”
* * *
“I think the offer will be accepted,” said Miss Taisuke. She sat on the grass in Jigme’s tent. She was in the butterfly position, the soles of her feet pressed together and her knees on the ground. Jigme sat beside her. One of Jigme’s students, a clean-limbed lad named Rabjoms, gracefully served them tea and cakes, then withdrew.
“The Sang are obdurate,” said Jigme. “Why do you think there is hope?”
“Sooner or later the Sang will realize they may choose any one of hundreds of unoccupied planets. It will dawn on them that they can pick one on the far side of our sphere, and their spy ships can travel the length of human-occupied space on quite legitimate missions, and gather whatever information they desire.”
“Ah.”
“All this in exchange for one minor border penetration.”
Jigme thought about this for a moment. “We’ve held onto Gyangtse in order to test the Sangs’ rationality and their willingness to fight. There has been no war in twelve years. This shows that the Sang are susceptible to reason. Where there is reason, there is capability for Enlightenment.”
“Amen,” said Miss Taisuke. She finished her tea and put down the glass.
“Would you like more? Shall I summon Rabjoms?”
“Thank you, no.” She cast a glance back to the door of the tent. “He has lovely brown eyes, your Rabjoms.”
“Yes.”
Miss Taisuke looked at him. “Is he your consort?”
Jigme put down his glass. “No. I try to forsake worldly passions.”
“You are of the Red Hat order. You have taken no vow of celibacy.”
Agitation fluttered in Jigme’s belly. “The Mahaparinirvana-sutra says that lust is the soil in which other passions flourish. I avoid it.”
“I wondered. It has been remarked that all your pages are such pretty boys.”
Jigme tried to calm himself. “I choose them for other qualities, Miss Taisuke. I assure you.”
She laughed merrily. “Of course. I merely wondered.” She leaned forward from out of her butterfly position, reached out, and touched his cheek. “I have a sense this may be a randy incarnation for me. You have no desire for young girls?”
The Year's Best SF 09 # 1991 Page 21