"Some situations must be allowed to ripen, or their lessons will not sink in. Had I intervened earlier, such fighting would break out again, worse. By waiting, I insure at least relative peace afterward."

Kranath felt the computer's amus.e.m.e.nt at his next thoughts. "No, given Traiti psychology, you will have fighters and n'Cor'naya for quite a few more millennia. Probably as long as the race exists. And, given my own programming, that pleases me."

Kranath smiled. He hadn't been worried about that, exactly, but since he was Cor'naya, it was good to hear. He wondered when the computer would begin his lessons.

"Now," G.o.dhome replied to his thoughts, "with some history." The landscapes on the walls faded, and the three-dimensional image of a planet, blue-green and girdled with brilliant white clouds, appeared in mid-air.

"Beautiful," the fighter breathed. "Is it Homeworld?"

"Yes," G.o.dhome said, again amused. "It is your home world, but look more closely. It is not this planet. It is quite similar; the major differences are its shorter year and slightly lower gravity. But the biochemistry is identical, to twenty decimals."

(The Tarlac-fragment of Kranath's awareness looked--

(--and was shocked to full self-awareness for an instant. If Terra, pictured here, was the Traiti's true homeworld--

(He wasn't allowed to finish that thought, was forced instead back into Kranath's awareness. Something communicated, not in words: For now merely observe; you may a.n.a.lyze later.)

G.o.dhome's voice grew almost somber. "Intelligence is rare in this galaxy, Kranath. Yet that world has given birth to three intelligent races, two of which sprang from a common ancestor and needed the same land to live. Those who went before cherished intelligence, so when they realized that the two land-based races were destroying each other, they decided to move the numerically lesser race to another world.

Twenty-seven thousand Homeworld years ago, that was done."

Kranath was badly disturbed by that, even though he'd braced himself to accept difficult things. Learning that his people had lost an entire world--their Truehome--made his spirit quail. "Were the others so powerful, then?"

"Not as individuals, no. But they were so numerous you could not have resisted them. Had you remained on Terra, you would have been exterminated millennia ago. Here, you were free to grow without the pressure of human population to hamper you."

(There was a moment of disorientation, and Tarlac knew somehow that part of Kranath's continuing education was being skipped as unnecessary for him. And then, with a shift, he was part of G.o.dhome.)

The computer was thinking that its pupil had done well, even with the advantages of his heritage and training. Kranath considered himself rather ordinary for a Cor'naya, and would have been surprised to learn that G.o.dhome's opinion was far different: his generation was a key one by the reckoning of those who went before, and he was one of several exceptional males who had been born as predicted, then subtly guided by G.o.dhome into developing their full potential without losing the essential values of the Traiti race and culture. Of those, Kranath was easily the best, as shown by his ability to accept facts that were fantastic to him, and then to reason from them. It was a promising sign, G.o.dhome thought, though it was not a guarantee that Kranath would join it. G.o.dhome would use everything its creators hadn't forbidden to influence him to accept, but the decision had to be made freely.

Kranath was sleeping; G.o.dhome sent him dreams, first of the inevitable results if the inter-clan warfare continued, then--before the nightmare brought Kranath awake screaming--of what would happen if he joined with the computer. Kranath's utter rejection of the first dream and determination to make the second one reality, along with his already-expressed willingness to help, could be interpreted as implied consent under one section of G.o.dhome's programming. It took the computer almost a minute to decide to use it, though. That interpretation was perhaps questionable--but it wasn't forbidden, because it left Kranath free to refuse. As long as that was true, G.o.dhome felt justified. It needed the best, and Kranath was the best; there was no reason to delay the first step.

It began working, opening unused mental pathways to free parts of the Traiti's mind that evolution would not normally bring into play for several tens of millennia. Kranath was being brought to a greater maturity than any organic intelligence currently inhabiting the Milky Way Galaxy, receiving minor psionic abilities to prepare him for further changes. G.o.dhome would reverse the process later, if Kranath refused the joining.

Shortly after the computer finished its work, Kranath awoke feeling odd. Good, but abnormally . . . what? Strong, yes, and eagerly alert . . . plus something he couldn't quite define. It was connected with how he was seeing the room, he was sure of that--every detail was so bright as to be almost luminous--but he felt something more.

He stood, not surprised to find himself dressed as he finished the motion, or to see his sleeping mat replaced by a table set for first-meal. G.o.dhome, he thought, was certainly an obliging host.

"I try, my friend," came the mental voice, feeling richer and closer than he remembered it. "Sit, eat if you wish."

If he wished? Kranath smiled. The food, again, was some of his favorite--chunks of dornya meat scrambled into eggs, with bread and corsi juice--so why would he not wish to eat?

Because, he discovered when he seated himself, he had no appet.i.te. The night's visions remained with him, so vivid and compelling that nothing mattered except preventing the first and bringing about the second. He stood again and began pacing, unable to sit still with the need for action burning inside him.

But physical action was useless. He had to think. He was here to learn, to decide . . . no. He had already made the decision that was asked of him, though he realized there was still much he did not know.

What the G.o.ds wanted of him, as G.o.dhome had said earlier, was not minor. Their plans for him did not include the plans he had had for himself before he crashed: life in St'nar, and the comforting presence of clanmates held together by an empathic bond that was never questioned. He had never questioned it himself, never even realized it existed until now, until he . . . what?

Oh. Until he tapped into a fragment of G.o.dhome's primary memory bank, using the new abilities he had just learned the computer had given him.

That would have shocked him the day before, but his new maturity included understanding and acceptance as well as abilities.

He knew with regret that he would be alone in this responsibility. In time his race would grow to become what he now was, and so would their Terran cousins; in the meantime, they were younglings, in need of guidance and protection even from themselves . . . and, until the Peacelord's time, from the knowledge of their lost Truehome.

It would be an awesome, satisfying task. Kranath smiled, accepting his destiny. "I think I know now what joining you means. You want my mind to become part of you."

"Yes, Lord Kranath." G.o.dhome's mental voice seemed to Kranath both solemn and joyous. "Although it is I who will become part of you.

This galaxy is the heritage of organic intelligences, not machines."

It paused. "Yes, they will call you a G.o.d, you and those you call to join you. But it will not be as difficult as you think--or not in the way you think. You do not have to guide their every step, for too much intervention would hamper their development. Like all younglings, they must be allowed to learn from their mistakes. You will do as I have done, watch and step in only when a mistake would destroy the race.

And you will learn that refraining from action is often more difficult than taking it."

"Let it begin, then," Kranath said. "You were right, I need no prompting."

"Very well. Open your mind fully to me, that we may both be fulfilled."

The computer began the process that would end with the dissolution of its own personality. Kranath screamed and fell to his knees in a moment of terror as he became aware of the immensity of what he had committed himself to, and what he was in the process of becoming.

It lasted only a moment, though, before fascination took over. He had seen no more than a tiny fraction of G.o.dhome and felt only the lightest touch of its power, until now. The computer was a fifteen-n'liu cube, yet his newly stretched mind enabled him to comprehend it.

So that was a psionic computer! He had plenty of time to study it in detail--several minutes--before G.o.dhome began the last part of its work, with Kranath's cooperation. His mind was packed with information, then stretched and filled again, until G.o.dhome and the powers it had been given by those who went before were part of him. He knew that he could reach out to touch any intelligence in the galaxy.

There was a final legacy from the computer's creators, one they had left to ease the burden he had a.s.sumed at their call. Gratefully, he accepted the a.s.surances carried in their knowledge, the peace of their certainty that, having been brought to this state, he would use the power he had inherited with wisdom and restraint.

He had gained foresight as well. He was alone for now, but soon enough--in a few hundred years--he would have company, the first of the other Lords he would call to adulthood. At the moment, however, he had work to do.

(Tarlac had already heard from Hovan about some of the Supreme Lord Kranath's doing: providing the clans' altars, a pledge and gift from the Circle; ending the inter-clan fighting; inst.i.tuting the Traiti governmental system of Supreme and Speakers. The Ranger saw how it had happened, and how Kranath, when he no longer needed his physical body, had left it aided by a dagger in the hands of St'nar's Speaker, to initiate the new funeral rites.)

Chapter VII

For a moment, Tarlac felt strange back in his own body. He moved his shoulders, trying to readjust almost as if he were trying to get a new shirt to fit properly. What he'd just experienced hadn't been a dream, he was certain. Four thousand Homeworld years ago, it had happened.

The facts were enough to stagger him. He wasn't sure what he was to do about them, or about his Vision, though he was positive that it would be essential. The Lords only intervened when it was vital.

He wondered briefly if Hovan had been granted a Vision, and if so what it had been, then he decided it didn't matter. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he sat up and began munching on a cold salvis root.

He was only marginally aware of something white at the edge of his vision, until the something said, politely, "Yerroo?"

"What the--!" Tarlac exclaimed, dropping his breakfast and turning.

Then he smiled, recognizing a cloudcat's distinctive soft, thick fur and graceful shape. He guessed that it was one of those who'd been captured; an animal's cage wouldn't hold an unwilling cloudcat. "If you're hungry, I've still got some salvis from last night."

The big cat rose and padded over to sit across the coals from him, extending the two forked tongues that were its speech, as well as its manipulative, organs. "I have eaten well since my escape," it said, gesturing with them, "but I thank you. You handle yourself well in the woods, for a human."

"You're the one who's been following me, then?"

"I am."