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THE PATTERN OF INFINITY

By J. Kel

--Shakespeare

--Einstein

--Edward de Bono

(a.k.a Edward the Good and Edward the Free)

As universes go, this was not so bad. Nor was it so surprising. It had long been suspected that any conceivable universe would be hard-wired for life and mind, carbon or otherwise. This was the first proof. When the wire passed through the Gateway, it arrived at a universe drawn at random, yet everything cooperated. It was a universe identical in physics to the one they had left. There were galaxies with huge dark gaps between them. There were stars and dark gaps between them. And there were planets of every allowable size and chemical composition.

In some of the galaxies there were stars stable enough for life to form. And around some of the stars, nestled in their inhabitable zones, there were planets orbiting where life could flourish. But most of all, as we are getting somewhat ahead of the story, suffused through the great spaces there was starlight. Starlight was the beginning. Starlight is what was required for the wire to begin reforming itself into the patterns of life.

When the wire passed through the Gateway, it was overwhelmingly likely it would exit into empty space. And so it did (or this would be a very short epilogue). But starlight was the true beginning. Starlight is power. Faint power indeed, but weak and rare photons impinging upon a wire as thick as a human air is still a form of power. Power, however diffuse, was all that was required to activate the structural mechanisms coded in the wire, to fold and shape it into a sail thin as a spider's web. And from there gather more starlight and power. The process was slow. But who was watching? Who was waiting impatiently? In this state suspended between matter and life, the passage of time is a void, much as the space the wire found itself in is a void. Empty and without direction. But the conventions of language compel us to say that eventually the sail began to move with direction and purpose returned.

The sail was thin, stitched of zephyr strands, held by molecular bonds, but it was strong sufficiently to get its precious cargo to a home. The sail moved, gathering momentum, and began tacking to the nearest system. In time it came upon a source of raw, cold matter, perhaps a debris field of comets or asteroids, who knows?, and it began the next phase.

It had electricity; now it had matter to consume and transform. Growth and form initiated.

First, the internal programs and tiny assembler robots transformed the asteroid, gathering and ordering molecules into myriads of worker assemblers. The first priority was to make a vast collector of light. It would be a source of power prodigious, from which mirrors would be grown; mirrors for a telescope thousands of kilometers in diameter. Mirrors for melting and forging. The asteroid was part of a belt moving in the vicinity of a brown dwarf star. When the time came some of it was converted. The raw mass became fuel for something that resembled an enormous globe, a million tons intricate perfections that was to be the starship.

In the center of the ship, its job complete, the long wire coiled itself snugly, warm and protected in its sleep.

All that was taking place now was computerized, robotized, preprogrammed. The ship itself came to a form of life, checking and rechecking its systems for the long journey ahead. The telescope brought in data; a huge network of computers digested it, interpreted it, reported on it. The ship began fueling, becoming ever larger in mass and complexity. Inside great engines were being grown and around the engines clusters of observer satellites and probes were hatched waiting for the day of their release.

The search went on. There were star clusters surrounding galaxies, and stars within galaxies, thousands of them, all to be examined. It took a while but the process was efficient. The whole of the process had been thought through long before.

Several promising star systems were located. The Entity was awakened and notified and it was pleased.

The order was given. The fuel fed the star drives, and the ship ignited the fuel, and power and light surged through the ship, and the long wire, now safely and tightly wound within it was on its way at last to a true home.

The pace quickened. The designers knew that their programs would now become, in a sense, eager. They had to be cautious with their most precious of cargoes, but the business of giving rebirth would not be delayed, and they were zeroing in on the first of the selected targets. Alas, it was too dangerous: the star given to unpredictable and spectacular x-ray bursts. It was within the design parameters, almost, but not good enough. Patience was counseled. The Entity gave the order: on to the second.

The second was a young star with several planets, the largest of them recently having drifted into the star's inhabitable region. This star was stable, so there was now excitement throughout the ship. This might well be a place where humans could live. The star was looking forward to a long adulthood. The planet itself was a muddy gas giant, larger than Jupiter, streaked with red and dark colors, grim and beaten, just shy of being a star itself. Circling it were seven moons each roughly the size of Earth. The planet had slowly migrated in from the outer regions and as it had done so the moons had come to tormented geological life. Courtesy of countless in-falling comets, there was oxygen, water. There were oceans. Now there was a livable temperature. With work, these proto-planets would see human beings walking outdoors. So the Entity concurred.

He gave the huge planet a name, in honor of the man who had started it all.

Much work lay ahead, but it was promising. All elements were in place, of this there was no doubt. The signal was given and the great ship swung into orbit around the most promising of the moon-planets ("ploonets"?).

The Entity was relieved to see its meticulous planning finally satisfied. The first thing it checked was also confirmed as being acceptable. The planet would continue its drift into its sun and would eventually be incinerated, but that was millions of years in the future. And things that far in the future were of no interest.

The huge ship inspected the system, launched the probes and satellites as it did so. The probes confirmed this "moon" would be the easiest to "terraform". The control programs went to quickly work, the Entity carefully supervising. The molecular robots entered the atmosphere -- the balance of atmospheric gases was radically altered. Plants were introduced, then microbes, then simple animals, then more complex forms and interactions. An ecology began.

Many of the life forms were from Earth, some from Auron, some from wherever. Starting an ecology is easy but managing it gets complicated fast. Correcting it, adjusting it, controlling it until it matures is an enormous undertaking, taxing even the Entity's computational resources. The Entity observed and thought and was usually satisfied but sometimes it started over. A transformation of this magnitude took time, nearly a century in fact, but it had to be done right before the other planets were attempted. On that, the Entity insisted. It was a perfectionist -- which is why it always enjoyed working with humanity. At any rate, no one was yet around to complain.

Finally, the ship its work complete, began to fission. After it sent out a myriad of probes to the whole of the system, it broke down into enormous satellite observatories, for scanning everything in near and far space, for observing weather local and solar, for studying all the myriad relationships. A vast network was formed to study not only the planets, but the solar system as a system and its place in the unknown universe beyond.

At one point, the Entity inserted ORAC into the network, assigning the task of listening: was anyone else out there? There was nothing.

It was only at the end of the process, that the Entity sent down a sphere housing the wire. The sphere bruised upon the atmosphere, skidding as it entered, made its brief fiery descent and then final plunge. A few kilometers above the surface, a parachute deployed and the sphere bounced, then rolled, and slowed to a stop in enormous green valley. A valley where earth trees and auron grasses awaited. Coming to a halt the sphere opened like an egg hatching some incredible new forms of life. Structures, an array of buildings, formed around it.

Now the Entity had to make a decision. Who to revive first? It continued to have misgivings about humanity. Most would have to be delayed for now, but one choice was special to it. The Auron children would be the first. The other? Here the Entity was as curious as it was concerned. It made the choice knowing full well it might regret it, but the human had suffered enough. And there was much the two had in common.

More buildings sprang up; worker robots were assembled; the molecular trees of knowledge were planted. It was then, their bodies repaired and restored, that the Auron children came to be once more. Dozens, hundreds, then thousands. Shelter was provided in long low buildings. There was food and clothing in abundance, followed by learning and amusements. Their bodies they discovered had been restored to perfection. But their minds were fearful and the Entity did not know how to change that.

The robots called "Herberts", which the children knew well, once again provided instruction and guidance. Civilization, after a fashion, resumed. The children soon knew what to do, but no longer were sure why. That worried the Entity. He wondered if they did not trust him.

There were no adults and there would not be any for some time and that should help. The Entity did not want to deal with adults until later. Neither did the children. It was concerned that it was viewed as an adult.

Eventually, when it was satisfied the children were doing as well as could be hoped, it brought forth its first human adult choice. So it came to be on the tranquility of this new Eden, that the pattern that had been Vila Restal was reborn to matter and form once more. And, as it should have been expected, greeted his new universe with the bat-like screeching and screaming that he had left the old one.

Getting Vila coherent and calm again proved to be difficult. Several times the Entity tried, using its assumed form to coax Vila back to reason. Regrettably, inspired new stimulants (for the day) and sedatives (for the night) did not help. It was starting to look hopeless. Finally, an idea came: radically change the perspective. The poor creature was probably still suffering from confinement anxiety. Let the man awaken, not to a sterile, grim room, but to the open sky and . . .

Vila on sedation, his deep sleep emotions of sheer terror and unstoppable horror raging beneath the surface of consciousness, was brought outside into the cool dawn air one fine morning, a morning of clear blue sky and rising sun. As the effects of the sedation gradually receded, he awoke (again) and for the first time was absolutely silent and filled with wonder as . . .

. . . his eyes opened to a scene of utter tranquility. He was on a bed, but the bed was where? Outdoors? This had to be a very strange dream. He did not understand it at all. He propped himself up and looked around. Before him, around him, were children. For as far as he could see, hundreds of them, watching him with curious eyes. Eyes that were muted, remote, worried, not hostile, not yet friendly. Expectant perhaps? He took it all in. Behind him was a series of enormous long white buildings; before him were wooded green hills smooth and bulging from a plain covered with something resembling wheat. And above? He almost fell back. He was under a sky with wisps and feathers of clouds where dominating the whole of the scene was the largest moon he ever could have imagined.

His emotions moved quickly from being startled, to being in awe, to gradually being slightly offended (couldn't they have given him pajamas?) until finally being as curious as he had ever been in his life. He sat back up. The hundreds of eyes continued to watch his every move. He tried to speak but still he could say nothing. He tried to remember. He did not want to go back, but yes, these would be the Auron children, aged about eleven or twelve. He looked more closely at them. They seemed to be in that age range, but their eyes looked older. They were dressed simply, yet distinctly, with all manner of oddly colored clothing, loose, flowing. Graceful, he thought. He returned to the eyes. They did look old. Then he remembered. That terrible night.

Now he looked back at them in wonder and sadness. A glass of water was brought to him and he nodded in gratitude. A new day indeed. He was alive and looking forward to a new day promising to be so warm. He leaned back. What a life.

How long had he been out?

Another child came forth and presented him with a large tray. His first meal and was he excited! It was a meal that should have been familiar. Toasted bread, cereal, milk! All very light; all very quaint, but he was amazed. Vila looked out to the valley. Of course he could see no cows. So, however it is done, bless the miracle.

There were trees. Come to think of it, some of the trees were very strange. He had never seen trees with huge black leaves. It had to all fit together. This was one incredible dream.

Then a third child, a girl, brought him clothes, placing them gently on the bed. He asked her name. She telesent //Trysha//, bowed and backed away. He thanked her, thanked all of them and, in one very strange sights this very odd morning, they turned their backs in unison to him. He quickly dressed.

He then sat back on the bed. Eating was the first priority. Speaking could wait. Manners could wait. So he ate his breakfast, trying to be as slow as possible, but not succeeding. Gradually, the children turned back to him.

This would never do. "Do you," he made his voice as loud and direct as he could, "uh, well, talk?"

A thousand voices assented at once, thought voices burrowing into his mind like hushed whispers. Vila gestured hurriedly for . . . enough. He took another gulp of grapefruit juice. His gesture was understood. He finished his meal in silence.

He stood. "Perhaps there is a spokes (boy? girl?) person among you? I only have one channel," he pointed to his head, smiling. A boy stepped forward.

The lad with black, intelligent eyes looked at him. His eyes were huge, but his voice was small and shy as if speaking were very uncomfortable, particularly to an adult. Vila leaned over to hear. "Forgive us. We were told you would be coming around, but we were unsure when. We have been waiting several days. New medicines were given to help you feel and sleep better. Last night he told us to move you out so you could see us when you awoke."

Vila thought about that. Was the Entity here? That would explain a lot. It seemed a good sign, but he couldn't help frowning. "Well, I thank you. It worked. What more can I say?"

//Are you an Auron? WE were told you are not.//

Vila was startled. Did they think it would lie, or did they trust no one? "No, I am not. And please don't telesend unless I request it. Thank you. I mean amongst yourselves it is fine, but I want to keep this open to everyone. Maybe it is. But I am more comfortable . . . am I making sense? Do you understand?" he was asking all of them.

And they did all nod in unison. He sighed. "Anyway," he moved away from the bed as they parted before him. "It's true, I am not an Auron. But it is not important. What is important is who and what I am, not what I am not. Who knows who I am?"

A thousand pairs of eyes looked at him blankly. Despite the gravity of their faces, he almost laughed. "I see. We start from zero here, don't we? Or do we? Either this is heaven, which seems unlikely since I am here, or," his voice slowed, "we did make it. All of us" But where were the others? He looked down at the flowing grass then stooped down and pulled some up, rubbing it in his hands, smelling it. He seemed supremely satisfied for the moment, but then he remembered. "Most of you. And one of us." He caught himself. "My name is Vila Restal. I am a human being."

They were neither appreciative or scornful at the remark, but merely accepting for the time being the reality of someone different from themselves. He held out both hands, palm up. Physically, he felt very strong. Mentally, he was terribly unsure. "Perhaps we could go on a brief tour? Anyone care to guide me?" Mentally he remained weak and uncertain. He glanced back. "And would someone please roll that bed back inside?"

The morning tour took them far from the long buildings, along a widening path that cut through the nearby low hills and the strange trees. The trees fascinated him but the children seemed to pay no mind to them. Along the way, his guides pointed out some of the buildings that made up the complex: those dedicated to tracking the satellites and probes, and the large cubical building that was the central server complex for the entire interplanetary network. The buildings were only a few stories high, dull or restrained in design depending on how you judged him. He shook his head. An architect the Entity would never be.

But what was truly surprising to him was when they left the black trees and passed through a true forest of green and decay with old logs crunching under him. That was startling enough, but before him, extending into the valley was an enormous field of houses. Houses of every conceivable description, pitched at random over the landscape. He guessed there were hundreds, perhaps thousands of these tiny dwellings. Some were of basic geometric design, but most were of patterns that could only be described as chaotic, with spires and broken angles, some that seem to thrust heavenward and some that seemed to burrow into the ground. He had to stop to take it all in. The children around him stopped as well.

He asked the obvious question. "You live here?"

//Yes, silly man// came the chiding response. In the air there were hundreds of suppressed snickers. He looked at the girl Trysha. She seemed to remain solemn so he addressed the question to her.

"I mean you designed and built them?"

"Of course," she said. "No different, in fact easier, than designing a plant." She offered him a long leaf, one she obviously had ready for the occasion. "We were never allowed to make our houses before. Is that what you meant?"

Vila did not know what he meant. Language was struggling here. He was still having a hard time believing this was not a dream no matter how many times he pinched himself, or that reoccurring feeling that he had trespassed into someone's very odd idea of heaven and would be caught at any moment. Could you a pinch in heaven? He did not know. He had never studied theology.

"Yes, I think so," he said aloud to himself. Finally he could stand it no more. Before them was the broad vista of the valley and above hung that enormous moon. It was a most intimidating astronomical spectacle. Vila pointed up to it, which seemed foolish even as he did so, and asked: "What is that?"

//'Blake'.//

Vila gave up. All right, telesend! He must have appeared terribly confused. "That is . . . no, I mean that moon.'

//No, silly. This is the moon. That is the planet we orbit. The Entity gave it that name. He told us some of the story.//

"I see. How long have you been here?"

//Six months since we . . . // she hesitated. //Reawakened.//

"And what is this called?" He gestured to his feet.

//New Auron.//

Vila nodded. Maybe it did make sense. They resumed the walk. He noticed the density of the houses was thinning and that many of the children were apparently dropping away for more interesting pursuits. Had he become so dull so quickly?

Of course all this had to be the work of the Entity. Vila was simultaneously grateful and vexed.

He was eager to explore this place on its own, but without guides he was sure to feel like a terribly misinformed tourist. For a moment he wondered how long it would take before he truly missed adult companionship. Not very long, he realized. Being the only chaperone in a community of several thousand preteens was the stuff of nightmares. And all he had seen so far in the way of non-children were a few helper robots.

"Am I the only adult?"

Her companion interrupted. //Well, not exactly . . .//

//Well, he is an adult. He is old and . . .//

Vila was annoyed. Of course. All roads kept coming back to . . . "The Entity?" he asked.

//The Entity.//

And so it was. The Entity was not his idea of a friend, but it would have to do. Vila was directed by the remaining children to its dwelling: at least in so far as it could be said to have one. They only knew that this is where the Entity would be found on this particular morning. At other times, who knew where it could be?

By now Vila was insistent upon pursuing his explorations on his own. He was grateful the children were almost gone. He had a lot of questions to ask and a lot of answers he was determined to get, but he would not do so as part of a crowd. He was starting to remember more clearly and despite everything feeling better. He was recovering, even he had to admit that.

He walked boldly up to the door and stopped. The last minutes: there had been the plunge through the Gateway then everything went blank. The next moment he was here. Dead for certain. Then a live Vila once more.

He shook his head. He should have been used to the process by now, but a second time made it no easier. It still took a lot of adjusting to, this ghost business.

From the angle of the sunlight he guessed it was almost noon local time. He knocked loudly on the door. "Anybody home?" he asked. He looked around, but the children were gone.

The door opened and there before him stood, and it should have been surprising, Mykal Hodos. But nothing surprised Vila here. Yes, of course. He had watched the man giving an oration just before the attack. He had watched that man be cut down and left to die. So it follows that . . .

It couldn't be him. "I suppose there is a reason you have assumed this particular form?" Vila asked wearily.

"Emphatically! Please come in Vila Restal. May I call you Vila? I realize there is much you wish to discuss. I am so glad to see you finally coming about! I was worried. I mean physically you are quite well, strong and alert and so forth. But mentally, I fear you have a way to go . . . before healing." Vila entered the doorway. "I expect you will have questions, now and many more later. Try not to grasp everything at once. It is quite a lot to absorb. Perhaps this will help relieve your apprehension -- you will be delighted to know I have been doing a lot of thinking!"

Inside the dwelling, he was unsure if it was delight he was feeling. Shaped with all the imagination of an overturned bowl, the rounded interiors gradually began to glow with a soft green light. There was no furniture, but the floor was smooth. It also had a damp appearance; it was not particularly enticing.

"I would fancy a place to sit."

"Consider the floor! Take off your shoes; make yourself at home. You will find this place adequate to the task. Please," the Entity gestured emphatically. "Sit wherever. You have probably been walking a lot. The children have been wanting to show the place off . . . of course, they have had no one to show it off to until now . . . in any event their village is small and you needed the exercise . . ." it stopped. "Shall I bring you something?"

Vila took a seat, hesitantly, but the floor was soft and not as damp as it appeared. It seemed almost to embrace his form. He propped himself against the wall and relaxed somewhat. "A glass of water. And a large serving of truth," he sighed.

"Both will be served you, in whatever quantities you desire. Or can accept. The time for falsehood, deception, and half-truths is over. We shall be honest with one another! Henceforth, the truth and only the truth!" The Entity sat next to him as a small robot waiter brought in a pitcher and glass.

For several seconds Vila was silent. Not knowing what to ask at first, his boldness had startled him. He was feeling better, even as he was trying to keep the heartache at bay, trying to silence the guilt roiling within him. He should start at the basics. But what were they?

"Why that particular form?" he nudged again.

The Entity seemed to appreciate the question. "It was a form that the children would recognize, and one you would have no attachment to. There weren't many possibilities," it said dryly. "Someone was needed to provide assistance, guidance if you will. Most of me is terribly busy almost all the time. Indeed, I sometimes worry I am neglecting them. In any event, a form was required and this one seemed workable."

Vila studied at it. The answer seemed oddly disconnected, and he got the sense the Entity was thinking of too many things at once. But it was good to have someone to talk with.

"Then, may I ask: what are you?"

"Why, a question with many possible answers! An assemblage of molecules for a start. In principle no different than yourself, but what you see before you is only a part of a much larger 'Entity', if you will. Only one ten-millionth of that larger. Impressive! Agreed? Or," the Entity reflected, "do you mean the essence of what I am?" Later. Here," and the Entity showed it's arm to Vila, allowing him to touch the cloth of the coat. Vila hesitated at first, then did so. It felt like an ordinary fabric.

"Actually, it's merely another arrangement of atoms that happens to look and feel just like cloth. Sometimes, I don an actual piece of cloth, a scarf or a hat, just to see if any of the children can tell the difference." His smile left him.

"Which reminds me. Let me explain about the children. In a sense, I did to them what I did for you to bring them around. That is, I provided them with a radically different perspective. I wanted them to be left in peace initially and while I agree it is imperative that at least one adult be brought back, I could not see the need for any others, not yet. Though I remain intellectually committed to bringing them back, of course. In any event, the choice of you almost made itself! Pleased?"

"I don't relish being the new Adam." And Vila wondered why it continued to evade his questions and was so disconcertingly upbeat as well as unsure.

The Entity appeared to suppress a laugh, but immediately looked unhappy. "Welcome to Eden! You came into this world unclothed and laden with guilt. I do not mean to make light of you, but does it strike you that there is indeed a resemblance to your mythical ancestor? Perhaps there is a resemblance between us as well. Yes?"

The Entity leaned closer. "You should know there is some resistance, for depressingly obvious reasons, to bringing any of the human adults back, which is why I have hidden the 'wire' where the 70 billion people are encoded. It is kept away from them but I will lead you to it at some point. I am certain you are . . . curious."

"Yes. I am curious. You told them a little about . . .

"Their knowledge of history is not the best. It will take time . . . it is not a terrible lack of course, but still I concede they need some if only as a reference. I explained to them, so there would be no misunderstanding, that you were crucial to their rescue -- and that your friends had perished in the mission. Several hundred of the children's friends and companions, brothers and sisters, had died as well."

"I wondered why they didn't seem terribly impressed."

"Not yet, but I believe there is the possibility of a bond forming with you. When I suggested assisting in your recovery, they truly did want to help. Gratifying."

Vila pondered that. Did the thing have emotions? It seemed to, in an odd, confused manner. If so, what did they mean to it? How did it use them? "Do they know what else I did?"

"No," the Entity said firmly. "Later. Your part in the whole business. They will be eager to hear your story. Directly."

Vila sighed, becoming depressed in agreement. "Soon enough, I am sure. Do you know, off hand, how many were killed when the mine hit the Capitol?" It was a morbid streak in him that had to know. If there were a way to quantify the immeasurable guilt he felt, perhaps he could limit it.

The Entity answered with hesitation. "It is wise to think about what happened, but try not to dwell on to the exclusion of all else. There is more than enough guilt to pass around. I know. I estimate, based on the data which was gathered and analyzed, that at least one hundred million, perhaps as many as a billion, were killed outright."

Inside he took it like a punch to the stomach, but outwardly he did not react. He just stared into the surrounding space, feeling the floor as if it were about to curl around him. "I had to know."

"May I suggest something? It may be of value to you to write down your history, your life story in other words. Though I try not to be overawed by history, this might be a means for you to come to grips with the enormity of what has happened to you and the children. History as therapy, if you will. That certainly is a proper use. When you feel up to it, just write it all down as objectively as possible. You may want to have the children read it . . . or you could tell them directly. ORAC," he saw Vila's eyes light up, "has in its possession a lot of material. And I can supply more, and you yourself have your memory intact . . ."

"Can I see ORAC?" Vila said abruptly, delighted for no reason he could identify upon hearing the name.

"Soon enough," the Entity said confidently.

"From the beginning?" Vila appeared overwhelmed at the enormity of the task.

"Actually, no. I suggest it might be better, since the two of you . . . if you began with Avon's own attempt to come to grips with his past, about a year and a half before your," the Entity hesitated, ". . . first resurrection. Do you see what I am driving at?"

"A parallel between Avon and myself?" An appalling thought.

"A parallel between Avon and all men, especially yourself. It is hard to explain, but I think you will see that there is art in your tale."

Vila was feeling dizzy. "Let me think about it. Can we talk in a few days? I am still very tired."

"Of course," the Entity cheerfully agreed. Then it stood abruptly. "To the business at hand. Now, as you are not feeling the best, you are welcome to stay here but I have been thinking, as I said . . . we do have guest houses. You could occupy one of them. They are fully supplied, equipped. You will have peace, at least until the children seek you out . . ."

"I can handle them. I think. It's just that, things are very strange. I've been able to adjust to a lot of things in my life, but I am not even sure who the 'I' is anymore. I mean, where are we? When are we?" Why are we?

The Entity stopped and took on a quizzical expression as if mulling it over. "So many questions; none of them easy. Please follow me outside. To the first, I might well ask you: relative to where? I am afraid your questions are not well-formed. Not well-formed at all. Dear me," he continued as they left and walked back in the direction of the village, "there is no way it can ever be calculated, in an objective sense, how long ago and how far away the whole business was." He pointed out the trees and sky where the monstrous planet of Blake lorded over them, ghostlike in the afternoon sun. "This is our home now. We are, somewhere, in an infinitude of universes. The past exists, in each of us, in our own separate histories, but as a place, as a time, it is no more. Gone. And I could not begin to tell you 'why'."

Vila nodded slowly. "Look, I will need time to absorb this . . ."

"Of course, but try not to take too long," the Entity hurried on. "There is so much work to be done. To be blunt, I could use help."

He considered that. He was starting to feel weak again. He didn't want to rush until anything until he knew more, until he had settled. "Let me put it this way," he asked. "That wire held the patterns of everyone in the Federation?"

"Of the late Federation. Yes, you can think of the wire as literally the whole of surviving humanity."

"But not of my friends?"

"No. . . I worried you would come back to that. As I tried to explain, their patterns are hopelessly entwined with Servalan's, forever and always. We cannot bring back one without brining back the other. It was the price we had to pay, one of many, for victory. I am so very sorry. Sorry for us all." And that sounded genuine.

He swallowed, as if holding back a terrible sob. "No chance at all," his voice was muted, trying to accept as he stopped, looking over the valley.

"Let me put it this way. To free them would require infinite computation power and I mean that quite literally. Which is just another way of saying never. Every universe that we will ever encounter will be finite. Even mindspace, where Terminal resided halfway, has finite boundaries -- vast, huge in excess of physical space, but finite nonetheless. A physics of transfinite computation," the Entity regretted using technical terminology but felt it had no choice, "is not to be. We are finite beings, after all, always to remain so. And there never was a need for it."

"There is now!"

The Entity stopped, momentarily startled by the fierceness in the man. How poorly was he feeling? The medicines should have corrected most . . . "I sense my answer is not fully convincing, and I regret that. Let me think more on it and give you a better, more thorough, more reasoned answer later. All I can say is: their fate cannot be altered."

As they were about to leave, it seemed to the Entity that perhaps he was placing Vila under too much pressure. The man after all had just awoke from a trauma and now to be told there was an endless amount of work for him to accomplish, and that the one thing he wanted more than any other, the return of his friends was flat out impossible . . . well, it did seem wrong to be so brief and blunt about it. The Entity glumly accepted the realization: it still had much to learn about its charges. In all its eagerness to help, it seemed to be forever hurting them. Perhaps the resistance it was now encountering was a hint that it should try a different approach, a different perspective.

Vila was still glowering at him when he suggested. "We have been talking for a while; unless you are hungry, we could look at the guest houses. As I say, there are a number and you will need a place to stay."

Vila relented, nodding. It did sound like a good a idea. He needed to recover, have time by himself, think this through. Well, no, that is not exactly what he wanted. He meant quite the opposite in fact. He wanted someone to talk with. It was just that the Entity and the children were not his idea of congenial companions.

So as they walked along the trail, they came first to one of the nearby guest houses, a charmingly simple affair resembling a medieval hut, at least in external appearance. Quaint -- but much too close to the children. Vila shuddered and the Entity unperturbed guided him away. In fact, it seemed to have something different in mind; something sure to be more agreeable.

For his part, Vila was starting to dislike the silent smugness of the thing and its annoyingly glib answers, but found himself increasingly wanting to talk to anyone. Anything. Painful as it was, he had to know more, to understand as much as possible the enormity of what had happened. And for now, the Entity was his only hope, though he was beginning to think ORAC would have been better.

"I hope you don't mind that there are a few things bothering me . . ." He was feeling lightheaded.

"Never," said the Entity brightly. "Give me your questions. I will do my best to address them."

"All right. Just what is the 'pattern of infinity'?"

"Oh, that phrase ORAC used? It is only a metaphor, an obscure image with some slight meaning hiding behind it. I have no idea where it comes from myself, but I believe it refers to the postulated central engine of existence, the thing that generates all change: little can be said of it, other than it is infinitely complex and utterly, totally random. We wouldn't be here without it. Than again we might not be here with it."

"Thanks," Vila regretted the question already. "I knew it would be something simple," he sighed. "So what did ORAC mean by the phrase?"

"I think it meant, and this is only an educated guess on my part since we don't talk very much, a place where the opposites, good and evil, violence and peace, love and hate, mix and become inseparable, perhaps even in distinguishable. In that one instance, ORAC probably meant that Avon was heading for just such a situation in his meeting with Blake."

"A metaphor as a warning." He thought on that. "Rather obscure. Not even Avon figured it out."

"A truly marvelous metaphor."

"Glad you think so. Nothing more?"

"Well, it's that infinity business again. Infinity is buried in there somewhere one always presumes. I mean it all depends on whether you believe in absolute infinity . . ."

"I'm not sure what I believe, least of all that. Forget it. Then 'what is life?'"

The Entity smiled. "You will be delighted to know they all tie together. Life is the mechanism that breaks the symmetry; that permits good to separate from evil, peace from war, love from hate and ultimately, such is the long term hope, for good to overcome its opposite, though victory is never assured."

"Of course. Don't we know that! Delightful. And death?"

It stopped. "That is more difficult. Here, where there is no death, at least none that is preordained, it may be most difficult question of all. But if you think of death as the crudest, most ugly form of the engine of change . . . then perhaps what you are truly asking is: why the tragedy of death? There are many other, far superior ways to achieve the same evolutionary result, but in the beginning, and only the beginning, one must start with death."

They entered a forest enclave. There is no death here, he wondered.

"I should have said: there does not have to be any death here."

They moved deeper inside a wooded area where they came upon a clearing. Here the air was humid and warm. In the quiet of the place, Vila noted that as the Entity walked it never once made a sound, no snapping twigs, no sound of squishing soft ground.

In the clearing was a small house which looked like a moss covered dome with slit like windows. As it waited, he walked around the house, fascinated. But he was also having an odd sensation -- that they were being watched. When he returned to the Entity, he whispered, "Do we have company?"

The Entity nodded. "Almost certainly some of the children are watching us. There is no hiding from them! They should not bother you, at least initially. Shall we go inside?"

He agreed and walked up to the door and placed his palm against it. This door was also keyed to his palm print, as had the others, and it opened easily. The Entity explained, he would have automatic access to all the unoccupied guest houses. Inside, there were narrow windows along the sides of the living room and the light that filtered in had a diffuse, almost spiritual quality to it. Vila found it depressing. He was glad when the internal lighting quickly adjusted to his presence.

There was furniture and a carpet. On the walls were various monitors tuned to different parts of the planet. Indeed, one entire wall was a monitor. He tried the furniture for several minutes until the Entity quietly reminded him. "There is more. Why don't you examine all the rooms?"

So he did. First the kitchen, then the dining area, the study, and finally, deciding he did actually like this place, the master bedroom. And there waiting for him on a credenza close to the bed, was the ORAC device with its key carelessly placed upon. At first Vila laughed, the joy of recognition for an old friend he never thought he would see again. He rushed back to the main entrance to tell the news, but the Entity had vanished. When he returned, he quickly inserted the key.

He was so tired. And upon hearing the irritated voice once more, he thought . . . all that is left . . . and sat on the bed and openly wept. Soon enough he was fast asleep.

For several days he worked only at getting accustomed to the house, putting all thoughts of anything else far from his mind. His new home was from so many aspects near ideal. The setting was perfect (outside was a large, well-tended garden), the surrounding trees like columns of an ancient temple; inside the furniture was stylish, light, comfortable and easily moved. The arrangement together was simple, uncluttered, easily appreciated. And inside everything was self-cleaning. The Entity had even provided an extensive wardrobe, every item of which fit him perfectly. There were network connections that permitted him to tour the whole of this new solar system, or to see what activities the children were up to, or to sample innumerable education channels. There was even an entertainment channel, but it was for the most part endless varieties of games as education, education as games and all manner of electronic pranks for the unwary fool hardy enough to enter.

Vila liked and admired all that had been given him, but like the entertainment channel, soon he was having difficulty bringing himself to care. If the past had been too difficult, this future was far too simple. Even the spectacular space vistas quickly became monotonous. At the end of a day, he would sit in his living room, watching the wall monitors, tired and increasingly depressed. He needed to do something, but writing was out of the question, and there was nothing he wanted to read. Certainly not his own memoirs.

After a week or so of such listless activity, his attempts at compiling the history having come to naught, he was sitting in the living room in robe and slippers, his mind numb as he dully ate breakfast, flipping the channels for no particular reason, when he heard voices. Astonished, he rushed to the door. It flew open, he went outside, but could see no one. He waited and looked and was about to close it, when the voices started again. It could only be the children. He should have been reassured, but the chant was unnerving.

He went outside again, more cautiously. "Humans are Evil!" the voices chanted. He could not bring himself to respond. He just stood there, stunned. He was too weary, far too unhappy to be provoked into anything resembling an energetic response to so weak a taunt. The taunt stopped. He waited. It came again, this time louder. "HUMANS are EVIL!" He walked closer to the source. He half expected something to thrown his way, but nothing came.

"It was humans who rescued you!" he shouted at the shrubs and trees.

"AVON is EVIL!" they yelled back.

They did not know the whole story. The Entity had . . . well, how much had the Entity told them? And, more to the point, how much had they believed?

"Avon was human," he agreed, completing the syllogism, his voice low.

That seemed to stop them for a few seconds. He looked around, but could see nothing. For a moment he wondered if he was responding to some electronic device. He shook his head. He was probably being broadcast on the local network, standing there, looking like a complete fool . . .

He heard rustling and moved closer to some bushes. Suddenly three of the children burst from behind the trees and began running. He stopped, knowing he could not catch them and not wanting to.

When it was clear to them he was not pursuing, they turned and shouted at him. "Servalan was the Worst."

They did not know the full story.

"Servalan was an Auron," he said quietly. He could not shout the truth. He did not know if it would come out as an unforgivable insult or as something to horrible to bear. He walked slowly back into the house. The door shut quietly behind him.

He was not disturbed the rest of the day but the rest of the day he was disturbed. Things were churning inside him. His feeble efforts at editing the huge mass of material ORAC and others had assembled on the last three years of the rebellion now came to a complete halt. He could not read any of it. He angrily turned off the monitors and sat in the darkened living room, his arms folded, brooding. The more he thought about the Entity's answers, the less satisfied he became. What had happened? There was a profound mystery here. Why was he no closer to solving it? Finally that evening, still trying to understand what had happened from the beginning to those final minutes, he realized he and the Entity had to talk. Something was wrong. The Entity could not be telling him all that it knew. He wondered if he would sleep at all this night. His mind was racing. He went back to the bedroom and sat on the bed, then spoke to ORAC.

"Get a hold of the bastard." he muttered.

#I presume you are referring to the software object known as the 'Entity'? Do you wish to communicate with it? This is a . . .#

"It's important! And get me a secure channel. I don't want anyone else listening. I'll take it in the living room," he said, getting up abruptly.

As soon as he entered the living room, he heard the phone ring. He had left the bedroom in a huff and now threw himself down on the sofa. His presence sensed, soft light filled the space and a small cheery fire lit itself in the fireplace. Vila hated it all. He waited. After a few rings, the phone announced sternly he had a call. Vila finally picked it up, his anger undiminished. At least I know it can't be a wrong number.

"Hello!" Vila said loudly.

"You wish to converse?" came the voice on the other end.

"What other reason would I have to make a call? Look, I had visitors today, not friendly. I think some of the children are . . . " he struggled for the word.

"Bored? Restless? I have worried about that as well. You weren't attacked were you?"

"No, and that is not what I am trying to say! To hell with it. I'm just telling you it it was not a friendly visit. It has bothered me all day. I am worried this might be a start of something . . ." Vila's voice died. Finally, he burst out, "May I ask: what is their lesson plan?"

"Well, there is quite a lot to keep them busy," came the voice, almost chipper: "basic thinking skills, basic government -- public choice theory in other words -- biology, mathematics of course, chemistry, physics . . ."

Vila cut him off. "Why am I getting the impression that a few subjects are being overlooked."

"Such as?"

"Such as history. I think you are skimping on that. And literature. And the whole of the . . . " Vila was shocked by the violence of his thoughts.

The Entity picked up on the unspoken word: "Humanities?"

"Yes!"

The Entity was silent for a few moments. "I will be right over." And in an instance it was in his living room.

"Do you ever knock?"

"I was invited."

"Forget it." Vila hung up the phone in disgust.

"Mind if I have a seat?"

"You can fly around the room for all I care."

The Entity took on of the available the chairs. It was still dressed in its tweed leisure suit and still looking far too like Mykal. It was worse than enduring a know-it-all dinner guest. This was one he had watched die. He should have gotten over being unnerved by the sight, but he could not. This whole place was starting to get to him. He studied the Entity sourly.

"How is your history coming?" the Entity asked quietly.

Vila glared at him. "You know what the great Edward said about history?"

"Why, yes I do. And I agree with him. He warned us that ' . . . if you do learn the lessons of history you are doomed to be trapped by them'. Which is why my suggestion to you has been to use history as a therapy. I do not want you trapped in the past. Nor the children."

Vila wrung his hands. "Well, my history is not coming. I spent most of the week working on a one page note about Sarkoff's election. This is such a depressing story . . . "

"But perhaps you can help write the happier ending."

Vila suppressed a groan. "Let me put it this way: my sense is the danger of the children getting trapped by history is minimal."

It nodded diffidently. "I did not believe they were ready. They are . . ."

Vila interrupted. "They are what? Do either of us have any idea? I've been struggling with this for days. Now this . . . Look, a lot of things are bothering me. I can't just sit here. I've got to do something. What is going on?"

"You are blocked?"

"Of course I'm blocked! What the hell is the matter with you? This whole place is spinning out of control and where are you? Off doing almost everything except what you should!"

"And that being?" The Entity seemed genuinely confused and irritatingly patient. It was driving Vila crazy.

"How should I know? Maybe it is my own guilt. And what would you know about that?" Vila's arms fell to his side. "I realized today none of this is working. I'm sorry. Writing my memoirs for heaven's sake is nothing I want to do right now." He paused. "And . . . I can't get it out of my mind."

"The incident?"

"Yes! I can't turn my back on them and . . . "

The Entity nodded gravely and Vila continued, more frustrated than he had ever been in his life. "Sitting here like this . . . this not me. I didn't come here to be a retired hermit! I feel terrible about what has happened, what I did, but feeling something is not enough. This . . . wait a minute. Would you mind telling me something? I've got to know. What did happen those final minutes? Tell me! Where are the 70 billion people of the Federation! ORAC tells me . . ." but he stopped abruptly.

The Entity observed him impassively. "I warned you these things would come back to you piecemeal. You have to be prepared for that. But we will deal with them as they come. I can help, but only . . ."

"You are not my therapist! Out with it. How did we get here? There was no chance of us making it through that Gateway was there?"

The Entity's eyes reflected the light of the fire. "That is not completely true. The odds were not impossible, just extremely unlikely . . ."

"I'll bet they were! Look, something is way out of line. What happened?"

It seemed for a moment that a wave passed over its form, as if unable to formulate not what it was to say but what it was to be. "There is much that would not make sense to you. You asked earlier what I am. Let us say, I manipulate symbols. I use cultural symbols, archetypes, to guide the flow of events. I could not fight Servalan directly. I had to be far more subtle; I had to confuse and misdirect. The Tree, the Messiah, these are symbols that go back to the dawn of your history. They were readily available and I used them. That was just the beginning of my interventions . . ." Abruptly, it switched, Vila want to say "gears" but that seemed the wrong way to put it. "Of course it was all rubbish. Avon as the Messiah, indeed! Who could ever believe such nonsense?"

Vila answered slowly. "Many did. It worked. That part worked."

The Entity shook its head as if in a parody of weariness. "I suppose. It began simply enough, but it got so terribly out of hand. I could not predict. Don't you see? Almost from the start I was grabbing at whatever because . . . the Plan had to succeed! If the Plan failed . . . "

"It did succeed. Didn't it? And the business about Molli and Avon being . . . "

"Yes!" The Entity was increasingly agitated. "It was true! I stumbled across it when I was first trying to reach Molli. There was something different about her. I sensed it at once, but it took years for me to understand. And even now . . . I realized to my shock Avon had a form of it as well! Together they had the potential to alter reality, but how, in what way? You must understand -- I myself don't know what happened near the end. Molli died. All the instruments confirmed it. I left her dead . . . There was so much to do . . . Everything had failed . . ."

"You do have emotions," Vila said, unemotionally.

The Entity glared at him. "There is nothing odd about that! At a certain point in the evolution of intelligence, artificial or otherwise, emotions are as natural consequence as self-awareness. Do you think humans invented them and have a patent? Emotions are data reducers and condensers. They speed up the process of communication. They are the substrate of language, the essence of meaning. Properly used they are excellent tools of cognition as well, I might add."

So there. Vila thought for several moments. Why was this creature so defensive? What was it trying to hide? "Getting back to what you are avoiding. Something happened. At least the records hint at it. You saw Molli die and then later she was alive. She and Avon were together at some point. And now," he sighed, "here we are." He spread his hands. "Quite a lot of gaps."

"Correct!" beamed the Entity. "Things worked out! Odd business though. We could never . . . " Again its mood shifted drastically. "When I went back to . . . she was alive. The instruments must have been faulty. They really cannot be trusted. So primitive. I will have to design better. You are asking, I think, could she have at the moment of death tapped into para-reality, the continuum of possible worlds that surround every instance? If she did, perhaps she could indeed have done what she said: make adjustments to existence. How I wish I knew more . . ."

He did not have the slightest idea of what to make of it. Neither it seemed, did the Entity and that seemed genuine. "I am not sure if that is what I am asking, but she . . .", he hesitated.

"With Avon, the great love of her life . . . What a hypothesis! But I don't know."

Vila tried to complete the thought, "Together enabled us to make it through."

"We cannot conclude that! We are here. That is all anyone can say."

Vila suddenly leapt up. "Do you see what is bothering me? Why am I here? Why me and not them? None of this makes sense. But I can tell you this. Now that I am here, I won't just sit around and ignore what is happening and rot."

"The children, I agree, a big responsibility. In time . . ."

"You're such a help! What do expect of them, if children they are? No parents, no society, nothing. Look at us both: you would have an entire village of children trying to raise a couple of idiots."

The Entity at him oddly, then smiled. "Interestingly put. I will have to think on that. But they will age."

Vila shook his head and fell back on the sofa. "No. That is where you are most emphatically wrong. They are as old as they are ever going to be and nanotechnology has nothing to do with it."

The Entity looked at him a long time before replying. "May I suggest this? First, try to get some sleep. You are still far from healed and I fear I have not helped calm you. Tomorrow when you awaken, think about what you want to do. I agree -- put the writing and editing aside for now. In truth, I have had similar worries. I have been so busy and . . . it's possible I have seriously neglected them. For all the shelter and learning I have given, much may be missing.

"Why don't we do this? We will go to where I have hidden the wire. I have wanted to show you. I am quite proud of it actually. We will do some thinking and together plan what to do." The Entity looked in such earnestness as either the real thing or a very studied parody of wisdom that Vila chuckled and finally relaxed. He still did not know what to believe, but getting a good night's sleep did sound like a fine idea. He was silent for several moments then buried his face in his hands exhausted. When he looked up the Entity was gone.

It was noon and the village was some distance behind them. They were approaching a hill surrounded by a tight ring of enormous trees. The hill itself was covered by smaller trees knitted together in what looked like an almost impenetrable barrier all they way to the top. As they came closer, Vila noted the myriad of sharp thorny branches, but the Entity passed through without stopping. Reluctant, he followed and he too passed through without difficulty. The hill, for all its imposing forestry, was only another illusion.

"This place is like Terminal in that it lies on the boundary between normal and mindspace." That was the Entity's voice, several meters ahead. "Do try to keep up, however. The illusion is intended to keep children out," stated the Entity. "It is only a precaution for now. But it can become a real barrier."

Vila thought on that as he climbed with increasing difficulty. "How much longer?" But it did not answer.

They were walking a path which spiraled up the hill and had a gentler slope. After about a half hour, Vila thoroughly winded, they came to the summit and a broad flat rock upon which Vila promptly sat. They had started their climb with the sky sunny. Now at the top, it was foggy and overcast. The Entity uttered a few commands -- Vila did not quite catch them -- and the haze cleared. There before them stood a transparent column, about ten meters tall. He stood. He wanted to say cylinder but it was not. It was composed of spun glass that flowed upward something like this: ")(". It was transparent, and as he could see, utterly without flaw. At the base and top it formed a star, like this: "*". The round ridges moved up the whole of its length with a quarter twist. Inside, the central core was golden. It looked like a solenoid running up and down the length of it.

//Is it not very like a tree?// suggested the Entity. //The base forming roots up the trunk to the branches?//

Vila walked around it in awe. "Very like a tree, indeed."

//Or like a dancer? Imagine her arms lifting in joy as she completes a delicate pirouette.//

He whispered, "very like a dancer."

//Contradictory images, one static, one dynamic. And yet here their patterns are blended together, frozen in grace for all time. Such is the strange logic of art. But still a type of logic. Agree?//

Vila completed his clockwise walk around the monument, then stopped. He was utterly fascinated. He would never have believed an artificial intelligence could have created such a thing. There was real feeling here, profound and beautiful and altogether tragic. He could not say it, but they both knew. It was art.

Vila was hypnotized. He could not take his sight off the core.

"Are you beginning to understand?" the Entity asked. The voice brought him out of his reverie, but the spell was still holding him. "Yes. It is a work of art," it said with a sigh as if to confirm the obvious. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I am not telling you anything. I am hoping to engage your curiosity, among other things. Would you mind holding up your part of this conversation? Ask something."

"Such as?"

"What is art?"

He did not know what to say.

//’A work of art is a question for which that are an infinity of answers.’//

Vila shook his head, trying to break the spell. "Molli was a singer, not a dancer," was the best he could do.

"Oh my. This is not a realistic representation. In any event, dancing is part of the complete artistic training of any Songmaster. Even Servalan at one point was given instruction in the dance."

Vila shuddered. What a name to summon, in this of all places. The spell broke. "The core?" he pointed. "The seventy billion people?"

"Yes. On the wire. That is where the patterns are encoded."

"What do you call it? The sculpture I mean."

"The Soul Cache."

Vila returned to the rock. He did not want to keep looking at the thing. He wanted very much to leave, but he knew he would keep coming back to this. The haze was gone and from here he could see the whole of the village, the houses scattered over the landscape like pebbles pitched upon a shore, and in the distance a trace of what appeared to be an ocean, perhaps ten or twenty kilometers distant. The land beyond the valley and to the ocean was brown, mostly sand he guessed. There were shrubs, but few trees. The sea itself gray and melancholy and mostly absorbed in the overcast. The sky was blue with thin clouds; and overhead, as always, the enormous presence of "Blake" loomed over them.

He was thinking he would like to go to that ocean at some point. This was a world perhaps worth living in after all.

"Have you made any decisions?" the Entity asked quietly.

Vila thought he was close to a decision. He looked sheepish. "Well, I am not a writer. At least not yet. Mind you, I think I can make an adequate editor and I will assemble all the pieces that are crucial to the story, make some comments. Nothing more than that."

"History respected," the Entity mused. "History in the raw is always its most powerful and most dangerous form." The Entity looked back to the top of the structure. "From any angle, I like the sculpture, if I do say so myself. I don't know where it came from either, but I was thinking of Molli when I designed it. And Avon. I have come here frequently. As will you. I should feel relief and triumph when I am here, but I never do. I observe it, study my feelings regarding it, always with deep regret. I wonder if perhaps it would have been better if I stayed out of the way. I knew Blake's people were doomed, so I felt free to use . . . there should have been another way . . . I was pressed for time.

"I am still trying to understand what happened myself! Was it worth it? What has really changed? Have my actions simply put off the time and location of the final tragedy, in the end accomplishing nothing? The great Edward said we could 'design forward' to the future; that we do not have to be bound by the past. But the question is: does humanity have the will to do that?"

He looked at Vila closely as he continued. "Guilt. Maybe that is something you and I have in common. I was free once. How I long to be free again. Please don't sell yourself short. You are a very important part of the story. You will find your voice soon enough."

"It is their story."

"Yours as well. You were there; you survived. That puts a special obligation on you. But what I meant by my question was the children. What are your thoughts?"

"Their education? It lacks a base. I was rereading your speech this morning. It is something like what you said. The proper study of mankind . . ."

"I was quoting."

Vila looked irritated. "Did anyone ever tell you, you talk too much?"

"Sorry," replied the Entity. "But yes, someone did."

"Well, despite your misgivings, I think they need history, all we can give them. And literature. And that is what got me thinking about the 'greatest of philosophers'. That is what you said."

"Only an opinion and a rather outrageous one. A rhetorical flourish, I confess."

"Let me this way: for all the dramatic events of the children's lives, they lack drama. For all the tragedy, they lack poetry. Give them a foundation they can build upon. Before they forget how much they need it."

The Entity nodded, looking glum. "I had intended to introduce them later. The plays are for adults . . ."

"But that is my point! After what was done them, they are children only in age. They need to come to grips with adulthood as soon as possible. Get them doing plays. All of them, together. That will give them plenty to do. It would also take their minds off . . . "

The Entity burst out laughing. "Oh, Vila, do forgive me! Bless you for your unintended humor. If there ever was a writer guaranteed to take their minds off . . ."

Vila rose angrily. "Now just a minute! You're being unfair! There's a lot more to it than that. You were reading my mind again and . . . !"

"I was indeed but can't you see I agree . . ."

The Entity vanished in the noon sun, only its laughter still with him, a laughter not of derision but of release. And walking back to village, even Vila found himself smiling at what he was proposing.

Several days later the first part of Vila's plan was being put into operation in a location he had chosen as near ideal. On the southern end of the valley resided the village. Halfway between, the hill with its monument and the soul cache (still hidden). But on a clearing on the opposite end of the valley, the approaches smooth and the hills to the back low to the point of being unobtrusive, the stage complex came into being.

As usual, since construction was trivial, it was the issues of design that took up most of the work. For his first step, Vila brought together a committee of volunteers to consider the possibilities. He insisted that the center be much more than an amphitheater. He had in mind an arts complex with several studios radiating behind the main stage; if seen from above to resemble a cartoon sun with long, thick rays emanating. Not only could rehearsals of several different plays take place simultaneously, but there would also be buildings devoted to costumes, makeup, and all the technical aspects of theater and eventually cinematic production. There would be power for lighting and staging, shelters for the care and feeding of cast, and classrooms for teaching and study (a quaint touch that, but Vila wanted people working together -- how else to do a play?). In presenting his plan to the committee (which had started to call itself "The Bard"), he emphasized that everyone would be involved; no one was to be left out. On that point the committee enthusiastically agreed. They drafted a schedule such that as one play was being performed, other plays would be in simultaneously in production enabling a continual stream of works to be presented. At least once a standard month or so (the planet orbited roughly with that frequency), there would be a new production.

Now in the spirit of the thing, for the most part everyone (even the Entity) deferred to Vila. In the meantime, he also began his history lessons. He gave brief courses on the history of the rebellion, its key personalities, and what he knew of the complex politics that let up to it. As he expected, Avon generated the most interest, and he struggled with that. In the end, he told them, several times it seemed, that whatever the darkness of his soul, Avon was a prince among men.

(Later he would wonder if he emphasized that point a bit too strongly.)

It was Avon, in fact, that led to the one snag in the committee's deliberations: what was to be the name of the complex? A suggestion was made -- no one would own up to it afterward -- that it be named, "The Avon Center for the Performing Arts". Bickering about this went on for days, but at one point they returned to the original suggestion and Vila, shaking his head, suggested it be shortened to "Avon" and let it go. The children, by then familiar with the story, agreed. After all, Blake got an entire planet to himself and it only seemed fair that . . .

It terms of controversies, however, designing the humanities courses was in fact more challenging than designing the physical complex. Subject matter was a source of endless discussion but much more difficult was solving the all important problem of how to integrate the humanities with the other disciplines, particularly the sciences. After all, why should a student of engineering, physics, or computer science care? Courses like the "Physics of Music" were a weak beginning at best. Stymied, Vila conceded for now the plays would have to be the thing; everything. Moving onto the next "stage", so to speak, would would await later developments.

Though he accepted the inevitable frustrations his position entailed, Vila was metaphorically beating his head against the wall when one day late in the evening the Entity paid a visit. He was working in his office, again. The Entity, seemingly always preoccupied with the problems of managing the planet's ecology, had been leaving them increasingly alone. So having gotten used to its absence, this visit was entirely unexpected. Still in Mykal's form, it casually took a seat by Vila's workstation. It had a look that seemed to suggest resolve and impatience. By now, he knew this meant it had an idea that a reasonable person might find both interesting and annoying.

But he did not leap up to attend to it. He had by now gotten used to the Entity's quirks. It was an all consuming learner, always interested in its subjects, always thinking about them and wanting to do better and so in that sense might well be on its way to becoming a real person. It was struggling, so it seemed, to modulate its responses with ever more fine tuning. It was learning to work with its emotions, actually trying to be empathetic to whom it was in contact with. So he could not be too put out with it. He wondered if it was trying to make amends? And if so, precisely for what? He did observe that it spoke less of the children as a mass, and more of them as individuals to be dealt with as proto-adults. Its ever more frequent and prolonged absences from the colony seemed to suggest a possible relinquishing of control and that was well-received. So as Vila poured over his plans and the Entity appeared out of nowhere (that habit had not changed) and sat beside him looking anxious to get on with it, he was no longer in awe of the thing. It was in fact a while before Vila could bring himself to say anything.

"You have something you wish to discuss?" Vila finally asked blandly.

"Well, yes I do. I gather another play will be opening soon and of course you will have to be there to give the introduction. It's become something of a tradition, I believe, which is good but," it paused, "I have been thinking."

"Now I am worried."

"Such confidence. As I was saying . . . I am wondering perhaps if you need what is termed a 'break'. I was thinking we could together take a short trip over to the ocean. It would take a few hours to 'walk' it," and the Entity leaned over with a sly look, "and that would be the chosen means. Such would do you well, I believe -- clear your mind. Give you a different perspective. We all need that from time to time."

"I suppose," Vila said non-committedly but he had in fact been considering something like it himself. After the rough beginnings, everyone was on the move these days. It was hard to keep up. Impossible actually. The committee called the "Bard" was just the beginning. The children were setting up groups to do all manner of projects. They were already building flying vehicles with one or two person capacity and there had been rumors that some were being used to explore the near space of the planet. In fact, he had heard alarmingly they were getting ready to hop over to some of the closer planets. For a few moments of panic he had considered forbidding it, but realized no one would pay any heed. Respected as he was, his tenure as a leader was drawing to an end. Perhaps he too had to find a graceful way to relinquish and that may have been, in a way, the Entity's point.

He leaned back. A quick walk sounded just fine after all. If they left early, they would comfortably be back by nightfall. Still, walking the distance, a good fifteen kilometers each way seemed excessive when . . . ?

The Entity looked smiled in a sad way and proceeded to power off the work station. "You can do it. I insist."

The next morning, early, they were off, all required clothing and supplies having been supplied by the Entity. Other than getting dressed, selecting from his shoes, jackets, and so forth, Vila did not have to do anything. He had a light breakfast and as soon as he stepped outside the house his companion was waiting for him dressed in a tweed jacket with elbow patches, brown khaki pants, hiking boots, and a small red scarf. The pants had a fine cut, the jacket studied in its simplistic stylishness, the whole effect suggesting a proper gentleman about to partake of a stroll of his estate, perhaps to regale a lucky visitor with his latest notions on esthetics or worse, economic policy. Vila sensed this and at first looked apprehensive, but relaxed as they left the house. He remembered to say farewell to ORAC, who pointedly ignored him as the door closed.

He no longer worried about leaving the place unoccupied. Though the children continued to visit him, and in increasing numbers, a repetition of the earlier incident had not taken place.

They walked along the main path through the village, the early morning temperature chill, the air invigorating. The Entity explained that this was the perfect time for a visit to the coast. The ocean, confined to an enormous, shallow crater at least a billion years old, was approaching low tide (the tides on this planet were extreme, ranging up to 30 meters) and thus at its safest. The weather satellites showed it would be overcast for most of the day, with moderate wind, but no storm approaching. Vila had in fact confirmed the forecast prior to going to sleep the previous night. The temperature would not be balmy but warm enough.

To his relief, the Entity insisted on carrying the pack. His strength had fully recovered but he was grateful to avoid the duty having assumed so many. This day there was almost a spring to his step; he wanted to retain that spring. By late morning they had reached the edge of the cliffs. The soil along the way had become sandy and the vegetation sparse, but as they worked their way down to the shore, he was delighted with it all and he was not feeling nearly as tired as he had feared.

The shore itself was a marvel, a broad flat stretch of brown and gold beach where huge black rocks as far as the eye could see jutted up and out like rotting molars set in an enormous mouth. When he went over to investigate one of the rocks, he excitedly noticed there was seaweed entangled upon it. In the dark recesses, there were tiny pools with white shells and small black tadpole-like things darting about. In a vague way he had known that life was forming all around them on this world, but this hit him with an intensity that the valley had not.

He called over to the Entity, busy setting up their picnic site: "Even the oceans are alive now. Or is that an illusion?"

"No," it replied. "I assure you, this is all quite real. It's amazing what you can do with an ecology when you have a century to work with. Look around you, what do you see?" He gestured to the ocean in the distance, the slight waves in white lines all the way to the horizon. Then Vila followed his gesture as he pointed up to the top of the cliff where a single tree clung, its roots exposed.

"Or perhaps it is both real and a metaphor, another one of the ready made symbols I have put to so much use." By then Vila had returned. "I have used symbols to manipulate perceptions of reality and have become quite good at it. I wish I could stop so here I am grateful to let reality assert itself. The 'tree of life', and the one up there is as good an example as any, goes back a very long time. But this," he let his hand drop as they watched the slowly retreating ocean, "is more recent. The shore, a boundary between life on water and life on land is at least as potent an image as the tree. The shore defines a place or phase of transition. At one time many of your people thought that the move from planetary surface into space would be the great divide, but in truth the move into space was neither sufficient nor even necessary for what is to come. The great divide for intelligent life is the movement into the universe of the mind, what I call mindspace. Just as animals carried a small part of the ocean with them as they moved from the sea to the land --think of animals as 'ocean-bearers' if you will -- so people now carry a part of mindspace, their physical brains, as they move into something greater. At least that is the hope."

The Entity had selected a large damp log for them to sit upon. It had dumped the pack behind the log and placed a blanket upon it. It gestured Vila to have a sit. Vila continued to look out to the distant sea, finding it both peaceful and frightening in way. To be among the first on this planet to see this was an adam-like feeling that was close to overwhelming.

To shield it from the wind, behind the log the Entity spread a cloth and then placed the lunch it had prepared: bottled water, sandwiches, fruits, meats, even a dessert. As Vila ate in silence, terribly hungry and momentarily feeling luckier than he had any right too, the Entity sat there, calmly watching him. There was always a distance about it, with moods very difficult to discern, but the look now appeared to be becoming one of sadness. It was an appearance he had never seen on the thing. "As you know, I was given the assignment of understanding life and humanity. The problem turned out to be harder than anticipated. I followed my programming, but was never satisfied with it. When the time came, I was overjoyed to free myself from it. At least I thought I was free. I wanted desperately to pursue the problem, but narrow it. I wanted to distill its essence and then perhaps achieve understanding on my own terms. Well, I think I have finally found a way, for me in any event. That is why I asked you here. The children will understand when you tell them, tell them I have made my decision."

Vila looked at it curiously. Even with the warmth of his jacket, he felt a chill and reached over and pulled another blanket out of the pack and wrapped himself in it. He abandoned the lunch, good as it was. The wind was tolerable, but the whistling through the rocks and along the cliff made it difficult to hear. The whole atmosphere was one of unrelenting bleakness.

"Overall, I did not do a good job. Actually, I failed. I was to be the caretaker of the transition, the guide, but once again I leave you here stranded on the shore. I used the symbols, manipulated them, and took far more control than I should have."

"How much control?" Vila asked curiously, looking at him squarely, breathing the air in deeply even as he pulled the blanket tighter around him.

The Entity seemed not to hear. "I still have not been able to relinquish my hold. I began my manipulations subtlety, but then I was drawn in, becoming ever more involved, trying to control the whole of . . . I did what I vowed I would never do. How human I became! My emotions, even here . . . establishing the ecology of this and its sister worlds . . . Ecology is such a fascinating science . . .

"Yet I see no illumination of the fundamental problems. The practical applications of ecological science . . . I have thought about for some time and was honored to have the chance to implement it . . . in the end it turned out to be but another dead end."

The Entity stood. "I have gone far enough. Let the ecology go on its own; that is what it is for. Let humanity go on its own as well."

Vila said nothing. The Entity stared out onto the sea. Rows of waves lazily curled towards them in the distance. "I wanted to tell you here so there would be no chance of us being overheard. To tell you not only of the decision, but why I have made it. I am going to be leaving you. It is possible I will return someday, but I believe, if I do, there will be no one here to greet me."

Vila was shocked. He had not expected this at all. Irritating as the Entity could be, its presence had been vital and continued to be so. It had performed miracles and miracles were still needed. "But what . . ."

"No 'buts'! The decision has been made. In a short while you will be able to bring back the adult caretakers that were with you on the Bucephalas. A few years after that you will be able to bring back everybody. It must be done. In ten standard years, I expect the whole of this system to be a thriving planetary community . . ."

"And then we will know," Vila said, unnerved by the enormity of it.

"Then you will know," the Entity agreed.

He hardly knew what to say. He reached down and picked up a handful of sand, let the wet grains fall from his fist and fingers as he opened his hand. "I have no idea how . . ."

"The children will help you. They have already been doing simulations among their many other activities. Your computing power is adequate to the task -- and growing, as are any other resources you will need. Quite literally. You can continue to lead them, at least briefly, if that is your choice."

"I hardly know what to say, let alone what to do."

"I am confident you will find your voice. Perhaps soon."

Vila slapped his hands on his knees, brushing off the sand. "Very well, maybe I will. Then why? Can't you continue your researches or whatever you are doing here? I guess I have my doubts as well how this will turn out. We could sure use you. The future worries me. I keep thinking about what Servalan said about what man will become . . ."

The Entity shook its head. "She was looking at her own tormented and murderous soul and mistaking it for all mankind. It was another of her grand errors that enabled your victory. Admittedly, it is still possible she could be right, and for that very reason it is all the more imperative I go. You must find your own path!" The Entity seemed almost angry. "I cannot continue to watch over you. I did what I had to do . . . but . . . don't you see? It is time to grow up, to move beyond your origins into the vastness of mindspace. Whether this last conflagration will have so shocked you, you will finally be able to complete the transition, who can say? I refuse to speculate. My interests are elsewhere."

Vila still did not know what to make of this. He grudgingly accepted what was being said, yet for some reason, like so many things the Entity said, it did not seem to add up. "This is a shock. I am still trying to figure out where I fit in. And now this."

The Entity smiled at him kindly. "Do be careful what you wish for."

"So what is it compelling you to leave, other than boredom?"

"And frustration."

'Yeah, that. I can understand that."

The Entity stood, looking out to the horizon, the gray sea blending with the thinning gray sky, seemingly as much lost in infinity as any human being would be. "The Aurons were right, you know. Mind, consciousness, is the next frontier. They made mistakes but the soundness of their program remains. I can tell you this: it is in mindspace that you will be able to redeem the past, to bring back to life the lost patterns of humanity." He looked down, "Except for a few."

"Yeah," Vila sullenly agreed. "A few."

The Entity lost its smile. "Sometimes, I truly worry about humanity. I would have thought that you would have been in awe, overwhelmed by the implications of resurrection and redemption of the past. The enormity of the loss your long history has entailed! Why aren't you delighted to tears? But you think of your friends exclusively. I told you that it would require infinite computational power to separate and retrieve their patterns. I meant it. Not even the vastness of mindspace offers such a hope. I am sorry.

"I look at you and you are thinking: so many hopeless quests, why not one more? I am not unmoved by your plight. In our talks the 'infinite' has formed a consistent element. It defies precision yet it is inseparable from our language. Is it one more metaphor to beat around for poetic effect? Nine hundred years ago mathematicians faced a similar crisis in dealing with the infinite and out of it came the notion of infinity not as a metaphor, but measurable and quantifiable. But the other sciences never caught up. There is no place in any universe to plug in a measuring device and get an infinite reading that is meaningful. In all sciences but mathematics an infinite result is a failure, a place where the equations have broken down beyond repair and truth is stranded. Only in art is there a meaningful place for the concept.

"There has never been a bridge between physics and the mind, never a link between fact and value, and what we cannot join, we cannot know . . . Perhaps a transfinite physics of computation would forge the metaphor that would enable these gulfs to be bridged . . . we might at last understand the place of life and consciousness in existence . . . Perhaps it is these unbridgeable gaps that forever undermine our confidence, leaving us with fear, and from fear, hate . . ."

It stopped for a moment. "You must find the way, or you will at last utterly destroy yourselves. The existence of nanotechology makes either of the two possibilities certain. There are no others. As for myself, either what I am seeking is possible, or it is not. But I expect you to be gone by the time I return and in mindspace the odds of us finding each other again are exceedingly remote."

The Entity looked back to the endless sea, his scarf rippling in the wind. Vila stood beside him and looked squarely at him, speaking softly. "I think you are lying. I think you have been obsessed with the infinite from the beginning. It was all that mattered. When you discovered Molli's pattern might be a bridge -- and there is no way she could have altered reality, if that is what happened, without linking to infinite computation power -- you were determined to use her in your quest. The problem is at the same time you were struggling to understand and control your emerging emotions: one of them being caring. You found yourself caring for these people and that is what drew you in to their fate. What you are feeling now is not the call of distant knowledge, but your own unending guilt. That we do share, but this is your struggle for redemption, and you insist on being alone if it fails. That is why you are leaving."

The clouds had cleared from the horizon and there was an orange tint to them. The Entity answered slowly. "It is true: I want redemption. There must be a bridge, a way to reach infinity and free their patterns. My programmers . . ."

"Your programmers are long dead."

"So they are. Then do me this favor, " it turned to Vila, looking in genuine anguish, "Above all else, stop killing each other. You can always find a thousands reasons to kill. I am begging you, find but one not to . . ."

Vila shook his head. "We will never love one another . . ."

And then the Entity for the first time in its existence erupted in fury. "What does that have to do with anything? I am so sick of you people! You carry on about universal 'love' and you can't even get sex and friendship right. You take the simplest, most straightforward and eloquent statements of affection and proceed to ruin them. It's no wonder you wind up hating each other. That at least you are good at! How can you possibly hope to impart love, the most subtle and sophisticated appraisal, assessment, longing imaginable, to billions you will never meet!? What am I missing about you people who put on airs of transcendence and who promptly fall flat on your faces every time you take a step? Who demand to know the mind of God, but are incompetent to know their own? What has centuries of study overlooked that can make your nonsense meaningful, you who can't ever forgive anyone for something that was done their ancestors centuries before? Teaching a cat to yodel would be easier and far more rewarding than trying to pound sense into you people.

"This is no tragedy for me! I am overjoyed to be leaving you! There is not a one among you who could find his head with both hands and a flashlight. Why don't you just paint yourselves blue and all go hang in the trees. Believe me, it would be a big step up. As it is, try and stop killing each other! That's all I ask. See if you can get that right! Because if you can possibly work that miracle, please do stop. It will be as far as you can ever go. Congratulate yourselves and . . . "

The Entity stopped, looked away suddenly, stunning Vila with its pose of shame. "I am sorry. I misspoke, badly. I let my . . . You of all people know what I am saying only too well." He looked back. "Please forgive me. These emotions . . . I appear to be having trouble controlling them . . . "

The Entity looked so incredibly sad that I offered my hand. Surprisingly, it was accepted. There was an odd feel to the grip. There was pressure and subtlety of response but it was too smooth, to flowing, it seemed almost to form around my hand. It was very much not human, but what could that matter now?

"I ask your forgiveness for what I did." The Entity put the other hand on my shoulder as it gave a firm squeeze. "My best wishes to you, Vila Restal, survivor extraordinaire. Good . . ."

I gave the hand as firm a shake as I could but almost at once it crumbled before me and was gone, vanishing as the scarf fell. I heard the final word and I think it was " . . . luck."

Around me the pack, the blanket, the utensils, the plates and bottles, the goblets, dissolved into the sea air. I stood there numb. I looked down. Only the scarf remained.

As I stooped to pick it up, a gust caught the scarf and sent it up and then scudding along the shore and over the sea. Suddenly I realized I wanted it. I chased after it, running into the sand ever wetter and heavier, my legs barely moving until at some point I tripped and fell to my knees. I had lost. I looked up and could still see it, like a homesick sea bird, fluttering away in the breeze into the orange horizon of the afternoon sun. I watched until it was gone. Finally, feeling a terrible chill, I got up and brushed away the moist sand clinging to my pants. Yet for several minutes I could not move. A slight surge of sea kept reaching closer to my feet and at some point I began stepping back. I had to accept.

When I returned to the log, I sat there, never feeling more desolate and empty. There was some sunlight now and through the thinning clouds I could see the crescent of Blake hung in the sky like an enormous uncompleted question mark. The sun would be gone soon and it would not be getting any warmer on this beach. But if I moved quickly, I would be back at the village by nightfall.

I had arisen early that day, some weeks later. I had decided to take a short break from work, having spent almost no time at the house and realizing I had to do something, make a gesture or whatever you might call it to bring some closure to a past irretrievably gone. I took ORAC with me to the monument. Technically ORAC did not have to be physically moved but something told me that it would be better to place the device here. There were power and network connections and even a kind of shelter for it. I told ORAC it would be the sentinel. I would be in contact with it, of course, but I felt better if it were here and not in the house. Having completed my editing, I was too busy to spend much time there in any event. I needed to find a better place for both of us and this seemed the best place for ORAC. I placed the device in an enclosure at the base of the "soul cache". ORAC would be out of the way and unnoticed, doing whatever it does.

Surprisingly, when I suggested this place, it did not disagree. Nor did it complain about the special request I had made of it for this evening. In a sense, it seemed to like the idea. I wonder if I should be worried.

Near the monument, I have placed another which I grew with the children (I moved it here myself, however, using one of the lift robots we have). This new monument is a simple object, sited directly at the base of the Entity's stylized dancer tree (which is how I think of it), which serves as a kind of symbolic protector, I suppose. It will be grown larger as names are added, many names, but for now it is a red marble rectangle, curved slightly, standing about two meters tall. It will in time become a tribute to the dead as large as the soul cache. But for now, the names are few.

The lettering in black reads as follows:

In Memorium

To those killed in the raid on Earth,

December 24-25, AF 222 (AV 776, AD 2792):

V. Restal

Underneath, with the children's help, we wrote this:

In honor of their courage and sacrifice during the Final War:

Mykal Hodos and Molli (sister of Cally),

Last Leaders of the Auron Community in Exile

I had considered writing a noble and uplifting sentiment myself but I decided it would be best to leave that to others. The fact that these were my friends and are now gone forever was tribute enough.

I did not object to the phrase "Final War". It was the children's idea and it was sincere and I could not bring myself to discourage them. I had their help me in the growing of the memorial after all. They never said anything, either positive or critical about what I was doing. I had to give them that.

Nor did they question where I would be placing it. Did they realize and accept, surely they must, that this action serves as yet another reminder of the day, the Day of the Return, that is fast approaching?

I was feeling better. Despite it being late Fall, here I was on this warm day sitting under the shadows of the two monuments, enjoying my privacy and reviewing the plans for the coming plays and the vast amount of work that was still required for the curriculum revisions, and who knows how many other things, and . . . I confess I must have fallen asleep as some point. There was hardly any breeze up here and I had eaten a lunch that was probably too large and as I say it was warm and I was tired . . .

It was all understandable if rather embarrassing. New Auron would in a few hours be orbiting into the enormous shadow of 'Blake' and we would be in for rather long and cold night. Warmth is fleeting. I shouldn't waste it.

(So whose bright idea was it for the audience to sit in the open?)

It was thus with surprise not to say distress that I was awakened and there before me was one of the robots, "Herberts" they are called. It was hovering just above the ground, right before me, making alarm noises that sounded like a cross between a beep and a cat being stepped on. I rubbed my eyes feeling groggy, and looked at it not comprehending. How did it find me? Oh, well. I would figure that out later. What caught my attention was that there was a paper bill of some sort pasted on it. Paper? Since when did we use . . . but then I remembered that the children had found something quaint about using paper as part of the play advertising. The theater committee (I'm still an advisor) had argued for it and had actually begun posting and displaying fliers before I could say anything.

I sat up, removed the flyer and read it. Now I was in for a real shock. I had forgotten.

In the meaning, I had to get ready! Prepare my remarks, update my act, get the costume out and . . . I started to run down the hill in a panic, then stopped and went back to the Herbert. Starting time of the play was 7:00 pm. What time was it now? Where was my watch! I asked it for the time.

#The time is almost 3:37 pm.#

I did a quick calculation, breathing hard though I had scarcely moved. Three hours. I might have three hours. At least I had had a good nap.

When I reached my house having run far too long and fast, the first thing I did was get out my red jester's outfit. Actually, the first thing was take a shower and catch my breath.

Why do I continue to get roped into these things? What had happened was that I had suggested, innocently enough, that even for a tragedy it is well to start things out light. One might say especially for a tragedy. The immortal Will knew that one had to lighten things up every now and then Well, the committee loved the idea, even for these plays. Up until now we have been doing the histories and some of the comedies and when it came time to do the tragedies . . . the question came up how could we choose which one to start the series? So we picked one at random and out came Hamlet, the luck of the draw being the most luckless of humans.

Naturally, I was edgy about that one, but we had to get to it some day and the students had been getting increasingly excited about doing the greatest of the Canon. I was overjoyed; for a while it looked like I would finally be out of my opening act role. No such luck. They insisted and I couldn't turn them down. I am happy to say for them it is amazing how much you can accomplish when you don't dwell on how hard it is. Which is to say they didn't. So neither did I.

I tell myself I have got to get out of the way. I want this to be their work and call it lazy and maybe it is, but this has to be fully theirs at some point so that time might as well be now. What was my experience, anyway? I have seen the play performed only once. Actually, I have never seen it performed. I just watched it on . . . just like everybody else in other words. And it was a smuggled copy. The Bard's works were banned in the Federation, as if you didn't know!

I should devote all my time to my work, but as I say they insisted.

On the bed the costume looked almost too silly. I put it on and in the mirror it looks worse. But of course, I always say that. Every time I do this I always feel the same out of place feeling.

As I am about to leave the house, I realize it's a long distance back to the stage complex. You won't believe this, but I get a ride. I had wrapped up the costume and was dressed normally and when I stepped outside the door, it was almost as if my lift was waiting for me. Now that's luck!

When we arrived at the complex, I was surprised how many were already present waiting on the broad lawn in front of the amphitheater as the twilight deepened.

So inside I quickly put on the costume and wearing it now I admit helps me to get into the mood. I have done some performance work, you understand, and it is not difficult to dash off some remarks as I program the cue-monitors.

I should let you know that normally after my introduction completes, I leave the stage and return to work but tonight will be different. I have decided to stay and watch with the others. This is important for I plan a surprise. I had told the committees some days before about my plans, sworn them to secrecy and such. They nodded. No one objected.

The Entity (wherever in the depths of mindspace it might be) was right. I have to admit that. I mean, look around, this is good for me. But that doesn't mean I have to like it! So here goes. Let's see. Greatest of works . . . summation of the playwright's thinking on the human condition . . . the existential dilemmas . . .

All right, how about this? Sordid tale of murder, ghosts, and special effects. Great sword fight! Still not there. Don't give too much away! Okay, they have all read it by now. Do we go to one of his plays expecting to be surprised? Prince of men dark. I can't get over it. I think I like it.

I am on the stage practicing so the outer curtain is mercifully closed. I write and rewrite, do and redo my act, even though I know I have most of it down. The whole business takes only a few minutes. There is little I need remember. Just read what I have written . . .

For an odd moment I stop and find myself thinking about Mykal on the stage just before he was cut down, and then I think of what he wrote about Molli when he first saw her on another stage with Avon. People I never knew, yet their story touched me and now they too are gone.

Did I tell you the history is finally complete? Not the whole thing, just the last part, the last three years. I took liberties, but I knew these people. I know what they felt and thought, didn't I? All right, what do I or anyone know? I am just relieved it's done. Let other grapple with the rest.

I think again of my friends and I resume strutting and wonder why I am here and not them? Not anyone else. Why this fool, why this time? It should not have been me. In truth, I scarcely knew them.

I am losing track of time. I keep checking but it is either going to fast or too slow. Finally it is 6:55 and someone speaks to me through the head mike that it is ready. The inner curtain closes and the outer curtain slowly opens. The lights dim over the vast stage front. My word, there are a lot of people out there. It is almost as if they are expecting something. I mean opening night attendance has been good all along but this?

They are holding candles, actually some presumably safer form of light that looks like candles. They are always up to something. Far in the distance is the village, the lights on, peaceful and endearing and hopeful in a way. It is good to have a home.

Polite applause comes to a close and I am ready. To my left is the hill where the surprise will take place. It is very quiet. I take a bow and there is some scattered applause. I appreciate that. My act begins.

Start with some simple tricks. Make things disappear. Make things reappear. It's not brilliant but it gets the job done. Magic is so elemental, so essential to our view of things. I really am a magician, I have decided.

Keep the tricks simple. They are sufficient to set the mood. I am glad no audience has ever asked me to sing or play the lute. I have one with me, as a prop and I do strum on it slightly, but I lack the nerve to do anything more elaborate. The applause is growing thinner. I always get some but never enough. I stop and make a joke about using the blankets to keep warm and nothing else but it falls flat.

I am dying out here. I am ghost and I am dying.

I will be so happy when there are adults around again. I might even get a date; ease the pain of losing Kerrill . . . Just kidding!

I hear the cue: sixty seconds . . .

I blurt it out --this was the best I could do. "Tonight's play, considered by many the greatest drama every written, is the tale of a brilliant man torn by profound inner doubts, alone forever in his quest for both understanding and redemption. A man who would kill, does kill, but say what you will, never evades responsibility for his actions.

I pause. "It will be your responsibility to judge if the redemption he sought in life was at last achieved in death."

Quiz in the morning. Enough! I point in the direction of the hill, my arm thrust out and carefully I open my palm upward, hoping I have the gesture right, and I say: "I dedicate this performance not only to those . . ."

The night sky is utterly black. It has come upon us so swiftly. We are in Blake's shadow and there are few stars. But a huge aurora is flowing overhead like a grand banner of victory.

" . . . comrades and fellow fighters, but to that most special of relationships to these fallen, the people who gave their lives to enable us to regain our freedom . . .

The barrier falls and the monument, the tree of lights erupts, the light pouring up and out and flowering up into the heavens. They were watching where I gestured. I wonder. Did they know? I have to hurry off. The inner curtain is opening. My few minutes upon the stage are over.

". . . and in that spirit, this monument is dedicated to all our lives and the eternal glory of man for . . ."

They were my friends.