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"No," Kranath interrupted the forming thought, "neither bodies nor refreshment are truly necessary. They are pleasant, though, and we often create them." He smiled again, and Tarlac could feel his amusement. "Those who went before left us Godhome, which gave us awesome power, but we remain, if you will excuse the expression, human. We see no reason to deny ourselves such things.
Godhome would reverse the process later, if Kranath refused the joining. Shortly after the computer finished its work, Kranath awoke feeling odd. Good, but abnormally . . . what? Strong, yes, and eagerly alert . . . plus something he couldn't quite define.
The realization of something so basic it had never occurred to him before, as he walked in the warmth of Homeworld's sun, seemed fitting to him. He'd been Kranath, he'd been Godhome; now he was Steve Tarlac again. Only Steve Tarlac, he thought with a silent laugh, but he'd found at least part of the answer he needed to bring peace if he survived.
The stew and drink it turned out to be a wine like nothing he'd ever tasted were far better than the survival rations he'd expected for mid-meal, and the hearty meal in comfortable surroundings soothed him, after so much strangeness. Godhome let him eat and think in friendly silence, while hot food drove out the last of the fear that had gripped him, letting him think calmly.
"You are saying the gods are to us as we are to our ancestors." "Yes. You see the difference perhaps ten thousand years has had on what your race can do; now try to imagine the difference had you had a thousand times as long to develop." Kranath did try, struggling to grasp the immensity of ten million years of progress. He failed. "Don't let it concern you," Godhome said.
That was a good sign, and Tarlac had to resist a temptation to run; walking would be faster than running himself to collapse and having to recover. He had a momentary sensation of disorientation: In Kranath's time, this had all been wooded, but when the capital had been established atop Godhome, much of the surrounding area had been turned into parks and farmland. Godhome.
"If you hesitate to reveal it to your sponsor, you probably should not. You are trying to become Cor'naya, however; you must decide what honor demands of you." "Oh, hell." Tarlac didn't know what to think. He couldn't seem to feel any real emotion, only a sort of resigned fatigue. "Last night I was Kranath, when he was forced to Godhome. And for a little bit I was Godhome itself.
They didn't now, Hovan had told him, and they hadn't since the Supreme Lord of the Circle, Kranath of St'nar, became the first of the new gods. The old gods, he explained, the ones the Traiti called "those who went before," had left Godhome as . . . something. Nobody except the Speakers had any real idea about its purpose, and they were saying nothing until the twelfth Lord completed the Circle.
What had happened hadn't harmed him, and he realized it had been the only way to get him here. Kranath could imagine how he'd have reacted to a simple invitation: "Hello, I'm Godhome. I'd like you to visit me." He smiled, and thought he felt answering amusement from the computer. No, Godhome had known exactly what it was doing. He could feel no more lingering resentment about his capture.
He could barely think, his mind numbed by shock. Things were happening entirely too fast. The gods were real. Godhome was calmly asserting that he had a decision to make after he'd learned what it had to teach . . . He held to that. The gods were not demanding, they were asking. Even Godhome had only asked that he learn. Being given a decision to make meant he was a guest, not a prisoner.
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