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Updated: May 11, 2025
The computer began the process that would end with the dissolution of its own personality. Kranath screamed and fell to his knees in a moment of terror as he became aware of the immensity of what he had committed himself to, and what he was in the process of becoming. It lasted only a moment, though, before fascination took over.
Am I . . . am I to call the gods?" "Yes, in time, if you agree to what is involved. For now, I ask only that you accept what I have to show you, though much of it will be difficult for you, to prepare for that decision. And you need not call me Lord." The voice itself was hardly dreadful; it seemed sympathetic, almost comforting, and Kranath relaxed slightly.
He enjoyed flying and fighting, though the toll interclan battles were taking of late disturbed him more than he cared to admit. The death rate was too high, far higher now than the birth rate. Kranath shoved those thoughts aside. He was a fighter, not supposed to be concerned with interclan policy.
That Godhome had followed his thoughts didn't surprise Kranath; like miracles, such things were to be expected of the gods and their servant. "Although," Godhome went on, "they did not think of themselves as gods, any more than you think of yourself as one." It paused briefly. "Put yourself in the place of one of your remote ancestors some millennia ago.
It wasn't absolutely necessary to tell them, though it would simplify things. The fact of their Terran origin would be sufficient for the Emperor, as it was for the Ranger; His Majesty could grant them by Imperial Edict the citizenship that was already theirs by right of birth, which would save them the shock of knowledge that had come close to paralyzing Kranath and himself both.
Kranath shuddered. The clan was far more important than any individual. A person lived perhaps two hundred years, while a clan could live as long as the race itself. But why was he thinking of all this now? He was a captive, in an elevator that was finally slowing, oppressing him with more than his own weight before it finally stopped. The door opened. Why should he think of anything at all?
Then he realized what he'd said, and what he was; he laughed at the irony. "Thanks, Kranath. All right, I guess I'm ready. Go ahead." With that, he felt the Supreme Lord's immense power enter his mind and begin work. What he'd experienced in the Vision was only a shadow of this reality, but it had prepared him as nothing had prepared Kranath.
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.
"A large metal bird lands in front of you, and someone climbs out of it. This being speaks into a small box that answers him, can kill at a great distance with a loud noise and a flash of light, can ease pain with a touch. How would you, in those times, have thought of him?" Kranath thought briefly. Metal planes and hand-held radios were still to come, but the analogy was clear.
"Well, I won't be able to avoid open intervention with the Traiti; I'll have to tell all of them what I saw in Kranath's Vision. I don't like showing off like that, but at least they're accustomed to Lords manifesting from time to time." "I did not like it either," Kranath agreed, "when I had to intervene so to end the clan wars. We all do what must be done, though." He put an arm around the man.
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