Do Comets Dream? by S.P. Somtow

Author:S.P. Somtow
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Science-Fiction:Star Trek
ISBN: 9780743465007
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2003-07-15T10:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

Angels

ARTAS AWOKE. Today was the day he’d been waiting for. He was the fastest, the brightest. He had passed the penultimate test, and there was only one remaining.

I am the one, he thought, who will redeem my people.

Tanith’s striated sunlight streamed in through the screens. He rubbed his eyes. Yesterday was wonderful, he thought. I rode in the Great Shivan-Jalar’s private barge. His Multitude actually smiled at me—actually shared with me apiece of his private candy! He sat up, looked at himself in the mirror-pool at the foot of his bed, preening in front of his image. He was twelve years old, and by the end of the day he hoped to win a great prize—the privilege of never seeing his thirteenth birthday.

Then—something strange happened.

The mirror pool began to shift and swirl. A kind of smoke started spiraling from it, and the reflective mirrorstuff started shimmering. Grumbling, he reached down to see if he could adjust the settings.

And then, suddenly, there was another boy in the room, stepping out of the mirror pool. He wore alien clothing, no tunic but a double-legged second skin that hugged his legs, and an upper covering of the same stretch fabric. Embarrassed that he was not yet dressed, Artas quickly donned his tunic, with its clan markings, which told everyone who he was and let those who must defer to him know their place.

The alien boy had no clan markings at all.

“What are you doing here?” he said.

The boy’s lips moved, but nothing came out. He seemed to be struggling with a shiny handheld device. His hands were not webbed.

“Is this the final test that I’m supposed to undergo?” Artas asked.

No answer.

“Are you a haunting, sent by one of my rivals?” Again, no response. Artas knew that many of the boys he grew up with were now his enemies, so coveted was the position of great thanopstru.

“Finally!” the other boy said. “I got a fix on the translation. This dialect of yours is Thanetian, but it’s a very ancient form. I couldn’t get it to congruency right away.”

“You’re a Thanetian?” Artas gaped. This was the ultimate horror—the enemy materializing in his very bedroom on the day of the final test!

“No, no. I’m Adam Halliday. I—”

Artas flung himself at the stranger, pummeling him with all the strength his boyish frame could muster. But there was nothing there—the alien boy was insubstantial. Artas found himself banging his fist against the wall.

“Are you all right, Artas?” came a voice. His mother.

Adam put a finger to his lips.

“I—I think so, Mother,” the boy said.

“I come from the Federation,” said Adam.

“You’re just a dream, a figment of my imagination. They said I would dream dreams. It’s in the Panvivlion, you know. Why am I telling you this? The Panvivlion probably sent you. You’re my quest vision. Naturally. I’ve got the race this afternoon.”

“No, listen,” Adam said. “I’m a tourist, sort of. I’m eavesdropping on you, five thousand years in the future. You’ve already become the great thanopstru and—”

“So I will win the race?” Artas could hardly contain his excitement.

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