X. Rasenna Blood
The old woman sat on the sheepskin, holding a white curved bone up to the vault of the deep blue sky. Her face was calm, her expression rapt, and her eyes open and focused on infinity. Kirk watched, bemused, as she swept her arm back and forth, dividing the sky into twelve equal sections with quick, sure strokes.
…Doesn't look like a typical witchdoctor act, he conceded. No ranting and raving and rolling around. Stately and ceremonious, almost like a Vulcan ritual… He frowned at that, remembering that Vulcans did have psychic talent, and their odd ceremonies did reliably tap it. …There've always been a few humans with some psychic talent, he pondered. Could it be that these Romans have learned to control and use it? …In my universe there were hints of it… But if so, what happened to it? Where did the human psychics go for all those centuries? …Maybe the knowledge was lost during the Dark Ages, the practitioners burned for witchcraft…
Flamma slowly raised her other hand and beckoned to him. Kirk sat down beside her, careful not to interrupt her concentration. She rested her hand lightly on his shoulder and continued to look at the sky. A small flock of birds circled overhead. Her eyes followed them.
Let's suppose, Kirk thought, just for a moment, that the lady has real psychic ability. Suppose she really can see part of the future… How can I help? …Remember some of the things Spock told me. Relax. Calm. Meditate. Concentrate… He tried, tried steadily, focusing his mind on the ship, on Spock, on the central question: Will he find me?
After awhile the old woman began speaking quietly. "…I see a ship, searching…" she said. "…Sailing through great darkness…seeking you. …Now another ship…"
Another ship? Kirk wondered. What the hell?
"…A great sea-battle, in darkness." Flamma grew slightly agitated. "Great bolts of flame, like Greek fire…a duel of magicians…"
What other ship? Kirk wondered. From where in this universe?
"The ship of the innocent eagle…the ship of the cruel lamb…" the old woman continued. "Now I see one of the ships burning, dying, and bursting to pieces…it's blazing like a star…"
"What ship, Flamma?" Kirk asked aloud. "Whose ship burns?"
"…And a choice." Her hands dropped to her lap like lead weights. "A great choice. Favorable…unfavorable." She frowned at the sky. "Everything hangs in the balance. It can swing either way…but the result is very great."
"'Favorable'? What?"
Flamma turned to look at him, her eyes still far-focused. "Upon one question the signs are most definite," she said. "Yes, your magician friend will return for you."
Kirk let go a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding.
"But as to what happens thereafter…" Flamma shook her head, puzzled. "There is a choice, among the gods. On the one hand, life and prosperity and increase: on the other, death and misery and ruin. Much of this is strange and obscure to me; I do not know the cause…"
"The ship…?" Kirk pressed.
"Yes. I looked for the ship. I saw two, in battle, and one of them burning with a great fire. The signs were ambiguous, but one thing was clear; the choice, the balance—that centers on you, Démas."
"Me? How?" …Oh, take a good guess, man from the future!
"Great events depend upon whether you go or stay." Flamma's eyes focused tightly on Kirk. "Magician Démas, you are more important than you know."
Kirk gnawed his lip and thought that over. Me? Go or stay? If the Enterprise comes for me—and she said it would—of course I'll go… Unless something happens to the ship! He shivered. 'Burning'? 'Blazing like a star'? Temporal stress blowing out the engines? …But then, what was/is/will be the 'sea battle'? "What was the other ship?" he asked. "Could you tell anything about it?"
Flamma rubbed her forehead. "I observed a laurel-leaf blowing in the wind, among the birds, one of whom seized and carried it… Victory? Or a ship bearing laurels? It could mean either great success or the favor of the gods, or…hmmm, the 'ship of state'. Perhaps…" She gave him an odd look. "Perhaps it means that the success of all Rome depends on whether you go or stay."
That made more sense than Kirk cared to admit. Yes, I have a lot of technical knowledge that could help these people I immeasurably…and the longer I stay here, the more of it I'm likely to give them. When I go, that will shoot down—Shoot down! –a lot of their chances! Chances to succeed, survive and avoid— He remembered that other Rome, in another universe and time. Misery, sickness, poverty and dirt; cruelty, tyranny, bigotry and hysteria. Ruin! Fall and ruin… But this Rome has a better chance, especially if I help. And… He thoughtfully fingered his tricorder, translator, even the phaser. Haven't I started helping people already? A horse collar here, a diagnosis there… For all that they took it so calmly, they took every idea I gave them…
"All that I saw beyond that was the balance," Flamma recapped. "The decision."
Decision? Kirk thought. All right, I'll give you one: while I'm here, I'll help—as much as I can. I'll give this alien Rome as good a chance for survival as I can, before I go. "Thank you, Ma'am," he said, rubbing a small cramp in his leg. "You've given me a lot to think about."
"Ah, but you already had much to think on." The old woman turned her kindly, birdlike smile on him. "I would not be much of an augur could I not see that you were burdened with more than just the fear of not seeing home again. I hope I have been of help in that matter, also."
Kirk flinched. Just how much psychic talent does the old lady have, anyway? he wondered. "Hah! With the kind of 'oracular' powers you and your folks have, I'm surprised it wasn't the Etruscans who conquered Rome." Oh-oh, that may have been rude!
Flamma's smile turned a bit rueful. "It was attempted," she said. "The last two kings of Rome were Etruscan. However, politics makes strange bedfellows—"
"I've heard that phrase before!"
"I'm not surprised; it's quite old hereabouts, and quiet accurate—especially in this case. As various Sabine, ex-Greek and ex-Trojan families rose to the position of Nobles, they began marrying into the Patriciate. This altered the bloodlines considerably, and oracular ability is no longer constant or predictable in any family. One finds it no more readily than among families of the other orders. Why, Cicero came from a Plebian family and rose to prominence through his own wit, yet he was also one of the most reliable augurs in Rome."
"Uh…I wouldn't know…" 'Oracular ability': psychic talent. To these people it's as common as any other feature of Nature. In my universe, that won't happen again for another 2000 years, at least. How was it lost? Why? "I guess…a lot of it depends on…how tolerant or reasonable your society is. If the…ability is encouraged, rewarded, then more people who have it will go ahead and show it. If society doesn't tolerate it, or even recognize it, then…" I wonder how many talented psychics in my universe wound up in mental hospitals, or burned at the stake, because society wasn't ready for them? How long can the effects of a Dark Age last? What if— A perfectly horrible thought took hold. What if my own universe—my own society is still…blighted…by hangovers from the Dark Ages? How much did we lose—leally lose—when Rome fell? What horrors came into the world then that we haven't gotten free of yet?
Kirk dug his fingers into the grass, blindly grabbling for the solidity of earth, as his perspective slewed wildly. For an instant he saw, with the length of ages, with the certainty of an oracle, from the viewpoint of a Roman, into his own timeline's future. It was terrifying. It was like looking over the edge of a volcano, with the hideous certainty that he was about to fall headlong into it. He yanked his mind away from the image, horrified, head whirling.
"Démas?" Flamma gripped his arm, concerned. "What is it? What ails you?"
"I- I- oh, hell! I'm scared!" Kirk gasped. "Everything's shifting. Things I used to believe in…suddenly they're at war with each other. Which side am I on?"
"Why, if you're the decent man I think you are, you're on whichever side offers the best future, for the longest time, for the most people. That should be clear enough.'
Pragmatism, Kirk recognized. How very Roman… But there's a difference, an extension in time… Oh, time! Time and morals… "For the longest time? But time can be so goddam long… How can anybody see far enough to know what's ultimately right or wrong?" Oh, that's what religion is, what faith is, the faith that I was raised in; trusting in a god you've been told is good, who claims to stand at the beginning and end of time and know it all… 'Your little minds can't comprehend it, but Mine does. Trust Me. Trust Me, in spite of everything you see and hear. Trust that I know what I'm doing, and it's really the best thing for you in the long run…' But how long a run? After 1000 years? 2000? More? Seeing all the horrors done to people… How long a test-run do you give a god? "How long? How long to look before you can be sure?"
"My dear," said Flamma, "Simply judge, and do your best, for as far as you can see. That's all that gods or men have any right to ask of you. See as far as you can, and judge by that. After all, no one knows if there ever is an ultimate end to anything, so why worry about it?"
Kirk turned to stare at her, ideas rolling like runaway wheels through his mind. "No…end?" No end to space…or time? "No final answers—to anything? Then- then how the hell can you know, be sure- sure of anything…without some…some final authority, somewhere up the line of command? How- No, where- Dammit, where's the center of the universe?" How can you have any reliable standards if there's no ultimate…
"Where is the center of the surface of a globe?" the old woman smiled with the wisdom of the sibyl she might have been. "The center of the universe, my dear, is wherever you happen to stand. We can only act upon what we know, and what we know begins with whatever is closest of ourselves."
Kirk was silent a long time thinking that over. Hell of an insight! I can't punch any holes in it…except maybe… "Then how do you judge yourself, your own actions? If everything you see and understand is colored by your own quirks and faults…how can you be objective and honest about anything?"
"Good, Démas," said Flamma, gently patting his arm, "Why do you think that all the wise gods—most particularly Apollo, who is patron of the great oracle at Delphi—advise people: 'Know thyself'?"
"Oh." Apollo again. He keeps coming back to haunt me… Kirk closed his eyes, vividly remembering the bright, proud and passionate face. Good advice. Better sense than he showed to us 2300 years later… Did we just out grow him over the centuries, or did his judgment really get worse? For how many centuries was he completely alone, with no hope but to wait for humans to find him? …Can even a god lose his grip from loneliness? If so, then…
There was an idea there, a concept hanging just outside the reach of words. Kirk stumbled his way toward it, struggling to give it a clear and graspable shape. "If…gods and men and- and everybody…can be that much alike… If there's no…end, no final…absolute answer, or…mind…that knows everything and it isn't telling, but orders us to- to serve and die anyway, unknowing, making a virtue of ignorance! Then… If we're all just children of the universe, fumbling our way around in the dark as best we can, changing and learning and growing as we go…"
It was like a light dawning, a glimmer at first, and then growing brighter, faster. "Then we're all in this together and… No one's alien! No one and nothing in- in this or any other universe! Smarter here, stronger there, abilities wildly different, but…nothing really unreachable, beyond understanding. Nobody's got the last word, the ultimate edge, the final…rule."
"Congratulations," the old woman said.
"My god, we're all equals—all citizens of the universe—and no one is king!" With the understanding, an invisible weight seemed to slide off of him; an ancient shadow in the back of his mind slipped away, taking its fingerprints of doubt, shame and fear away with it. Kirk felt as if he were floating in the warm golden air.
"Ah, yes," Flamma laughed, "'King' is a dirty word among us, too."
Kirk smiled, feeling it all the way through. "You know, in- in the country I come from, we date our history pretty much from the time we got out from under rule by a king, and founded a republic."
"It was much the same here."
Kirk was silent for a long moment more, enjoying the bright feeling without bothering to analyze it or align all of his understanding with it just yet. It was good to feel something besides worry, for a change. Eventually he heard a discreet cough behind him, and remembered that time was still passing. He looked around and saw Amuliana watching, politely bewildered. He tossed her a reassuring smile and clambered to his feet. "It's been a most enlightening visit, Ma'am," he said, helping Flamma up. "I learned quite a bit."
"Splendid," Amuliana beamed, stepping forward. "Now we really must take our leave; there's a truly dreadful amount of work waiting to be done back at the temple."
Old Flamma murmured the usual polite formulas for leave taking and watched thoughtfully as her guests departed. As soon as they were out of earshot, she called to one of the servants for a tablet and a stylus. "Great events," she muttered, tottering back to the lunch table. "More important than he knows. Perhaps too important to stay buried at the mint. I know Amuliana; stingy old thing, she'll have him working like a farmer's mule. He was meant for better."
The serving woman brought the tablet and stylus. Flamma snatched them up greedily and began to write: "To the Lady Ocellina Marcella, Chief Vestal. Greetings…."
To Be Continued in Chapter XI: Where It Changed