Lundgren: “I…see. But I don’t see why a distinguished scientist would grow a tail.”
Dr. Ashok: “It’s a demonstration of truth. How better to manifest the fact of evolution? How better to refute religious fundamentalists who claim man was created by God? And refutation is more necessary than ever, with so many fundamentalists seeking to impose their ignorance on others. Religious terrorists are murdering genetic engineers and bombing gene-therapy clinics. Fanatics are clashing the world over.” Jump-cuts: screaming protestors; bombed-out buildings; battlefields. “In India, extremist Hindus, Muslims, and Sikhs are in violent conflict with one another. And an apocalyptic Hindu sect has declared a man the latest avatar of the god Vishnu.”
Cut to: Very long shot of East Indians; most appear to be laborers, farmers, and beggars. They cover a hill, surrounding a man in richly colored traditional clothing. The man is mounted on a white horse. He holds aloft a sword bathed in holographic flames. He has four arms.
Dr. Ashok [voiceover]: “According to Hindu belief, the next incarnation of Vishnu will be the tenth—and last. The last avatar, Kalki, heralds the end of the Kali-Yuga, the Iron Age—the end of the world as we know it. The extremists believe Kalki is here and it is their duty to bring the world to an end.”
Cut to Lundgren and Dr. Ashok: “Dr. Ashok, I find it hard to believe a mob of poor, ignorant fanatics can destroy the world.”
Dr. Ashok: “I was in the University of Washington graduate biotech program with Kalki when he was two-armed Sunesh Bannerjee. Kalki is a brilliant virologist and genetic engineer. He has the knowledge and the ability to kill millions.”
Cut to Lundgren alone: “There you have it. Regenerative changes that look like fashion are, in fact, acts of faith. Guitarist Marie Durand believes adding a second thumb to each hand will make her a great artist. Dr. Charaka Ashok believes his tail is evidence of the truth of Darwinism. And it seems a brilliant, four-armed scientist may believe himself a god destined to destroy the world. Tomorrow night at 9 PM Eastern time, we investigate Dr. Sunesh ‘Kalki’ Bannerjee. With Google-Fox News, this is Dan Lundgren.”
Last private communication from Lundgren:
“Why’d you ignore my emails and voicemails telling you to cancel upload of my WHO report? I told you I’m too sick to move, never mind investigate Kalki. I don’t remember drinking any local water, but I must’ve forgotten to tell somebody to hold the ice for a Coke. I’ve got dysentery from Hell. And India’s hotter than Hell and I can’t get anyone to fix my air conditioning. This is supposed to be a four-star hotel, but I haven’t been able to reach a staff member all day. They’re not answering the phone, you’re not answering the phone—oh. Oh, God, no—”
NOT OMNIPOTENT ENOUGH, by George H. Scithers and John Gregory Betancourt
“Your Imperiality!” said someone in the little group of nine brightly dressed men and women, who whirled, then bowed low or curtsied to me. I’d revived that custom from Old Earth this morning, after I accepted the crown of the Imperium.
As I strode among these friends of mine from the days when I had been just a very junior professor of Pre-Spaceflight History, I longed to smile and joke and be my old self, the same Jad denRigen they’d known and worked with for endless tennights at the University. The Imperial title had not yet penetrated my inner self any more than the purple of my Imperial robes. Still, these former colleagues were but a small wave in the ocean of humanity that surrounded me in the Coronation Ballroom, and I forced myself to remain stiff-backed and aloof. Roman emperors had died for smaller sins than getting too close to the common folk.
I allowed myself a low-voiced, “Hello,” as they straightened up again.
“Imperiality!” said Rina; she was even more breathless than I remembered. “Everything’s been so—so—oh, these last two tennights, and your coronation this morning, and a whole space-cruiser just to bring us here in time, and the delegations from all over the Galaxy, and everything running so smoothly!”
“It should, by now,” I said with a tight smile. “After all, they’ve gone through four High Emperors in the last fifty tennights, not counting—”
“Your Imperiality,” she protested, “I didn’t mean—”
She dropped into a deep curtsy again. I could see the blush spreading across her face and neck.
“—not counting my great-uncle Tolan,” I said, taking her hand and pulling her upright. “But that’s all history now, Rina, and we’ve got better things to think about. Right?”
“Yes, Ja—I mean, Your Imperiality!” She started to curtsy again, but I motioned her to stop.
“Once is more than enough, really, Rina.” I turned to the rest of my friends from the University. “How do you like it, all this? Quent?”
“Well…” He licked his lips thoughtfully, then gestured at the gigantic room around us. “It’s so, big, even for an Imperial Coronation Ball. The size just doesn’t come through, reading about it. You know what I mean, Jad—uh, sorry, um—Your Imperiality.”
I had to laugh. Normally he was the most polished lecturer at the University. And suddenly I found myself relaxing for the first time in more than a few tennights. These were my friends; I knew I could be myself around them. I was the Emperor, after all, and if I wanted to talk and joke with old colleagues, who would dare object?
Smiling broadly now, I said, “Jon, Mara, all of you, I’m so happy you’re here. How are things at the University? And who took over my classes?”
Jon shook his dark head. “Rather more of a turmoil than we expected, actually, Your Imperiality. Ever since you left for Center System, everyone within parsecs has been calling the History Department with meaningless questions about you and your old job. Truth is, they think that since Your Imperiality came from there, we’ll know all the palace gossip… ”
“Well, I suppose that’s the price one has to pay for fame. If I’d come from Center System instead of a backwater world, they’d already know all about me.”
“And your classes,” Jon went on. “Mara took them.”
“Your Imperiality’s notes were quite complete,” said Mara, with the barest suggestion of a curtsy. “We finished the pre-Conquest kings of Britain just before the invitations came.”
“Good. I don’t think my students could be in better hands.”
She smiled at something over my shoulder. “I could take your compliments all night, Imperiality, but I think you’re about to be dragged away.”
I turned to find two grave, gray-haired old men approaching: Vance Alderman and Teren al mar Axtant, two Grand Counsellors who had made it their duty to try to mold a poor young academic like me into their ideal High Emperor. I sighed.
Beramis scowled at them. “Four Emperors gone mad in just fifty tennights? I’d be careful, Imperiality—Jad, those men are doing their job too well.”
“Only three went mad,” I said. “Emperor Tolan resigned, after all.” I shook my head. “This is no time for gloom. Let’s—let’s dance!”
Rina looked around vaguely. “Do you… does Your Imperiality think the music will begin soon?”
“There are certain advantages in being High Emperor,” I said. I knew there were monitors in the ceiling picking up my every word, every Imperial command. I raised my hand, motioned, and the music started on cue, an ancient quadrille from pre-spaceflight Vienna.
Too soon, the dance ended and the music played out. The hundred or so people who had gathered to watch gave a brief spatter of applause. I beckoned to Mara; together, we swept around in one last whirl.