EPILOGUE

Tankar slipped into the airlock wearing his spacesuit. No one had seen him. The buzzing of the pumps gradually ebbed, and the airlock was free. He opened the external door and stepped out onto the hull, which shone in the light of the now-distant supernova that no longer looked like a person. Now it looked more like a fraying ball of yarn.

He sat down on a sort of railing that ran the full length of the metal hull into infinity; it was one of 52 such barriers. In about an hour, the Tilsin would plunge into hyperspace, and everything below the railing would vanish. Everything above, including Tankar himself minus his feet, would remain in normal space. It’ll take no time at all, he thought.

He had considered leaping into the void, but his earlier experience of plummeting through space changed his mind. No point in prolonging the agony. Now he had just an hour – nope, 59 minutes – to consider eternity.

He was infinitely weary, his energy drained. The Guards might well consider suicide the worst form of disgrace other than treason, but where were the Guards? And what did honor mean? He saw no future for himself, and he didn’t wish to be an exile for the rest of his life, always dreaming of a bygone world. If only Iolia had not died…if only he had not killed her.

Anaena would cry. She loved him, but she would have no trouble finding a better man in one of the city-states. She’ll forget me, he thought bitterly.

He had no choice. He was finished, a tool that had outlived its purpose. The Empire and the Guards were dead, his faith in tatters, and he could not shed the weight of knowing he had killed the woman he loved. The best thing for him was to disappear.

He regretted nothing. With the exception of Iolia, his conscience was clear. He was no more at fault than the Scorpion was. He had been an instrument crafted in a way the Stellarans would never understand. In service to the Empire, his hands had slaughtered other humans, but he felt no responsibility, no blame. And then there were times when he felt nauseous realizing that the Empire had used him – and the other Guards – as little more than executioners.

He looked up and, as astronauts often did, he thought the Tilsin was rocking back and forth and that he was swinging upside down. The cold stars shone, and he had a moment of real regret for the worlds he never would see. Then again, he could spend his life crisscrossing the cosmos and still see only a tiny part of the universe.

In any event, the universe was too big for mankind. He thought of Tan’s cynical views and the despair behind them. Was the Teknor right? Was the universe simply an enormous blind machine through which men traveled to quench their thirst for certainty?

Maybe the Pilgrims had the answer. They believed in a God other than the one he had been taught to worship and fear. A benevolent God who did not abandon creation even in punishment. Would there be anything left of him after his death? Would he be with Iolia again somewhere beyond space and time? He would have liked to believe so, but, in these last few minutes, he could not. Tan probably was right that humanity’s wanderlust had no purpose, that only a race can expect to be immortal.

The human race! Something lived in him, the same something that lived in early men, that lived even before them, that lived in the early warm seas, something passed to him…something perfect. But he refused to pass it on. The connection forged through the circle of life would be broken forever. The universe had crushed him, so he would snatch victory from the jaws of defeat and, voluntarily, extinguish his contribution to the future.

He checked the time: 10 more minutes.

“Tankar?” Anaena interrupted his musings. “What the hell are you doing? Are you nuts? We’re about to dive!”

Aggravated, he turned and saw Anaena standing in front of him, her anxious face within the transparent helmet she wore clearly illuminated by the supernova.

“Quick! I didn’t have time to tell anyone I was looking for you. At last, I saw you through the scope. I’m so happy to have found you!”

“Leave me alone, Ana. You can still save yourself.”

“Come Tankar, I beg you. I love you,” she pleaded, “Please, come….”

“Leave me. I’ll never be anything other than a pariah. Let me disappear.” When she said nothing, he continued, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re a coward!” She stood so close to him that he feared her magnetic soles might lose their grip on the hull, so he put his hands on her shoulders to protect her.

“You may be right, Ana. You probably are, and that’s why I don’t want to live anymore.”

“Fine.” She shrugged. “So I’m in love with a coward. Well, that’s just too damn bad. But I’d take hell, the sky, nothingness, anything would be better than living without you. I’m staying here.” She reached out to him. “Sit down and hold me close to you….”

He grabbed her and began to walk her toward the airlock. She pulled away from him and drew a fulgurator from the pocket of her spacesuit. She pointed it at him. “Oh, no you don’t! No way you’re putting me back in the airlock!”

“Don’t be stupid, Ana! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!”

“Without you, I don’t care.” She maintained her distance and her grip on the fulgurator. “We still have a few minutes, so think. Did you ever really try to adapt to life on the Tilsin? No. Baby Tankar broke his toys because they weren’t exactly what he wanted. You’re so sure you’re a pariah on the Tilsin? I call bullshit! One of these days you’ll make me believe that we’re right that planetaries….” She paused.

“You can’t forgive yourself for Iolia – do you think I can forgive myself?” she resumed. “You know we could’ve been happy together. Our children could’ve become part of a new generation of Stellarans who’d know nothing of prejudice because we’re going to have to join forces with the planetaries to fight off the Others.

“In any event, I’m staying right here on this hull. Now you’ll have my death as well as Iolia’s on your conscience.”

Tankar stared at her. She had tied her lustrous red hair into a thick bun at the nape of her neck so that she might fit into one of the transparent helmets. “Our children playing the game of the universe?” he mused aloud. “What if the universe isn’t playing a game? What if it’s the dumb blind beast the Teknor thinks it is?” In a swift flick of his wrist he wrangled the fulgurator from Anaena’s hand. Then he embraced her and jumped into the airlock and put her back on her feet.

Propping herself up against the metal wall, Anaena trembled with nervous tension, still unable to believe that she had won, that she had saved him from himself. He did not lock the door right away, instead giving a lingering look at the constellations above them.

“What are you doing? Close the damn thing!”

Tankar lowered the handle, and, as the heavy door pivoted shut, he turned to the woman he loved and smiled. “I just wanted to take one last look into the abyss.”