“So why this sudden interest in the dead?” he repeated.
“He is not dead, that one!”
“No?” said Tak. “He isn’t? . . . Mistress Maya, he was dead the moment he set foot within the Celestial City. Forget him. Forget his words. Let it be as if he never existed. Leave no trace of him within your mind. One day you will seek renewal—so know that the Masters of Karma will seek after this one within every mind that passes through their halls. The Buddha and his words are an abomination in the eyes of the gods.”
“But why?”
“He is a bomb-throwing anarchist, a hairy-eyed revolutionary. He seeks to pull down Heaven itself. If you want more scientific information, I’ll have to use the machines to retrieve the data. Would you care to sign an authorization for this?”
“No . . .”
“Then put him out of your mind and lock the door.”
“He is really that bad?”
“He’s worse.”
“Then why do you smile as you say these things?”
“Because I’m not a very serious person. Character has nothing to do with my message, however. So heed it.”
“You seem to know all about it. Are archivists themselves immune to these lists?”
“Hardly. My name is first upon it. But this is not because I am an archivist. He is my father.”
“That one? Your father?”
“Yes. You speak as one quite young, however. I doubt that he is even aware that he fathered me. What is paternity to the gods, who inhabit a succession of bodies, begetting scores of offspring by others who also change bodies four or five times a century? I am the son of a body he once inhabited, born of another who also passed through many, and I myself no longer live in the same body I was born into. The relationship, therefore, is quite intangible, and interesting primarily on levels of speculative metaphysics. What is the true father of a man? The circumstances which brought together the two bodies which begat him? Was it the fact that, for some reason, at one moment in time, these two pleased one another beyond any possible alternatives? If so, why? Was it the simple hunger of the flesh, or was it curiosity, or the will? Or was it something else? Pity? Loneliness? The desire to dominate? What feeling, or what thought was father to the body in which I first came into consciousness? I know that the man who inhabited that particular father-body at that particular instant of time is a complicated and powerful personality. Chromosomes mean nothing to us, not really. If we live, we do not carry these hallmarks down through the ages. We really inherit nothing at all, save for occasional endowments of property and cash. The bodies mean so little in the long run that it is far more interesting to speculate as to the mental processes which plucked us forth from chaos. I am pleased that it was he who called me to life, and I often conjecture as to the reasons. I see that your face is suddenly lacking in color, mistress. I did not mean to upset you with this talk, simply to satisfy your curiosity somewhat, and to lay upon your mind some of the thinking we old ones do upon these matters. One day you, too, will look upon it in this light, I am certain. But I am sorry to see you looking so distressed. Pray sit down. Forgive my prattle. You are the Mistress of Illusion. Are not the things of which I have spoken akin to the very stuff with which you work? I am certain that you can tell from the manner in which I speak why my name is first upon the list I mentioned. It is a case of hero worship, I suppose. My creator is quite distinguished. . . . Now you are looking somewhat flushed. Would you care for a cool drink? Wait here a moment. . . . There. Sip this. Now then, about Accelerationism—it is a simple doctrine of sharing. It proposes that we of Heaven give unto those who dwell below of our knowledge and powers and substance. This act of charity would be directed to the end of raising their condition of existence to a higher level, akin to that which we ourselves occupy. Then every man would be as a god, you see. The result of this, of course, would be that there would no longer be any gods, only men. We would give them knowledge of the sciences and the arts, which we possess, and in so doing we would destroy their simple faith and remove all basis for their hoping that things will be better—for the best way to destroy faith or hope is to let it be realized. Why should we permit men to suffer this burden of godhood collectively, as the Accelerationists wished, when we do grant it to them individually when they come to deserve it? In his sixtieth year a man passes through the Halls of Karma. He is judged, and if he has done well, observing the rules and restrictions of his caste, paying the proper observances to Heaven, advancing himself intellectually and morally, then this man will be incarnated into a higher caste, eventually achieving godhood itself and coming to dwell here in the City. Each man eventually receives his just desserts—barring unfortunate accidents, of course—and so each man, rather than society as a sudden whole, may come into the divine inheritance which the ambitious Accelerationists wished to scatter wholesale before everyone, even those who were unready. You can see that this attitude was dreadfully unfair and proletarian-oriented. What they really wanted to do was to lower the requirements for godhood. These requirements are necessarily strict. Would you give the power of Shiva, of Yama, or of Agni into the hands of an infant? Not unless you are a fool, you wouldn’t Not unless you wished to wake up one morning and see that the world no longer existed. This is what the Accelerationists would have wrought, though, and this is why they were stopped. Now you know all about Accelerationism. . . . My, you look awfully warm. May I hang your garment while I get you another drink? . . . Very good. . . . Now, where were we, Maya? Oh yes—the beetles in the pudding. . . . Well, the Accelerationists claimed that everything I have just said would be true, excepting for the fact that the system is corrupt. They cast aspersions upon the probity of those who authorized incarnation. Some even dared claim that Heaven was comprised of an immortal aristocracy of wilful hedonists who played games with the world. Others dared to say that the best of men never achieve godhood, but meet ultimately with the real death or incarnation into a lower life form. Some others would even say that one such as yourself had been chosen for deification only because your original form and attitude struck the fancy of some lustful divinity, rather than for your other obvious virtues, my dear. .. . My, you’re full of freckles, aren’t you? . . . Yes, these are the things those thrice-damned Accelerationists preached. These are the things, the accusations, that the father of my spirit stands for, I am ashamed to say. What can one do with such a heritage but wonder at it? He rides a cycle of mighty days, and he represents the last great schism among the gods. Evil though he obviously is, he is a mighty figure, this father of my spirit, and I respect him as the sons of old did the fathers of their bodies. . . . Are you cold now? Here, let me. . . . There. . . . There. . . . There. . . . Come, now weave us an illusion, my lovely, where we walk in a world that is free of such foolishness. . . . This way now. Turn here. . .. Now let there be a new Eden within this bunker, my moist-lipped one of the green eyes. . . . What is that? . . . What is it that is paramount within me at this instant of time? . . . Truth, my love—and sincerity—and the desire to share . . .”