Lord of Light

The Archives exploded around him, and he stood in the ballroom halfway up Milehigh Spire. It was night, so late that it would soon be morning. A party had obviously been going on for a long while; but now the crowd in which he stood had come together in the corner of the room. They were leaning, and they were sitting and reclining, and all of them listening to the short, dark, husky man who stood beside the goddess Kali and talked. This was Great-Souled Sam the Buddha, who, with his warden, had just arrived. He was talking of Buddhism and Accelerationism, and of the days of the binding, and Hellwell, and the blasphemies of Lord Siddhartha in the city of Mahartha by the sea. He was talking, and his voice went on and on, hypnotic, and he radiated power and confidence and warmth, hypnotic, and his words went on and on and on, as the crowd slowly passed out and fell down around him. All of the women were quite ugly, except for Maya, who tittered then and clapped her hands, bringing back the Archives about them, and Tak again to his chair, his smile still upon his lips.

"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?"