Pyramid of Mirrors

The otherwise darkened room was filled with holographic images of the characters and setting of "Enchanted Spheres," a computer game having twelve levels of obstacle courses built into it. Seated at his terminal in the center of the room, seven-year-old Tristan pushed buttons and cited codewords to manipulate the protagonist, a handsome-prince character who was continuously running a gauntlet of fire-breathing dragons, man-eating cyclopi, giant bats and a variety of other beasts. The prince plowed onward in the noble objective of rescuing a beautiful princess imprisoned in a castle tower situated in Level Twelve. Right now the prince was at Level Seven, where he was being chased by a horde of human-sized ants trying to devour him. He made it to the lair of the "roc," a giant bird with talons big enough to carry him off. The roc was just lifting in flight when the prince managed to jump up and grab onto its talons. As passenger on a flight, the prince was carried to the next level. There was a flash of light and Level Seven was replaced by Level Eight. The landscape changed to that of a valley circumscribed by cliffs pockmarked with caves. The roc set the prince down at the entrance to one of the caves, leaving the hero to find the correct pathway through a subterranean maze and get past the giant serpents blocking his ascent. Just as the prince drew his magic sword against a lunging giant serpent with three heads, the boy heard his mother’s melodious voice.

"Tristan," she said, drawing out his name in a cadence indicating disapproval, "now, what did I tell you?"

The distraction proved fatal to the prince. The serpent managed to snatch up the hero in its jaws and finish him off. Virtual reality images of the letters O-V-E-R appeared in front of Tristan, then vanished along with the characters and environment of Enchanted Spheres. There was darkness for a few seconds before regular lights came on. Prospina, a beautiful, fair-complexioned, auburn-haired woman, came over to her son and held before him a pair of color-glass goggles.

"I told you always to wear goggles when you’re at the hologrammer," she scolded. "Do you want to hurt your eyes?"

Tristan took the goggles and started to put them on, then relented and removed them, preferring instead to leave the terminal and lounge on the waterbed. The mother looked at her child, pondering over whether or not she would have to punish him to get him to learn. Her thoughts flowed from sternness born out of concern for his well-being over to a sense of pride on being the mother of such a cute little boy. His features were finely drawn; he personified the classical ideal of a prince. His brown, auburn-tinted hair was presently just the right length, long but not scraggly.

"Mother, is Assembly tomorrow?" asked Tristan.

Prospina knew that, to Tristan, "tomorrow" meant "the near future" and "yesterday" meant "the recent past." She was aware that her son measured time as intervals between "Assemblies" (those spans when all forty-five Pantheonics were together in the Central Cube) and that he had noticed a special flurry of activities among the robotic computers, leading him to believe that Assembly Time was about to begin.

"Yes, peach," answered Prospina, "and it’s just about time for you to bathe and prepare for Assembly."

The doorbell rang. Prospina looked to the telesphere and viewed two boys of the same age as Tristan.

"Come in, boys," invited Prospina over the intercom as she pushed the button that opened the door. Tristan’s two young friends, Zandow the Kublian and Iboten the Durandian, entered the chamber. Tristan the Hadrian ran up to them.

"We were at the pet depot," said Zandow. "We saw Kiwi and Emu and Sloth, but Dingo wasn’t there. The robocomp said that Dingo had been sac-ri-ficed..." (he struggled with the new word) "...because he was too infirm."

The implications of what Zandow was saying sunk into Tristan’s mind. "You mean Dingo is...dead?" he asked in a choking voice.

"That’s what the robocomp said," answered Iboten.

Tristan wistfully looked up at his mother, who condescendingly looked down at him.

"Oh, that’s so sad," said Prospina, realizing that Tristan and his two friends were in the early stages of comprehending the meaning of death. "Such is the fate of animals."

There was momentary silence. Prospina smiled at the children’s sentimentality. The silence was broken when Tristan asked, "Mother, may I go out and play?"

"You may," answered Prospina, "but you must return at the whistle sound."

Light-skinned Tristan, dark-skinned Iboten and bronze-skinned Zandow ran out of the chamber onto the "Mall," a portion of the Central Cube filled with dazzling displays of bright lights and flashing holograms. The trio ran through the corridors, threading their way amongst a multitude of robots going about their work. Most of the mechanical denizens were standard design: monitor as "head" with screen as "face," processor as "trunk" with keyboard as "chest," contractible metallic limbs as "arms," and, as "feet," small wheels located underneath the base; a few, more cosmetic than utilitarian, were of the humanoid variety.

Down the steps...up the escalator...past the waterfall...jump over the plants...pent-up energy found release for the constantly competing trio. Iboten threw down musical jumping jacks, and the three boys competed, each jumping and doing hand-stands to the sounds of twinkling, colorful jacks.

Iboten challenged Zandow and Tristan to a race. They both accepted and, with the customary, "On your mark, get set, one...two...three, go!" the race was on. The three boys ran through the corridors of the Mall heading for what was the finish line of most foot races between them, one of the massive metallic doors they called "borders." Iboten reached the border first, declared himself victor and graciously accepted his prize of two gold coins, one from Zandow and one from Tristan.

Situated a short distance from the metallic door was a robotic computer with a hemispherical monitor. Iboten and Zandow stepped over to the robocomp, each of the two boys putting a gold coin in separate slots on its side. Images appeared inside the monitor, caricatures of two tennis players at opposite ends of the hemisphere and a ball moving between them. Iboten raised a few notches the speed at which the ball moved, then took hold of one of the levers on the side of the robocomp. Zandow took hold of the lever on the other side, and the two began a game of three-dimensional video tennis.

As Iboten and Zandow played on the computer, Tristan stared at the massive metallic door that neither he nor the other two boys had ever seen open. Tristan felt a sense of awe at this formidable barrier. As far as he and his two friends were concerned, a "border" was one of the boundaries marking the end of the known world, one of the twelve gateways to the spheres. In the fantasies of the seven-year-olds, none of whom had ever been any place other than the four square kilometers of the Central Cube, the spheres contained all that was exotic, all that was mysterious, in the world of Ormuzad. Distant lands and strange creatures! The enchanted spheres! Someday, thought Tristan, he would explore them all. A beautiful princess was out there, too, somewhere, and he, the handsome prince, would someday find her; so fantasized Tristan, his pre-pubescent mind infatuated over a romantic ideal.

The whistle blew. Tristan turned away from the mysterious door. Iboten and Zandow finished up their game. The trio headed home, sometimes walking, sometimes running. When they reached the juncture where they had to go their separate ways, three right hands met. The boys parted, each setting out for his own abode of parentdom.

Tristan, sprinting to his family’s compartment, tried to make it all the way home in one last dash. Determined not to stop running until he had reached the front gate, Tristan was not looking to where he was going. As a result, he plowed right into a grownup, bounced off of him and fell back onto the Mall floor. Tristan looked up and saw his father, a tall, powerfully-built, brown-haired man, looking down at him with stern eyes.

"Prepare for Assembly," ordered Hamilcar.

Tristan picked himself up and, with a tinge of filial fear in his voice, apologized to "Sire." The boy went inside his home, followed by his father.

Prospina was sitting on the living room sofa watching a telesphere documentary narrated by the current First Triumvir. Colorful animation drew Tristan’s attention; he began watching and listening to the documentary, although it was essentially incomprehensible to him. Prospina, while aware of the new arrivals, nevertheless remained engrossed in the scientific dissertation.

"Geriatric aging, the breakdown of the corrective mechanism, is caused by errors in the replication of DNA transmitted by its messenger substance RNA. Cells undergo mutation, changing their chromosome structure in a way that is reproduced when they again divide; abnormal products accumulate within cells. Painstaking research in an effort to reverse the accelerated aging found to occur in clones eventually led to breakthroughs in the manipulation of super genes that affect all other genes. This made feasible the multiplication of the youth span through genetic as well as environmental methodologies. Analysis of the mutant gene causing Progeria, the extremely rare aging disease…"

A pathetically hideous, child-like creature suddenly appeared in the telesphere, prompting a shock of visual horror which caused Tristan to turn away. Perceiving her impressionable youngster’s reaction to the gruesome image, Prospina immediately clicked off the telesphere. She went over to Tristan and petted his hair before turning to and embracing her husband.

"Sixty days," noted Hamilcar, reminding her of the time duration since they had last been together. "One yellow moon, one blue moon."

"How is my island?" asked Prospina.

"It flourishes," replied Hamilcar.

After the family had bathed and dressed in colorful starvoyager outfits, they returned to the living room to wait and to relax together upon the sofa. Tristan’s absorptive mind was full of questions.

"Why is it," asked Tristan, looking up at his father for an answer, "that animals grow in-firm..." (he accented the first syllable of what to him was a somber term) "...but people don’t?"

Hamilcar said nothing. Prospina took up her husband’s slack.

"Because people become Celestials," she answered.

That answer, although somewhat evasive, nonetheless paved the way for more questioning.

"Mother, are you a Celestial?"

"No," she replied.

"Father, are you a Celestial?"

Hamilcar also gave a laconic "No."

"Are the Triumvirs Celestials?" asked Tristan, looking to his mother.

"Yes," she replied.

"Why are the Triumvirs Celestials?"

"Because they have entered into the Regimen."

Prospina left her explanation at that. She knew her answer went over Tristan’s head, but decided to keep to the maxim of answering a child’s questions as they arise, never revealing more than is asked of at the time. Tristan turned to his father.

"What’s a ‘blue moon?’" the boy asked. "And, what’s a ‘yellow moon?’"

"Today you will see the Celestials," replied Hamilcar in a bored tone of voice. "They will tell you all about it."

Prospina looked at Hamilcar and frowned, communicating her displeasure over his lack of interest in their child’s inquisitiveness. In an attempt to mitigate the disquiet she knew Tristan felt due to his father’s aloofness, Prospina spoke to her child in a storytelling voice.

"Beyond the mysterious gateway XY3, further beyond a long, long corridor without light, lies the Sphere of Six Islands, a world of wonders the likes of which you have never seen. Your mother and father grew up in this land of blue moons and yellow moons. Your father ruled over the Isle of Hadrian; your mother ruled over the Isle of Pandora. In this sphereworld..."

The amplified voice of First Triumvir Kublian suddenly punctuated the air, bursting like a bubble the pleasant fantasy of Tristan.

"All Mortals, report to the Center of the Universe," commanded Kublian.

Prospina whispered to Tristan, "We must obey the First Triumvir."

Hamilcar and Prospina, with Tristan between them holding hands, walked out the door onto a corridor of the Mall. They were joined by Iboten, his father Kumar and his mother Emanela; then by Zandow, his father Samaru and his mother Kurela. Together, the two generations of three separate Pantheons trekked to the Central Cube’s most expansive chamber.

The group of nine arrived at a swimming pool full of crystal-clear water, halting at the atrium adjacent to its shallow end. The adults felt reverence and the children awe as they looked across the length of the pool and beyond the other atrium at its deep end, to where they viewed a pyramid whose apex was about three times the height of an adult human, whose base was slightly more than twice its height and whose sides consisted of sheer mirror.

"Recite the Creed," bellowed the voice of still-unseen Kublian.

More or less in unison, the group of nine recited their creed, the adults with dogmatic finality, the children with mimicry.

"There is nothing above the Pantheonics except the Celestials; there is nothing above the Celestials except the Primons; there is nothing above the Primons except the Triumvirs; there is nothing above the Triumvirs except the Integral of Omni and Ahriman and Mithra."

The Voice grunted as if to say that the pious recital was acceptable but not impressive, then issued another command: "All Celestials, report to the Center of the Universe."

For a few minutes, no one spoke. The silence was broken when the Voice announced, "The Celestials of the Second Generation!"

Six men and six women marched onto the "Altar," that atrium adjacent to the Pyramid of Mirrors, parading in consort pairs to the accompaniment of stirring music. The group of twelve halted at the edge of the pool’s deep end, where they stood facing the group of nine standing across at the shallow end. The music ceased.

The Voice announced, "The Primons, less the Triumvirs and their consorts."

Anthem music played over the loudspeaker as eighteen members of the First Generation of Ormuzad paraded onto the Altar Atrium in husband-and-wife pairs, each Primo holding the hand of his consort Prima. The nine couples settled in on the Atrium stage, mingling with the six couples of the Second Generation.

A drumbeat emanated from the Pyramid, heralding the arrival of the rulers of the starworld along with their spouses.

"Third Triumvir Hadrian and his consort Efesia, present Guardian of the Biosphere of Dagonishtar."

The Hadrian couple walked out onto the Atrium to the accompaniment of cheers and clapping.

"Second Triumvir Durandian and his consort Sheba, present Guardian of the Biosphere of Karkomia."

The Durandian couple walked out onto the Atrium and was similarly honored by the others in the group.

Lastly, the Voice introduced its own corporeal self along with his spouse.

"First Triumvir Kublian, Commander of the Starworld for the year 56 of Ormuzad Time, and his consort Bortay, present Guardian of the Biosphere of Elysium."

Their hands clasped, held forward and slightly raised, the Kublian pair entered onto the Altar Atrium to the accompaniment of music. The others, with cheers and clapping, welcomed these last Primons onto the stage. The Triumvirs and their consorts blended in with the other couples. The music ceased, and the First Triumvir gave the standard introductory admonishment: "For the next three days, let us work and play, doing justice to both."

With all thirty-six Celestials present upon the Altar Atrium, the stage was awash in a sea of sequin-embroidered costumes whose stones kept changing color. Tristan had already discerned from previous Assemblies who his maternal grandparents and great-grandparents were, due to the similarity they bore to his mother; likewise, he had already discerned who his paternal antecedents were, their likeness to his father being equally obvious. Looking across at the First and Second Generations, the boy felt a sense of identity, a sense of belonging, to the group of nine people standing at his end of the pool. He felt as though there existed a chasm between Mortals and Celestials many times wider than the length of the pool and greater than the difference between humans and animals.

First Triumvir Kublian outstretched his arms and spoke directly to the Third and Fourth Generations: "Mortals, you may now join us upon the Altar of the Integral."

With the mother taking hold of his right hand and the father taking hold of his left, each of the three boys was escorted along the poolside from shallow to deep end. All three boys felt a sense of foreboding as they approached the Pyramid of Mirrors; but, together with their parents, they entered onto the Altar Atrium with their heads held high.

The members of the Third Generation of Ormuzad blended in with their Celestial forebears. To the young members of the Fourth Generation, the parents and grandparents and great-grandparents all looked to be simply "grownups," people the same age. Yet, each of the three boys sensed a difference between the generations.

The grownups socialized as robotic waiters served drinks and delicacy foods. The three seven-year-olds at first stood close to their parents, but soon began tagging and chasing one another. The youngsters ran in between the towering adults, bumping a few and thereby prompting scoldings from their parents. Prospina grabbed Tristan by the wrist and said, "Calm down, hyperactive."

The mother and her child heard a familiar voice, that of a young woman, saying, "Seven years old. What a time in one’s life! It was Prehistory when I was seven."

Tristan looked up and saw Efesia, one of his paternal great-grandmothers, an attractive, fair-complexioned, brown-haired woman who happened to be consort to the Hadrian Triumvir. He watched and listened as she and his mother hugged one another and spoke of their mutual affection.

"Prima ’Fesia! How good to see you."

"Likewise, Prospi. Seeing you is one of the nicest things about Assembly. You’re a special-slot Astra..." (she lowered her voicetone) "...faithful to the hierarchy."

The sequin stones on Efesia’s dress changed from blue to purple through varying shades, a sign that Tristan’s great-grandmother was reacting to a heightened mood of joyous reunion. Efesia and Prospina placed an arm around one another’s shoulder, then faced forward relative to Tristan. The boy stared at the two women, both of whom looked to be the same youthful age.

"In ancient times," commented Efesia, "childhood normally took up one-fifth of a life; now it takes up one-twentieth."

Tristan spotted three men with a brotherly look, Astros Hadrian and Brandon and Hamilcar, his paterlineage great-grandfather and grandfather and father. Brown-haired Hadrian, the only one of the three with a beard (a trait unique to the Triumvirs) was standing and conversing with his son Brandon and Brandon’s son Hamilcar as Tristan ran up and jumped in his arms.

"Tell me about the lands of the sphere!" beseeched the boy.

Hadrian laughed and said, "You are seven years old, little Tristan; soon you will see it all."

Hadrian tossed his great-grandson up in the air and caught him three times.

"Are you a knowledgeable little boy?" he asked. "What do you know? Recite for me the Pantheon of Durandian."

Hadrian put down the boy, who stood at attention and began reciting.

"Durandian and Sheba had a son, Gesambo...." he went on, reciting by rote the names of the great-grandparents and grandparents and parents of his little friend, ending with, "...Kumar and Emanela had a son, Iboten."

"Very good!" said Hadrian. "Now, recite the Pantheon of Kublian."

Still standing at attention, the boy again recited by rote, this time giving the names of the great-grandparents, grandparents and parents of his other little friend.

"Kublian and Bortay had a son, Manku....Samaru and Kurela had a son, Zandow."

"Well done again!" said the Triumvir. "Now, recite your own genealogy."

Tristan started to comply, but was interrupted by the mechanical sound of a robotic computer calling for attention. There was silence for a minute before Kublian addressed the congregation in a less-than-solemn tone.

"Celestials and Mortals, first on the agenda of this Assembly is the contest to decide which Pantheon will have guardianship of the Biosphere of Mythology for the Fifty-Eighth Year of Ormuzad Time. This year, the competition is between the Hadrians and the Kublians. My fellow Pantheonics, in sight of the Pyramid of Mirrors, let us now entertain the Mind of Ormuzad with water polo, an ancient and simplistic yet still vibrant game ideally suited for our nautatorium. Celestial males of both Pantheons, doff!"

The First Triumvir led the way, doffing his clothes down to his swimshorts. The other five male Kublian Celestials and the six male Hadrian Celestials did likewise. The six Kublian players took their positions on one side of swimming pool, the six Hadrian players took their positions on the other side, and the thirty-three spectators seated themselves at atrium tables set up by the deep end of the pool.

With the two teams positioned on opposite sides of the pool, Second Triumvir Durandian strode over to the edge of the pool at the center of its deep end. Standing there as referee, he pressed a sequence of buttons on a metallic activating device he held in his hand. Moments later, three small circular apertures opened up on both ends of the pool while the water in the middle began whirling in a clockwise motion. The whirling went on for half-a-minute before an air-inflated, waterproofed leather polo ball fitted with a brace of solid handlebars launched itself up through the surface, rose several meters into the air, then plunged back down. Immediately upon its hitting the water, the athletes of both teams dove in after it.

Moving at a fast pace, the polo ball crisscrossed the pool via automotive power, sometimes riding on the surface and sometimes running submerged. One of the players, a Kublian, managed to grab hold of its handlebars and steer the contested object towards one of the three circular apertures constituting the goalposts for his team’s court. In this instance, opposing players managed to grab hold of the steerer and dunk him, forcing the player to relinquish his grip on the bars and lose control of the quasi-robotic prize.

Tristan watched enthralled as his paterlineage great-grandfather plunged upward from underwater, seized control of the handlebars, shifted the polo ball’s direction and drove it towards his own team’s court. Triumvir Hadrian’s opponents scrambled to dunk him, but a combination of excellent blocking from his teammates and superb maneuvering on his part enabled him to ride the polo ball the length of the pool and dislodge it into one of the goal rings. The polo ball disappeared down a shaft; Hadrian’s opponents then let him be, accepting the fact that he had scored the first point of the game. All the players moved towards the center of the pool; there, a minute or so after its disappearance, the polo ball once again shot up out of the depths to rise up in the air and fall back down to the water. Moves and countermoves bridged out from that event, and the cycle repeated itself.

Tristan thrilled at the thought of himself as a participant, imagining what it would be like to rush with the ball and have your opponents push you underwater to take it from you. The boy studied the game while lamenting the fact that he was too little to be a player.

Tread water around the center of the pool until the polo ball breaks surface....Swim hard and fast to reach the moving polo ball....Seize control of the handlebars....Risk getting dunked....Ride the polo ball in the face of opposition....Reach the goalside with the help of blocking teammates....Dislodge the polo ball into one of three circular rings.

This particular match was quite suspenseful; the score was always close, the leading team continuously changing. The game lasted one hour, ending in victory for the Hadrians.

Second Triumvir Durandian pressed the buttons causing the six goal rings to close up again, then spread his arms wide and declared, "And so, it has been decided; the Guardian of the Biosphere of Mythology for the Fifty-Eighth Year of Ormuzad Time will be a Hadrian."

Alone among the players, Triumvir Hadrian hauled himself up over the side of the pool and marched over to the spectator tables. He halted at Tristan’s table and told the boy to "Doff." Tristan complied and took off his outerclothes. The Triumvir picked up his swimshorts-clad great-grandson and set him on his shoulders. In that way, Hadrian returned to the pool, wading into the water with Tristan riding high. The onlookers cheered and the little boy felt exuberant.

The doffers, adult and child alike, dried themselves off and re-donned their starvoyager garb. Soon all forty-five Pantheonics were once again congregated upon the Altar Atrium.

The adults relaxed and partied as the three little ones spun themselves around with arms outstretched. The boys twirled, inducing intoxication, then lowered themselves to the floor. As the whole world kept spinning around them, they nonetheless noticed the lights dimming to extinction, eventually leaving the chamber in darkness. Their delirium was suddenly pierced by a thunderous voice, unfamiliar to the boys, bellowing, “Behold! The preordained domicile of the Divine Integral!”

Tristan regained his orientation hearing sounds of “Hush, hush.” The boy rose to his feet. He looked up at a ceiling now illumined with holographic images of stars and constellations. Along with the others, he gazed at the multitude of stellar objects, focusing his attention upon six stars uniquely linked together by lasers. This constellation resembled a lyre with sides as a southeasterly-dipping parallelogram whose lower-right star was also the apex of a southeasterly-dipping equilateral triangle. Another star, the most prominent and southerly star of the triangle, was circumscribed by a red circle.

“Prepare for veneration of the Omnipotent One!” bellowed the thunderous voice.

“The Mind of Ormuzad is about to appear before us,” whispered Tristan’s mother, stunning the boy with the awesome realization that, for the first time, he and his two little friends were about to encounter the Divine Integral, Lord of the Starworld.

A conglomeration of multi-colored lights emanated from the forward mirror. The image kept altering its configuration until it metamorphosed into a hologram in the shape of a bell-shaped curve. The phantom curve skewed to the left, where the bulge broke off to form the hologram of a muscular, thickly-bearded man with long, flaxen hair, the image of a warrior clothed in "Viking" garb (a fashion from Early Prehistory) complete with bull-horned helmet and armed with sword and shield. The curve then rebounded to the right, where the bulge broke off to form the hologram of a man also with flaxen hair but without helmet, clad in a "Battlestar" uniform (a fashion from Later Prehistory) with trousers tucked into insignia-decorated boots; his neatly-groomed hair was long and curly, his cherubic face beardless, his ephebic physique well-proportioned. Finally, the curve rebounded to the center, where the bell-shape transformed itself into the hologram of a tall, slender, totally bald man having incongruent features suggestive of both health and infirmity (his beardless face was free of wrinkles yet the blood vessels on his head were protrusive enough to be seen from a distance of many meters) clothed in a long, immaculate white robe reaching down to his brown sandals. All three phantoms appeared to be of the same height.

An aura of light accentuated the center hologram, and a cackling voice emanated from that phantom’s moving mouth.

"I am Omni, Person of the Integral who rules over every aspect of your lives, appearing before you as I was on the day I attained immortality. I know all and see all. I demand both fear and devotion. Those who do not fear me, I shall turn into loathsome, deformed creatures."

The forty-five Pantheonics quivered in fright, the children clinging to their mothers. After a brief pause in which the phantom seemed to revel in the fear engendered, the cackling voice continued: "Devotion is owed to me by the human denizens of Ormuzad, for I have granted you the power to unlock algorithms and thereby tap the reservoir of accumulated scientific knowledge."

The image went silent. The light accentuation moved to the hologram on the left. The phantom of the bearded man spoke in that thunderous voice Tristan had heard for the first time only minutes ago: "I am Ahriman, Person of the Integral who punishes all deviation from perfection within the Divine Matrices, appearing before you as I was on the day I entered the Regimen. I am to be feared, for my judgments are swift and severe."

After the Ahriman image had spoken, the aura of light moved to the hologram on the far right. The phantom of pleasing countenance spoke in a voice both masculine and gentle: "I am Mithra, Person of the Integral who rewards all movement towards perfection within the Divine Matrices, appearing before you as I was on the day I began my conquest of the asteroid belt, that region of Sol which provided the bulk of raw materials that went into the building of your starworld. I am to be loved, for I provide to you the bounty of Earth in its prime."

There was a brief pause before the Voice of Mithra made an announcement: "The time is at hand for the Pantheonics of the Third Generation to enter into the Regimen and for the Pantheonics of the Fourth Generation to claim their birthrights. Thirty days hence, Samaru and Kurela and Kumar and Emanela and Hamilcar and Prospina will experience Ponce's Rapture; Zandow and Iboten and Tristan will depart for the Biosphere of Three Rivers."

Loudly and in unison, the adult Pantheonics called out, "We exist to serve the Divine Integral."

During the minute of silence which followed, Tristan stared at the phantoms, knowing they were all part of the Divine Integral. The boy pondered the seeming contradiction of three persons in one individual, leading his precocious mind to contemplate the process of biological phasing as it applied to humans.

The side holograms of Mithra and Ahriman began drifting towards the center hologram of Omni, moving closer and closer until finally the three holograms merged together, their cognizant shapes dissolving into a multi-colored image of a bell-shaped curve which increased in kurtosis until it eventually vanished from sight.

As light returned to the chamber, Tristan noticed his mother weeping. He listened as Emanela spoke to Prospina in a comforting tone of voice.

"If it had not been this Assembly, it would have been the next one, or the one after. It had to happen, sometime."

Prospina came over to Tristan and stooped down in front of him. Slowly and affectionately, she wiped his brow again and again. No words were spoken, but Tristan’s mother communicated what she felt by the wistful expression upon her face. It was as if she was trying to freeze time and lock in the present, while at the same time realizing that time could not be frozen, and her precious little robin would now have to be set loose and allowed to fly off into an entirely new world.