The fence around his parents' quarters was much higher than the black man's head. It was a mesh of heavy steel curved outwards and down at the top. Every afternoon Morgan watched the man walk by, and tried to imagine how the man came to be black. Morgan did not ask his parents because he wanted to figure it out for himself.

One morning at early his father said, "The sun's going nova."

He never forgot those words, those powerful words, even though he did not know their meaning.

"It's been kept quiet, but even the Roman Empire can't hide this heat. All the chants of all the priests of Ra won't make one damn whit of difference."

"Heat?" his mother shot back. "Heat is something you can live in, you can deal with. But thi...." she waved her hand at the large window, "this is only a step away from fire."

So, he thought, it was the sun made that man black.

He was ten before he realized that the man who walked past was black from birth, from conception. Still, Morgan persisted in telling the other children in his creche that it was the sun's doing. He enjoyed the secret game of persuasion and deception.

Ah, the power of the game, even then!

Oakes straightened the cushion at his back. Why did he think of that black man, now? There had been one curious event, a simple thing that caused a commotion and fixed it in his memory.

He touched me.

Oakes could not recall being touched by anyone except his parents until that moment. On that very hot day, he sat outside on a step, cooled by the shade of the roof and the ventilator trained on his back from the doorway. The man walked by, as usual, then stopped and turned back. The boy watched him, curious, through the mesh fence, and the man studied him carefully, as though noticing him for the first time.

Oakes recalled the sudden jump of his heart, that feeling of a slingshot pulled back, back.

The man looked around, then up at the top of the fence, and the next thing Oakes knew the man was over the top, walking up to him. The black man stopped, reached out a hesitant hand and touched the boy's cheek. Oakes also reached out, equally curious, and touched the black skin of the man's arm.

"Haven't you ever seen a little boy before?" he asked.

The black face widened into a smile, and he said, "Yes, but not a little boy like you."

Then a sentry jumped on the man out of nowhere and took him away. Another sentry pulled the boy inside and called his father. He remembered that his father was angry. But best of all he remembered the look of wide-eyed wonder on the black man's face, the man who never walked by again. Oakes felt special then, powerful, an object of deference. He had always been someone to reckon with.

Why do I remember that man?

It seemed as though he spent all of his private hours asking himself questions lately. Questions led to more questions, led ultimately, daily, to the one question that he refused to admit into his consciousness. Until now.

He voiced the question aloud to himself, tested it on his tongue like the long-awaited wine.

"What if the damned ship is God?"

RAJA FLATTERY lay quietly in the hybernation cocoon while he fought to overcome his terrors.

Ship has me.

Moody waves confused his memories but he knew several things. He could almost project these things onto the ebon blackness which surrounded him.

I was Chaplain/Psychiatrist on the Voidship Earthling.

We were supposed to produce an artificial consciousness. Very dangerous, that.

And they had produce.... something. That something was Ship, a being of seemingly infinite powers.

God or Satan?

Flattery did not know. But Ship had created a paradise planet for its cargo of clones and then had introduced a new concept: WorShip. It had demanded that the human clones decide how they would WorShip.

We failed in that, too.

Was it because they were clones, every one of them? They had certainly been expendable. They had known this from the first moments of their childhood awareness on Moonbase.

Again, fear swept through him.

I must be resolute, Flattery told himself. God or Satan, whatever this power may be, I'm helpless before it unless I remain resolute.

"As long as you believe yourself helpless, you remain helpless even though resolute," Ship said.

"So You read my mind, too."

"Read? That is hardly the word."

Ship's voice came from the darkness all around him. It conveyed a sense of remote concerns which Flattery could not fathom. Every time Ship spoke he felt himself reduced to a mote. He combed his way through a furry sense of subjugation, but every thought amplified this feeling of being caged and inadequate.

What could a mere human do against a power such as Ship?

There were questions in his mind, though, and he knew that Ship sometimes answered questions.

"How long have I been in hyb?"

"That length of time would be meaningless to you."

"Try me."

"I am trying you."

"Tell me how long I've been in hyb."

The words were barely out of his mouth before he felt panic at what he had done. You did not address God that wa.... or Satan.

"Why not, Raj?"

Ship's voice had taken on an air of camaraderie, but so precise was the modulation his flesh tingled with it.

"Becaus.... because. . ."

"Because of what I could do to you?"

"Yes."

"Ahhhhh, Raj, when will you awaken?"

"I am awake."

"No matter. You have been in hybernation for a very long time as you reckon time."

"How long?" He felt that the answer was deeply important; he had to know.

"You must understand about replays, Raj. Earth has gone through its history for Me, replayed itself at My Command."

"Replaye.... the same way every time?"

"Most of the times."

Flattery felt the inescapable truth of it and a cry was torn from him: "Why?"

"You would not understand."

"All of that pain an...."

"And the joy. Raj. Never forget the joy."

"Bu.... replay?"

"The way you might replay a musical recording, Raj, or a holo-record of a classical drama. The way Moonbase replayed its Project Consciousness, getting a bit more out of it each time."

"Why have You brought me out of hyb?"

"You are like a favorite instrument, Raj."

"But Bicke...."

"Ohh, Bickel! Yes, he gave Me his genius. He was the black box out of which you achieved Me, but friendship requires more, Raj. You are My best friend."

"I would've destroyed You, Ship."

"How little you understand friendship."

"So I'.... an instrument. Are You replaying me?"

"No Raj. No." Such sadness in that terrible voice. "Instruments play."

"Why should I permit You to play me?"

"Good! Very good, Raj!"

"Is that supposed to be an answer?"

"That was approval. You are, indeed, My best friend, My favorite instrument."

"I'll probably never understand that."

"It's partly because you enjoy the play."

Flattery could not suppress it; a chuckle escaped him.

"Laughter suits you. Raj."

Laughter? He remembered little laughter except the bitter amusement of self-accusation. But now he remembered going into hyb - not once, but more times than he cared to count. There had been other awakening.... other games an.... yes, other failures. He sensed, though, that Ship was amused and he knew he was supposed to respond.

"What are we playing this time?"

"My demand remains unfulfilled, Raj. Humans somehow cannot decide how to WorShip. That's why there are no more humans now."