"In their place they left me, to watch over the welfare of the Traiti race, and one of the critical times they foresaw has arrived. Intervention has become necessary, and since I am limited in what I can do alone, I must seek help."
Kranath was puzzled. "But … Tenar said the legends promised they would return. If they have gone elsewhere, how can they?"
"They cannot. The legends by now tell more of what the listeners wanted than of what those who went before truly said. One part has been handed down accurately—that someone would be asked to join me—and even that has been misunderstood. I cannot ask that of you until you know what joining me actually involves; it is far more than simply being in my presence. When you do understand, I think you will answer without prompting. Until that time comes, I will discuss the subject no more."
"All right. But if you need my help to stop the fighting, you have it. I can't claim I do it for the entire race; I do it to save St'nar. I can see no other reason you would pick this time to involve someone in calling the gods." Kranath suppressed his curiosity about just what gods he was supposed to call if "those who went before" were out of reach. Godhome had already refused to go into that. "Only … why wait so long?"
"Some situations must be allowed to ripen, or their lessons will not sink in. Had I intervened earlier, such fighting would break out again, worse. By waiting, I insure at least relative peace afterward."
Kranath felt the computer's amusement at his next thoughts. "No, given Traiti psychology, you will have fighters and n'Cor'naya for quite a few more millennia. Probably as long as the race exists. And, given my own programming, that pleases me."
Kranath smiled. He hadn't been worried about that, exactly, but since he was Cor'naya, it was good to hear. He wondered when the computer would begin his lessons.
"Now," Godhome replied to his thoughts, "with some history." The landscapes on the walls faded, and the three-dimensional image of a planet, blue-green and girdled with brilliant white clouds, appeared in mid-air.
"Beautiful," the fighter breathed. "Is it Homeworld?"
"Yes," Godhome said, again amused. "It is your home world, but look more closely. It is not this planet. It is quite similar; the major differences are its shorter year and slightly lower gravity. But the biochemistry is identical, to twenty decimals."