About two hours' walk later the woods began thinning out, and the stream started veering west. That was a good sign, and Tarlac had to resist a temptation to run; walking would be faster than running himself to collapse and having to recover. He had a momentary sensation of disorientation: In Kranath's time, this had all been wooded, but when the capital had been established atop Godhome, much of the surrounding area had been turned into parks and farmland.
Godhome. His thoughts turned back to the psionic computer which had been beneath him for the last ten kilometers. A computer in the shape of a cube, damn near forty klicks on a side. He could no longer comprehend it as he had been able to do in his Vision, but he could still appreciate it, marveling at both the computer and the beings who had created it.
Despite everything they'd done and all the powers they had, those who went before weren't gods in any spiritual sense. Like their successors, the Circle of Lords, they were something Tarlac found more understandable: beings who weren't supernatural, but who had achieved their full potential. That, as far as the Ranger was concerned, was several orders of magnitude more acceptable than some immaterial, spiritual essence that demanded worship and obedience on pain of eternal torment.
Those who went before had demanded nothing, not even belief in their existence, and neither did the Lords. They accepted the reverence they were given, not because they wanted it, but because it was still necessary to those who gave it.
Kranath had thought of himself as a parent. Tarlac's experience led him to see the Lord more as a sort of super-powered Ranger. Parents, Rangers, Lords … ideally, all served the same function of guardian, using their various powers to help. Oh, sure, a Ranger could execute rebels and create nobility, instead of spanking a kid or giving him a puppy, and the Lords operated on an even larger scale—but it was the same principle. And wasn't a kid with a puppy yet another example of that principle?
The realization of something so basic it had never occurred to him before, as he walked in the warmth of Homeworld's sun, seemed fitting to him. He'd been Kranath, he'd been Godhome; now he was Steve Tarlac again. Only Steve Tarlac, he thought with a silent laugh, but he'd found at least part of the answer he needed to bring peace if he survived. He knew he'd been shown only as much of Kranath's story as he could understand and use—but he had the key, and that knowledge was enough to make this last bit of his hike a pleasant stroll, untroubled for the moment by the urgent need to end his two peoples' war. He would do it when the time was right.
Perhaps five kilometers out of the capital, Tarlac came to a road and turned onto it gladly. As on Terra or Irschcha, it was simply a lane cleared to a low ground cover, all that was necessary for null-grav or air-cushion vehicles, and it doubled as a pedestrian walkway. The traffic passing three meters overhead provided occasional shade, and he got waves and smiles from some of the drivers and passengers, which he returned even though he couldn't extend claws in emphasis as they did.
It wasn't long before one of Ch'kara's cream-and-green cars, also headed for town, dropped to hover at shoulder level beside him. The driver, whose name he couldn't remember, opened a window and stuck his head out. "Steve, ruhar!"
"Yeah, I made it!"
"I will call ahead. Cor'naya Hovan said to expect you."