He sighed, too tired, too depressed to argue. "Let me go.  Find someone else for your visions."

"Why?" was all she said.

He showed her, rather than told her. His mistakes in his own world, his anger, his pride, his arrogance. His rebellion, failed, his own brother fighting against him and dying for it. His wife trying to kill him to stop him from forever altering their children, his escape, nearly dead, into the time portal, and there, more of the same. Allying with a mad woman to flood a white silver plain full of two races of aliens and many humans, feeding her madness to gain his own ends, attempts to if not kill the children of his own allies, attempts to at least keep them in exile in order to save himself from being brain-wiped.  His son's deep and bitter hatred for the father who was relentless and cruel.  His attempt to atone with the children dying by helping Elizabeth cure a mental disintegration due to incompatibility with the technology they had to use to be operant. Then, his escape to the stars and his subsequent work in bringing one race, at least, up to full operancy. And finally his return to Earth and his subsequent adoption of the Awakened as his last hope to change the timelines and save Earth from himself.  And now, his destruction of that hope as well. Home, rubble.

Tabitha was weeping when he stopped, her mind filled with her own memories, her own mistakes.  She looked all the way back, to the time when the Earth and she had been young and tasted the hopes and dreams she had and lost as the years piled one on top of the other and her people had bloomed with hope and promise, then shattered against themselves and their own hubris and thirst for power...for godlikeness.  She saw again the war her own people had waged against themselves for reasons less noble that Marc's had been, she saw the plain where they'd fought the final battle, countless bodies draining life into the dirt.

She remembered Scetis, a desert place, filled with silence and the blazing furnace of a soul at war with itself, crushed by the burden of too many years and too much loneliness that no one could ease.  She lived again the moment the visions had started, when in despair she'd asked....demanded... still filled with arrogance and pride, swimming in self pity and guilt that heaven give her a reason to go on living.  She felt it again, the fear and the hope, the sheer disbelief, all amid the agony of prophecy, when like Isaiah she felt the burning coal pressed to her mouth, when she'd tried to ran like Jonah, had argued, bargaining like Abraham, wrestling with God like Isaac...and in the end, she knew now, it was always about choosing, hers and now his.

She stood there seeing Marc against the backdrop of her own life and let him go, weeping for his agony and her own loss.  She chose to trust and let him go.

He felt her let go and whispered, "Thank you..."

He was out amongst the clean, unbroken black of the universe, hearing the stars and the sound of life and death, and none of it was him. But there was one more thing to do, to see if... To see if this was the answer.

He sent his mental consciousness to a small town in New Hampshire.

It was a college town in the early evening. The the soft light of the sun was dying. Already the streets had cleared. Even Uncle Rogi's bookstore was closed although there were lights on in the store, and more in the back where he lived. Marc"s consciousness crossed the street, passed down the side street and came to a stop in front of Rogi's door.  He took upon himself the aspect of family ghost and then he knocked on the door.

"Who's that?" came Rogi's voice querulously.  Nonetheless he opened the door.  He stared at the mishmash of view that was Marc's disguise and muttered, "It's you, is it. Back again, family ghost? You've left me alone these last few years. Now here you are back again."

"I've missed you, Rogi," the ghost replied, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"No doubt. You enjoy confusing me, and trying to make me remember things I'd much rather forget."

The ghost entered the warm and comfortable room, and sank to his knees in front of a beat up old chair that was occupied by Rogi's Maine Coon. The cat found the ghost unremarkable. He blinked and then went back to sleep.

Rogi got himself a glass of wine and took his usual seat by the fire.  "What is it this time," he demanded. "I am trying to write the memoirs. It isn't easy you know. My family is not exactly normal."

The ghost stifled a smile. As heartsick as he was, his love of Rogi and his ways lightened his spirits still.

"I want you to tell me how Denis is. And Lucille," the Marc ghost asked.

"Ah. You've heard then," Rogi replied. "It was very sudden, you know. No one expected it. But then you and I know what sort of man his brother Victor is."

"What?"  Marc asked, afraid suddenly.  "Just tell me, Rogi."

"If you'd come as you usually do, you'd have heard sooner. But then I'd have still been in mourning, so I suppose it works out."

"Tell me," Marc hissed out, coercive intent at the fore.

"Lucille died. Giving birth to her fourth child. Anne. Poor little orphaned Anne.  Paul is a broken man. Victor, he believes, had visited Lucille shortly before she went into premature labor," Rogi stated then laughed somewhat madly, under Marc's coercion.

Marc let him go then, his own mind going into overdrive. Could it be? His father Paul  was to have been Lucille and Paul's seventh child.  He sat there stunned.  But if it were so, if his father were never to be born, then how... Had he actually succeeded?

"I am sorry that she died, Rogi," he finally said, as he saw the old man sitting there, tears streaming down his face. "I know you loved her."

"Loved her?" Rogi said. "It is a poor word, Ghost, for what I felt toward her.

"I'll leave you now, Rogi. I will not be back. Will you mind?"

"I... I don't know," Rogi replied. Marc nearly reached out to touch the old man's mind but thought better of it.

He left him crying by the fire and returned to his dying body, locked in a modified stasis unit, alone amongst the stars.

He was dreaming, he thought.  He must be dreaming.  But the voices were crystal clear and so close it was like they were standing next to him.  And they were arguing, he realized, arguing about him.

"We haven't much time." Azael stated flatly.  "He's very close to finishing the crossing.  I can only delay for just so long, as you know, Eth."

Eth, the angel of time, wasn't sympathetic.  "I've sent for instructions."

"Azael?" Marc asked.

"Hush, we're busy here."

"You shouldn't be in such a hurry.  Humans, always in a hurry...rush, rush around and no sense of timing." Eth scolded him, wringing his hands.  "There's a proper order to things, a proper time.  And you humans with your free will are always messing it up."  Then he looked up. "Ah, here he comes.  And about time, too.  So what'd he say, Michael?"

"Michael?" Marc asked, thoroughly confused and beginning to realize he must be hallucinating from lack of oxygen.

"Tribunal. Bring him along," Michael directed.

"Looks like things aren't gonna get in their proper time just yet, Eth. Really, take a chill pill," Azael said. "Let's go."

"Tribunal?" Eth asked querulously. "What's to decide?"

"The boss wants Quaddis, Qaddisin and Irin to hear the case.  Jeremiel advocating, you prosecuting, so give it a rest and hurry up.  They're waiting and there isn't much time." Michael said, leading the way into the courtroom.

Eth sighed heavily.  It was always like this...rush rush.

Marc found himself outside his CE rig, walking along into a court room. As oxygen deprivation nightmares went, it wasn't all that bad. So far.

Michael pointed  Marc to a table on the left where another angel was waiting.  Eth took the one on the right where he was fussing with a pile of papers. Then he and Azael took seats in the gallery that was beginning to fill with people.  Michael recognized most of them and stood suddenly, saying "If it please the court...before we start...the audience, is this wise?"

Irin, the chief angelic judge shrugged.  "God wants them here.  So whaddya want me to do?  Tell him it's a bad idea?"

Michael hastily declaimed and sat down.

Marc looked around at the audience. Okay, so it was beginning to be a pretty sick nightmare. The audience were all recognizable.   His brother Saint Jon gave him the thumbs up, but Diamond Mask smirked at him. And Patricia Castellane?  What, they let her out of Hell for this?  She had been his most ardent booster. And there was his wife, Cyndia. And beside her their children, Hagen, looking as angry and hateful as ever, and Cloud with her Tanu mate sitting beside her. Man, Kalket was nearly the image of Kuhal. He should ask him about that.  King Aiken-Lugonn sat beside Adrianna Orme. And, looking angelic, amazingly, there was Felice Landry. Others in the audience were those he'd known too, including Rory, apparently before his mind got blown out.

It was, officially, a very sick nightmare.  He closed his eyes and hoped for a different nightmare when he opened them again.

Irin gaveled the court to order then directed himself to Marc.  "Mr. Remillard we are here to consider your petition to terminate your life prematurely.  The archangel Jeremiel will be your advocate.  His function is to help you, based on your life to date, make the case that we should not abrogate your free will in this matter.  The angel Eth, charged by heaven with the responsibility for ensuring all things occur in their proper time, will be arguing that we should, in fact, deny you your free will in this matter.  Do you understand the proceedings as I've explained them?"

Marc stood. "I damn well don't recall asking anyone for permission!"

"Arrogance. Pride. He's still got 'em," Azael muttered to Michael with a grin. Then louder, "You go Marc!"

Irin banged his gavel.  "Order in the court!  Another outburst Azael and you'll be ejected from this court."  Irin glared at him, then turned his attention back to Marc.  "Mr. Remillard, we acknowledge your rights in this matter.  But it is our function to weight those rights against the greater good.  As I'm sure you will understand with a little reflection, ending your life prematurely necessarily implies...ipso facto, in fact...that things...tasks assigned to you...will be left uncompleted and others must assume those burdens, if that is even possible, which in this case...given the unusualness of these proceedings...seems doubtful."

Marc opened his mouth to retort but Jeremiel put his hand on his arm. "Let me handle this. It's my job."

Marc, thinking it was all a nightmare anyway, shrugged. "Sure."

Jeremiel stood. "We are ready to proceed, your Reverence."  He bowed and sat down. Then whispered to Marc, "Always get further if you kiss ass. I know, I know, you were never any good at that."

Irin made a note and then turned his attention to Eth.  "Are you ready to proceed, Eth?"

Eth stood and replied in the affirmative, smiling somewhat smugly, "Of course your Reverence.  If it please the court?" he asked, obviously rhetorically since without waiting for an answer he waved a hand and a screen appeared, showing a detailed timeline with a red arrow pointing to a spot labeled, 'current moment'.

"Mr. Remillard's timeline, as you can see I'm sure.  If you will be so good as to look to the left of the arrow, you will see that there are a considerable number of things left unfinished."

Marc squinted at the timeline. "What, why am I supposed to have to do all that?"

Eth was about to answer when a voice spoke from the back of the court.  "If I may, Irin?"

Irin nodded graciously.  "Of course Peter, I didn't see you there.  By all means."

Peter remained standing at the back, a slight smile playing across his mouth as he recalled a moment in Galilee a long time ago.  "Mr. Remillard, you asked to be allowed to atone.  Are you saying you've changed your mind?"

Marc stood and turned to face Peter. "I've been trying for longer than humanity has existed. And all I've done is make things worse. I'm tired. And I'm doing no good."

"That is of course a valid understanding of events from your perspective, but as perspectives go, it's very limited," Peter replied.  "You wanted to both atone and to be allowed to decide what form the atonement would take.  Now you presume to judge its efficacy as well?"

"It's an observation, not a judgment," Marc snapped.

"Ah," Peter said.  "Well. But still you contend that things are now worse, despite your efforts."  Peter looked at Eth. "I understand we have actually reached the Rubicon point for this timeline?"

"Yes," Eth snapped.  "Most certainly.  If he does not finish...well, I just wouldn't like to say what would happen."

"Thank you," Peter said and turned back to Marc.  "Would you like to see what would have happened had you never been at all?  Or will you take my word that things would be much worse?"

"What I blew up a future Hitler or something? Please. Come up with a better argument if you must argue."

"Then let me put it this way," Peter said, smiling.  "The problem here seems to be two fold...first whether you've actually made things worse and second, whether, assuming the answer to the first is yes, the things left for you to do are of sufficient cogency to require us to compel you to complete them.  So, to look at the first...The crux of the matter seems to be the three worlds and the, er, impact the force and effect of your commitment to certain goals has had on others?"

Marc nodded, warily.

"Then look and see," Peter said, waving his hand and changing Eth's timeline to a screen. "It is given to few men to be the catalyst for so much.  Because the destruction of the first planet, Molakar, won't occur, those lives go on." And he gestured with his hand and the screen showed a world teeming with life, fulfilling it's promise. "Wasn't that what you wanted?"

"I regretted the loss of the world, yes," Marc admitted.

"And now it lives, because the you that would have been if the you that is now had never been will never be, in this or any other future. The second planet, Okanagon, that world, those lives, also lives, changed in ways both better and worse, but still...it lives." Peter said.  "It was written that the Lord once asked me three times...asked three times in a row because I'd denied him that many times...if I loved him, and I replied yes all three times and after that he said to me, "Now you gird yourself and take yourself where you want to go; but one day another will gird you and take you where you do not wish to go."

Marc rolled his eyes. "Now you sound like Tabitha. What does that mean?"

"My point isn't prophecy, Marc, but that it isn't always what we want, what we would have happen despite all our best efforts.  You saved two worlds that would otherwise have died.  You blame yourself for flooding the basin that is, today, the Mediterranean sea.  You want the result, but deny the price.  You want to atone, but only on your terms, forgetting that the point of atonement isn't you or your guilt, nor does it come without it's own price tag attached.  I wanted atonement and the price of mine was crucifixion."

"What more do you expect of me?" Marc said, his exhaustion evident in his voice. "How much more...  I destroyed Home. How many more do you expect me to destroy..."

Peter shook his head.  "Still, you refuse to see.   Are you God?  Or are you a man?  Will you contend with God like Job on his dung heap or will you face the fact that you did not destroy Home.  In fact, without you it wouldn't have just been Home, but a large portion of Earth and millions upon millions more as well?  Why can you not consider that you were not the destroyer but the savior?"

Marc looked away. "It hurts, Peter. I'm not God. Nor the Angel of the Abyss, or even Abaddon. I'm a flawed man and used up."

"Then accept that you've succeeded in atoning and are being asked to share in the work of reparation.  The Awakened aren't finished, they've hardly begun.  What they have to do as a race, as a people is just beginning.  Earth is on the brink of taking her place among the rest of the universe, but someone needs to prepare her and her people and then guide her.  All that has gone before has given you what is needed to accomplish those tasks.  Tabitha's children all live, because you yourself live.  You hate yourself for those who've died because, you believe, of your inherent flaws.  I tell you now that they are as nothing to those who will never live without you.

Peter drew breath and scanned the courtroom.  "I'm sorry Eth, but God has heard him."  He looked at Marc.  "The choice is yours to make.  Weight it well.  You can bring to fruition what you started...parity, equity for all Earth's children, all her races within the universal family, bringing her and the treasures she holds outward to the rest of the universe to know and share or let it all go now, unfinished and, quite possibly, unable to ever be finished so well."

"It is the goal I've dedicated my life to for too long to remember. But... I'm not egotistical enough to think I'm so central to it. Stephen, Tabitha, the children... "   He paused. "I would give much to see it through to the end. I'm just tired."

"Ah, I love it," Michael said to Azael.  "The utter and unchangeable incoherence of humans.  Always powerful enough to be guilty, but never good enough to be required."

"Well," Azael replied, "it does take a good deal of arrogance to consider yourself the savior of your race. Oh, wait... We are talking the leader of a Metapsychic Rebellion who did believe that.."

Marc glared at him.

Peter ignored them.  "And if there was rest first?"

"I don't honestly know," Marc replied. "Perhaps I could find the fortitude to go on.  Perhaps not."

Peter frowned and consulted an inner voice.  "Raphael is on his way.  He will give you a potion and then Azael will take you back."

Eth spoke up then, annoyed to his toes.  "Well, does that mean the rest of us just sit around and wait 'til he makes up his mind?  I've things hanging, you know, Peter.  I mean time is at a stand still for this!"

Peter shrugged.  "Take it up with the boss Eth, it's his universe, not mine."

He woke up then, in the CE rig in the middle of space. He wondered... He had changed the world's timeline. He'd saved it from himself. Could he go on? Could he see it through? Not because someone else expected it of him, but because it was something he wanted? Did he want that?  Could he stand one more tragedy?  That was the question.

He felt a mind banging on his mental shields and finally gave it a little attention.

-Cola,- he said to that mind, -can you give me a lift home?-

She was popping out of a portal in only a moment. She grasped the coffin in her claws and they flew back through the portal and appeared above the aerie.

It was deep night there now, so no one saw them appear. The only beings living at the Refuge yet were Doni and Stephen at their house, several miles away and Dinah alone in the aerie. Even the rest of the dragons were still at Ocala.

With a swish of wings, Cola maneuvered herself around to deposit the CE rig on the decking.  As she did so, the cover popped open decanting Marc quite neatly at the feet of Dinah, who'd finally fallen asleep on a chair on the balcony, too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Cola, sending a last thought into Marc's mind, soared away.

Dinah woke as he stood up, dripping viscus and foul smelling gel.  She tilted her head as she considered the picture, her relief at the sight of him a tangible thing.  "It was Aphrodite who rose at her birth from the foaming waves of the sea, wasn't it?" she mused.  "But I'm guessing she didn't need a new formula for her drips." she went on, her voice breaking at the end.

"Smart ass," he said, gathering her into his arms. "Remind me, after we shower, to spank you for that."

"Only if you promise to make me like it." she said, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he said, burying his face in her hair.

'Oh God, as long as you're alright.  Are you?" she asked.  "Relatively, anyway?"

"I'm fine," he said, surprised to realize he was. "I'm fine. Can I talk you into a romantic candlelight dinner somewhere? I'm starving."

She drew back and looked at him, a smile beginning to show.  "After we shower.  I'm not going out in public with you smelling like the Malbon's pig farm used to.  What happened to your hair?"

"What about it," he asked as they walked arm in arm toward the bedroom.

"Take a look, the white streak's gone.  Who did the bottle job?"

"Grecian Formula strikes again," he commented as he regarded it in the mirror. 'That was some elixir Raphael,' he muttered.

"What did you say?" Dinah asked, busy with turning on the shower and stripping.

"Remind me to tell you about it some time. At the moment, I just have one thing in mind."

"In the shower?" she asked, cocking her head at him.

"In the shower," he confirmed.

"Then I'm your girl."

"Yeah. Have I told you that I love you?"

"No." she said simply.  "You don't have to, either."

"Oh, good. I won't then," he replied smacking her butt with a wet washcloth. "Come here."

She came, grinning.  "I just meant, I knew.  But, if you know, too, well that's even better." She shifted closer against him, looking up at him.  "I love you."

His reply was a kiss.