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pupils, only obsidian irises with a bare hint of white
at the corners. The eyes were less organs of vision
than apertures leading to the fathomless ends of the
universe.
The chalk-colored, sensually shaped lips didn't
move, but a thready nonvoice insinuated itself into
Kane's mind. The intensity of the emotion behind the
voice was savage.
You. I know you. On how many casements must
we contend with each other before you bow down to
the inevitable?
The first time Kane had seen the man-the crea-
ture-calling himself Colonel Thrush, he had been
overwhelmed with a hate-fueled mad rage to strangle
what passed for life out of him. That intense emotion
returned, flooding him, blotting out all reason.
The image of Thrush seemed to smile, coldly and
mockingly. Behind the smile Kane sensed a dreadful
hunger, an equally strong hatred for what it needed
to consume-its opposite, human life, human aspi-
rations, human dreams. The human spirit.
You know so little, whispered the voice, about why
things are, even if you profess an understanding of
the how. Long ago the race you call the Archons
learned how to conquer sidereal space. For millen-
nia, all their efforts were devoted to this task. Instead
of building spaceships. they discovered how to ma-
nipulate space itself:
Your own scientists regarded sidereal space as a
negative universe. To them, it was only a theory. The
race you called Archons made it a fact.
Kane writhed and twisted, trying to break the con-
tact, straining to free his limbs and mind.
They could occupy Earth not only in the present
but in all past and future ages. Do you know what
this means, not just for your Earth, but all of those
lying parallel to it?
Images flooded Kane's mind, one after another,
coming so fast they melded together to form a reeling
tapestry of horror that stretched to infinity. The
images weren't depictions of actual events, they were
primarily symbolic, but he understood their meaning
all the same. He felt a sickening sensation as all sta-
bility and sanity crumbled, then he careened through
scenes of carnage, of blood and fire.
Monstrous pillars of flame roared above the sky-
line of cities. Men, women and children fled, howling
like souls in hell.
No more human race, except as slaves or dumb
brutes. Where the Archons failed on one casement,
they have succeeded on others. I saw to it, and I will
continue to see to it.
Kane saw rows of red things strapped to tables,
living human beings in the process of dissection. He
glimpsed white bones and blood and strips of flesh
laid back for the inspection and removal of internal
organs.
He stared at a world, at many worlds in torment,
of skies across which curtains of black smoke scud-
ded, of blistering shock waves wrenching mountains
from their beds, flattening cities, monuments and all
the works of man. I
There is no use in fighting.
Terror drove out the rage and hatred in Kane. This
was not a war like most wars. It did not hinge on
economics, conflicting ideologies or even the survival
of a threatened species.
I penetrate all the barriers between casements, go-
ing back into the past, infiltrating the highest corri-
dors of power so that when the proper historical mo-
ment arrives to strike, the world changes. Forever.
Kane struggled, fought and wept in furious frus-
tration.
War burns across all the casements. The war that
was fought and lost on your own world still wages
across many others. You continue to fight it, as you
do here. And as here, you continue to be defeated.
You must learn to accept the fate we have in store
for you, for it is my fate to bring it forth into reality.
Kane screamed, trying to blot out all the implica-
tions of the fate Thrush visited upon humankind.
You need not take any action. You will know my
presence in your own casement soon enough. By
then, I hope you will have resigned yourself to what
cannot be changed. Do not fight anymore. There is
no use in it.
Chapter 12
A tiny constellation of sparks flashed within the
stone, visible between Kane's fingers. Thread-thin
electric discharges played up and down its length.
"Drop it!" Lakesh shrilled. "Now/"
Kane stared at the stone fixedly, his hair weaving
slightly as though he were standing in the face of a
breeze. The crackling display from the stone built in
intensity inside of a second.
Grant moved first. His big brown hand slapped the
chunk of black rock out of Kane's hand. It went spin-
ning and bouncing across the floor, clattering into a
far corner.
Gasping, Kane fell back in his chair. Shivering
violently, he hugged himself, his pale eyes bright and
crazed. An anguished, hoarse whisper came from his
lips. "No, you bastard-"
Lakesh and Brigid stared in wonderment, first at
Kane, then toward the facet of the stone. Putting his
eyeglasses back on, Lakesh arose from the desk and
approached it gingerly, nudging it with a foot. Noth-
ing happened. It just lay in the corner like a harmless
chunk of inert mineral.
"What the hell happened?" Grant demanded, try-
ing to cover his fear with a veneer of anger. "As
soon as he touched it..." His words trailed off.
"Just speculating off the top of my head." Lakesh
said in his reedy voice, "because I'm too amazed at
the moment for rational thought, I submit that Kane
and the Trapezohedron share some sort of hyperdi-
mensional bond-most likely due to him making a
gateway transit with the pieces in physical proxim-
ty"
"You might have mentioned that to me," Kane
grated, dabbing at the beads of perspiration pebbling
his forehead.
"I had no idea you were going to grab it and use
it like a Magic Eight Ball," Lakesh shot back.
Nobody knew what a Magic Eight Ball might be,
and nobody asked about it. Brigid cast her eyes ner-
vously toward Kane. His breathing was less labored,
but fear still shone in his eyes. "Zakat made two mat-
trans jumps with at least one fragment of the stone
in his possession," she said. "He didn't mention any-
thing about a phenomena like this."
She paused and asked Kane, "Did he?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]