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it. Besides, the dim perfect circle looked too much like the dark muzzle of the Kalishnikov which had nearly ended his life. It wasn't the first time he and death had brushed close by each other. There was the time in Idaho when the key had exploded in his eye, one rainy evening in the swamps of Louisiana, once in the Chicago ghetto. Each time he'd seen death looking at him, and each time it had waved and passed him by. Just as it had only waved from behind the Kalishnikov. How long before casual acquaintance passed into permanent embrace? Peering into the depths of the diseased forest, he half expected to see his old friend moving back among the shadows. There were no sidewalks full of people here, no streams of life to separate them. This was the Out Of, and he knew it for a certainty that if he encountered the dark shade here it would not wave but would come smiling grimly to grasp him firmly by the hand. Here. Kakombe handed him his Makonde knife and spear. Oak slipped the leather thong that ran through the knife's handle over his belt. It bounced against his right leg but was not uncomfortable. A faint coolness seemed to radiate from the highly polished black wood. Kakombe assumed a one-legged herder's pose, using his own spear for balance. Oak kept shifting his own weapon uncomfortably from hand to hand. No matter how he held it, it still felt like a garden rake. No doubt it was a unique weapon, able to kill even shetani, but he still wished for the solid butt of a .38 in his palm. I've got to make a pit stop, Merry announced. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Go behind the car. I won't watch and neither will Kakombe. Not on your life. Olkeloki's over there muttering to himself and drawing pictures in the dirt. Well, if he's drawing in the dirt then he won't pay any attention to you either, he said irritably. I've always been convinced that men and women have entirely different notions as to what constitutes privacy. Maybe it comes from using different sides of the brain. She pointed to a large pale-gray bush. Limp blue flowers trailed from drooping branches to lie flat upon the ground, as though the entire growth was suffering from heat prostration. I'm going behind there. Nobody look. At what, Oak thought as she walked away. His first wife had been like that. It wasn't enough that you didn't look into the bathroom when it was in use. You weren't supposed to look toward the bathroom, either. He glanced skyward. The sun had moved slightly westward but also a little north. Maybe it just wandered haphazardly across the sky here and never set. The twilight was bad enough. Then he noticed the small bulges which had begun to cut into both sides of the sun. Two moons, or a single moon moving in opposite directions until it met itself coming? What would happen if the first was the case and the two collided in front of the sun? Fireworks? Disconcerting to contemplate. He left Kakombe standing storklike and walked around the Suzuki. Olkeloki had cleared a small area of weeds and large rocks. The laibon now squatted in the center of the circle, inscribing symbols and words in the dirt with the butt end of one of Nafasi's spears. He barely glanced up at Oak. The seal must be made secure on the first try, Joshua Oak. How can you seal up something we didn't even see? You did not see it. That doesn't to mean it wasn't seen. Do you still pine for your dynamite? Wish I had a few sticks. The air here stinks. Makes my skin crawl. In the Out Of everything crawls, even electrons. Cells crawl, nuclei crawl. Everything here is sick, or it would not be here. It would be in our world. Here even the strong force is weak, and particles have bad flavor and weak color. I can't figure you, old man. Haven't been able to since the day we met. Just when I've got you pegged as pure witch doctor you up and slap me with talk like that. The laibon smiled as he continued working in the dirt. Now he was setting carefully selected pebbles from his leather sack in small hollows he'd scooped from the soil. When all the hollows had been filled, he began covering them up. Today's science is yesterday's magic, friend Oak. Today's magic is tomorrow's science. All disciplines are tangent and the differences between them often nothing more substantial than semantics. Scientists or laibon who dismiss conclusions out of hand because they do not countenance the methodology utilized to reach them forfeit their title. Energy arises out of learning, not contempt. Is that what you're trying to produce here? Some kind of energy? Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Olkeloki laughed softly. Your cultural background will not let you get away from the concept of explosion as savior. Ah well. What I am trying to produce is something that has not been produced before. Different laws to achieve a similar end. Magic? Magic, science it is results we seek, not definitions. Magic. Surprising how natural and unthreatening it sounded. All you had to do was say it. Like love. Now, why should that analogy occur to him? Olkeloki kept working his way around the little clearing, never rising from his squatting position. He must have muscles of iron in those lean thighs, Oak thought admiringly. Consider what the old man had accomplished already: not only had he made it into the Out Of, he'd cajoled three others into coming along with him. This in spite of his advanced age. I asked you how old you are. You never have told me. I look younger than I really am, Joshua Oak. He spoke without lifting his gaze from his work. How old do you think I am? I never was real good at guessing ages. Seventy-five? Eighty? Olkeloki chuckled to himself as he drew three lines between several buried pebbles. I am seven hundred and seventy-six years old, my friend. As I have already told you, my father was a great laibon. My mother was a therasi, a water spirit. I was born in the year 1210 on an island in Lake Victoria during a raging storm. My father was a poor swimmer, but a great lover. Oak just stared at him for a moment. Then the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. I thought you went to school in England. Oxford, wasn't it? That's right. Briefly the old man's expression turned wistful. How well I remember the lectures and exciting debates, with myself the only Moor in the student body. I particularly recall the days when [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |