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he ever knew you." Rosalys' frozen terror did not abate. "And Ramachandra." Ditmars photographed another page without looking at it, and turned on to the next. "I wonder what he's really like. What did you and he-hello, what's this? Something, at last?" Her seemed she scarce had been a day Page 86 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html One of God's choristers; The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers; Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. "A quantum jump above the rest of his glop, certainly. I wonder if he's lifted this piece from someone? One of the ancient masters on Earth, no doubt. So it's a translation of course. But still there's power here. Not awesome, I'd say, but respectable. "And I wonder what milady would have thought, of having her dead finger-joints set to press such a stolen offering so tenderly to her cheek? If were to steal for her, I now, what treasures I would& " He heard himself babbling and shut up and turned a page, to more of the same poem. It went on for more pages, in Gabriel's large, self-consciously elegant handwriting. " 'God,' he uses, and not for any mere rhyme-need, either. At least that's how it came out in translation. Now is God 'in' again this decade, among the thinkers of the Galaxy? I wonder." It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God built over the sheer depth The which is space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the Sun. Ditmars already had this pair of pages photographed. But now he frankly paused to read. It lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void& He looked up from the book, struck by something in the air, an event less than a sound but greater than the normal random murmuring of atmospheric molecules against eardrums. The something might have been an odd beat from the ubiquitous pulsar, though Ditmars didn't think so. It might have been, and probably was, the land slipping around the tomb or mounting in its slow, terrible wave against its sides. But Ditmars had imagined for just a moment that the almost-sound proceeded from where Rosalys lay, and in that moment he held his breath while his undermind waited willingly to have the universe of sanity and law melt like an Azlarocean landform when the world below it stirred. The moment past, he almost smiled at himself, remembering hope and terror commingled. But yet he did not smile. The basic awe of death was one thing from its childhood that the grown race had not yet managed to lose. Looking at Rosalys' glowing clay again, Ditmars could detect no reason for the sound, if there had really been a sound. Certainly the corpse might easily have shifted a little, it and its bed might very well be settling, what with his poking about and the constant stresses and movements in the land beneath. Where was he, in the book? Oh yes. Page 87 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Around her, lovers, newly met 'Mid deathless love's acclaims Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her like thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm& Now sound came again, but this time it was crude and unmistakably from outside, a noise that to Ditmars' imagination suggested landforms breaking up. It sounded loud, though muted by distance, and quite serious. But Ditmars' heart and hands, as usual, accepted sudden peril calmly. If it be now, then it is not to come . His hands worked faster with the camera, but with a care no less methodical. That he could so effectively divorce himself from danger was one important reason for his professional success. Coolness was all very well, but was it quite sane of him to be stopping, even now, to read another verse? "Yes, he lifted this poem from someone, there's no doubt about it. There's more here than he could ever-" Ditmars was staggered, almost knocked from his feet despite fine reflexes. The black table tottered, and off slid the glowing book to thud amid the lambent coral roots that bound and gnarled the cracking floor. The camera, more scientifically stabilized, stayed on the table as all the furniture rocked back into place. The layers of Azlaroc were shifting, grumbling basso from one to another among themselves. The world around the Old Cemetery vibrated, quieted, shook again. Was still. He had just got the book back on the table, opened to the proper place-its pages were glowing brighter than ever- when the communicator built into his shoulder-pad bleeped at him and produced some words from Bellow. "Ditmars, don't you have it yet?" The agent's voice was cracking like the landscape. "Time's almost up. There's been a warning broadcast, about the veil falling very early. Message coming through from the explorers themselves. If you've got it, get out of there at once. We're on our way to pick you up." "I'm getting it. Don't bother me now." There wasn't much more in the book to get. Maybe it was just pride that kept him here at work. Why was he showing off, to please himself? Or-or as if he were some adolescent trying to impress a girl. His fingers flew, readjusting the position of the shaken camera. From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time like a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce Its path& Page 88 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html "Help& me." The words were very clear, though they came in a voice that cracked, and was so low as to be almost a whisper. Ditmars turned to see her trying to sit up. Her dried lips had split in half a dozen places from being forced to move, and bore an ooze of living, scarlet blood that glowed like every other surface of her body. Terror's ingrained lines had vanished from her young face, to be replaced by soft pain and bewilderment. With her movement, trying to sit up, fine coral members were breaking everywhere around her, like tiny, glowing chimes. The red drapery had fallen free of one pale breast. Equipment crashed from Ditmars' hands to bounce away unnoticed across the slowly buckling floor. The ebony table slammed over on its side unheeded. He took one step toward the woman, whose eyes were open, looking at him. "Help-me," she begged again. He took another step, then turned his head and roared down at his shoulder-pad communicator, "Bellow! What game is this?" "Game? Game? What do you mean?" The agent's voice came back, wrapped in the tinny armor of its own concerns. "Have you got the material yet or not?" "Damn both of you and the damned book! She lives! She lives!" In two more strides he reached the side of Rosalys and made his arm an arc supporting her cool shoulders. The coolness he had accepted earlier as the chill of death, but this was living flesh if he [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |