you?
A mere speck in a system so vast as to be beyond comprehension. Third!
What is the way of life?
To fulfill what is required by the cosmic forces. Fourth! What—”
“Fifth,” one of the boys muttered. “
Where have you been?
” He answered his own question. “Through endless steps; each turn of the wheel advances or depresses you.”
“Sixth!” Tibor cried. “
What determines your direction at the next turn?
Your conduct in this manifestation.
“Seventh!
What is right conduct?
Submitting yourself to the eternal forces of the Deus Irae, that which makes up the divine plan.
“Eighth!
What is the significance of suffering?
To purify the soul.
“Ninth!
What is the significance of death?
To release the person from this manifestation, so he may rise to a new rung of the ladder.
“Tenth—” But at that moment Tibor broke off. An adult human shape approached his cart; instinctively, his Holstein lowered her head and pretended—or tried—to crop the bitter weeds growing around her.
“We got to go,” the black children piped. “Goodbye.” They scampered off; one paused, looked back at Tibor, and shouted, “Don’t talk to her! My momma say never to talk to her or you get sucked in. Watch out, y’hear?”
“I hear,” Tibor said, and shivered. The air had become dark and cool, as if awaiting the thrashing fury of a storm. He knew what this was; he recognized her.
He would go down the ruined streets, toward the sprawling mass of stone and columns that was its house. It had been described to him many times. Each stone was carefully listed on the big map back at Charlottesville. He knew by heart the street that led there, to the entrance. He knew how the great doors lay on their faces, broken and split. He knew how the dark, empty corridors would look inside. He would pass into the vast chamber, the dark room of bats and spiders and echoing sounds. And there it would be. The Great C. Waiting silently, waiting to hear the questions. The queries on which it thrived.
“Who is there?” the shape asked him, the female shape of the Great C’s peripatetic extension. The voice sounded again, a metallic voice, hard and penetrating, without warmth in it. An enormousvoice that could not be stopped; it would never become still.
He was afraid, more afraid than ever before in his life. His body had begun to shake terribly. Awkwardly he thrashed about in his seat, squinting in the gloom to make out her features. He could not. She had a dished-in face, with almost vestigial features, almost without the courtesy of features at all. That chilled him, too.
“I’ve—” He swallowed noisily, revealing his fear. “I have come to pay my respects, Great C,” he breathed.
“You have prepared questions for me?”
“Yes,” he said, lying. He had hoped to sneak past the Great C, not disturbing it, not being disturbed by it either.
“You will ask me within the structure,” she said, putting her hand on the railing of his car. “Not out here.”
Tibor said, “I do not have to go into the structure. You can answer the questions here.” Huskily he cleared his throat, swallowed, pondered the first question; he had carried them with him, in written form, just in case. Thank god he had; thank god that Father Handy had prepared him. She would eventually drag him inside, but he intended to hold off as long as possible. “How did you come into existence?” he asked.
“Is that the first question?”
“No,” he said quickly; it certainly was not.
“I don’t recognize you,” the mobile extension of the giant computer said, her voice tinny and shrill. “Are you from another area?”
“Charlottesville,” Tibor said.
“And you came this way to question me?”
“Yes,” he lied. He reached into his coat pocket; one of his manual extensors checked that the derringer .22 pistol, single shot, which Father Handy had given him, was still there. “I have a gun,” he said.
“Do you?” Her tone was
A mere speck in a system so vast as to be beyond comprehension. Third!
What is the way of life?
To fulfill what is required by the cosmic forces. Fourth! What—”
“Fifth,” one of the boys muttered. “
Where have you been?
” He answered his own question. “Through endless steps; each turn of the wheel advances or depresses you.”
“Sixth!” Tibor cried. “
What determines your direction at the next turn?
Your conduct in this manifestation.
“Seventh!
What is right conduct?
Submitting yourself to the eternal forces of the Deus Irae, that which makes up the divine plan.
“Eighth!
What is the significance of suffering?
To purify the soul.
“Ninth!
What is the significance of death?
To release the person from this manifestation, so he may rise to a new rung of the ladder.
“Tenth—” But at that moment Tibor broke off. An adult human shape approached his cart; instinctively, his Holstein lowered her head and pretended—or tried—to crop the bitter weeds growing around her.
“We got to go,” the black children piped. “Goodbye.” They scampered off; one paused, looked back at Tibor, and shouted, “Don’t talk to her! My momma say never to talk to her or you get sucked in. Watch out, y’hear?”
“I hear,” Tibor said, and shivered. The air had become dark and cool, as if awaiting the thrashing fury of a storm. He knew what this was; he recognized her.
He would go down the ruined streets, toward the sprawling mass of stone and columns that was its house. It had been described to him many times. Each stone was carefully listed on the big map back at Charlottesville. He knew by heart the street that led there, to the entrance. He knew how the great doors lay on their faces, broken and split. He knew how the dark, empty corridors would look inside. He would pass into the vast chamber, the dark room of bats and spiders and echoing sounds. And there it would be. The Great C. Waiting silently, waiting to hear the questions. The queries on which it thrived.
“Who is there?” the shape asked him, the female shape of the Great C’s peripatetic extension. The voice sounded again, a metallic voice, hard and penetrating, without warmth in it. An enormousvoice that could not be stopped; it would never become still.
He was afraid, more afraid than ever before in his life. His body had begun to shake terribly. Awkwardly he thrashed about in his seat, squinting in the gloom to make out her features. He could not. She had a dished-in face, with almost vestigial features, almost without the courtesy of features at all. That chilled him, too.
“I’ve—” He swallowed noisily, revealing his fear. “I have come to pay my respects, Great C,” he breathed.
“You have prepared questions for me?”
“Yes,” he said, lying. He had hoped to sneak past the Great C, not disturbing it, not being disturbed by it either.
“You will ask me within the structure,” she said, putting her hand on the railing of his car. “Not out here.”
Tibor said, “I do not have to go into the structure. You can answer the questions here.” Huskily he cleared his throat, swallowed, pondered the first question; he had carried them with him, in written form, just in case. Thank god he had; thank god that Father Handy had prepared him. She would eventually drag him inside, but he intended to hold off as long as possible. “How did you come into existence?” he asked.
“Is that the first question?”
“No,” he said quickly; it certainly was not.
“I don’t recognize you,” the mobile extension of the giant computer said, her voice tinny and shrill. “Are you from another area?”
“Charlottesville,” Tibor said.
“And you came this way to question me?”
“Yes,” he lied. He reached into his coat pocket; one of his manual extensors checked that the derringer .22 pistol, single shot, which Father Handy had given him, was still there. “I have a gun,” he said.
“Do you?” Her tone was
Similar Books
