we could jerry-rig the rest of the stuff.”
“Who the hell could do that?” Detroit replied. “It would have to be welded in a million places, by lasers, probably. You can’t just wish things like that to happen, can you?”
Rockson snapped his fingers. “Some beings can just wish things to happen. The Glowers!”
“The Glowers?” Detroit’s jaw dropped. “You mean Turquoise Spectrum and his weird bunch?”
“Yes. We have to contact the Glowers. It’s the only way. Listen: they can hear my weak-powered ESP calls; I’ve done it before. But I need to be alone, away from everyone. I will try to use all my psi powers. We are a lot closer to the Glower City out here than back in C.C., assuming the Glowers are in about the same location where we last saw them.”
So it was that Rockson went out alone into the wilderness. He climbed a lonely butte and sat cross-legged lotus position on the top as the sun went down. Breathing short yogi breaths—ten in one nostril, ten in the other—then sucking all the air into his diaphragm, Rockson brought all the chi energy into his blood veins. And then he steered it into his hypothalamus gland. Soon he felt the joining of his right and left brain parts in the center of his forehead. Then he felt that peculiar magnetic feeling he always felt when he used his psi powers. Rockson tried to reach out over the lonely, cold miles, out to other minds. To the strange, alien, somewhat frightening minds that he had touched briefly, once before.
Would the Glowers answer? The Glowers were quixotic. They did the things they chose to do, and nothing more.
Rock repeated the psychic message until midnight . . . until he was dizzy from trying; until his bones ached with the cold. He was finally answered. Rockson felt it in a peculiar way: he groaned and twitched, like a medium, as a voice spoke to him out of his own lips: “ROCKSOOON. IT IS REMMMMMERRROOOO. I AM THE LESSER OF ALL THE GLOWERS, SO I CAN READ YOUR PETTY, WEAK MIND CALL. I HAVE TOLD THE OTHERS. THE ONE YOU CHOOSE TO CALL, THE TURQUOISE SPECTRUM, IS NO LONGER OF THIS WORLD. DEAD FOR A LONG TIME, NOW. HE IS IN THE OTHER PLACE. BUT THE ELDERS SAY YOU MAY COME TO US, AND TELL US YOUR PROBLEMS . . . WE WILL SEE IF WE CAN HELP YOU.”
Rockson tried to tell Remaroo the nature of the problem, but he just got one message: “COME TO US. ALL WILL BE DISCUSSED. WE WILL COME FOR YOU . . . ROCKSON . . . IN OUR SANDSHIP. YOU WILL BOARD IT ALONE. THE ELDERS AWAIT YOUR VISIT. ALONE . . . ALONE.”
There followed a short burst of instructions indicating that Rock should be a mile north from the hangar at dawn. The location was burned into Rockson’s mind until he screamed, so he couldn’t forget. Then contact was broken.
Rockson’s spasms stopped. And Rockson vomited, and took in deep, heaving breaths of icy air. To be in contact with a Glower’s mind is a terrible, awesome thing.
And a holy thing, too.
Ten
E arly in the morning Rockson returned from his night of solitary meditation. He informed the other men of the message he’d received from the Glower called Remaroo.
“I don’t like it,” a trembling Jacob Cohen snapped out. He and the other technicians the Rock Team had brought along had endured a few too many shocks on the trek. They all now voiced the opinion that they didn’t want Rock, their leader, to disappear on them. “You going out there among those ghouls alone,” Detroit agreed, “especially since Turquoise Spectrum is dead, could be a bad thing.”
Archer had been slow to get the upshot of what Rockson had said, but now he too piped up. “Alone? You go out there all alone? No take me?”
“Sorry, Arch. Though I’d like to take you, I need the Glowers’ full support. If, in order to get that help, I have to play by their rules, I will. Besides, I wouldn’t worry. The Glowers, strange and ghoulish as they are, have always helped us before, saved my life several times, as a matter of fact. It’ll be all
“Who the hell could do that?” Detroit replied. “It would have to be welded in a million places, by lasers, probably. You can’t just wish things like that to happen, can you?”
Rockson snapped his fingers. “Some beings can just wish things to happen. The Glowers!”
“The Glowers?” Detroit’s jaw dropped. “You mean Turquoise Spectrum and his weird bunch?”
“Yes. We have to contact the Glowers. It’s the only way. Listen: they can hear my weak-powered ESP calls; I’ve done it before. But I need to be alone, away from everyone. I will try to use all my psi powers. We are a lot closer to the Glower City out here than back in C.C., assuming the Glowers are in about the same location where we last saw them.”
So it was that Rockson went out alone into the wilderness. He climbed a lonely butte and sat cross-legged lotus position on the top as the sun went down. Breathing short yogi breaths—ten in one nostril, ten in the other—then sucking all the air into his diaphragm, Rockson brought all the chi energy into his blood veins. And then he steered it into his hypothalamus gland. Soon he felt the joining of his right and left brain parts in the center of his forehead. Then he felt that peculiar magnetic feeling he always felt when he used his psi powers. Rockson tried to reach out over the lonely, cold miles, out to other minds. To the strange, alien, somewhat frightening minds that he had touched briefly, once before.
Would the Glowers answer? The Glowers were quixotic. They did the things they chose to do, and nothing more.
Rock repeated the psychic message until midnight . . . until he was dizzy from trying; until his bones ached with the cold. He was finally answered. Rockson felt it in a peculiar way: he groaned and twitched, like a medium, as a voice spoke to him out of his own lips: “ROCKSOOON. IT IS REMMMMMERRROOOO. I AM THE LESSER OF ALL THE GLOWERS, SO I CAN READ YOUR PETTY, WEAK MIND CALL. I HAVE TOLD THE OTHERS. THE ONE YOU CHOOSE TO CALL, THE TURQUOISE SPECTRUM, IS NO LONGER OF THIS WORLD. DEAD FOR A LONG TIME, NOW. HE IS IN THE OTHER PLACE. BUT THE ELDERS SAY YOU MAY COME TO US, AND TELL US YOUR PROBLEMS . . . WE WILL SEE IF WE CAN HELP YOU.”
Rockson tried to tell Remaroo the nature of the problem, but he just got one message: “COME TO US. ALL WILL BE DISCUSSED. WE WILL COME FOR YOU . . . ROCKSON . . . IN OUR SANDSHIP. YOU WILL BOARD IT ALONE. THE ELDERS AWAIT YOUR VISIT. ALONE . . . ALONE.”
There followed a short burst of instructions indicating that Rock should be a mile north from the hangar at dawn. The location was burned into Rockson’s mind until he screamed, so he couldn’t forget. Then contact was broken.
Rockson’s spasms stopped. And Rockson vomited, and took in deep, heaving breaths of icy air. To be in contact with a Glower’s mind is a terrible, awesome thing.
And a holy thing, too.
Ten
E arly in the morning Rockson returned from his night of solitary meditation. He informed the other men of the message he’d received from the Glower called Remaroo.
“I don’t like it,” a trembling Jacob Cohen snapped out. He and the other technicians the Rock Team had brought along had endured a few too many shocks on the trek. They all now voiced the opinion that they didn’t want Rock, their leader, to disappear on them. “You going out there among those ghouls alone,” Detroit agreed, “especially since Turquoise Spectrum is dead, could be a bad thing.”
Archer had been slow to get the upshot of what Rockson had said, but now he too piped up. “Alone? You go out there all alone? No take me?”
“Sorry, Arch. Though I’d like to take you, I need the Glowers’ full support. If, in order to get that help, I have to play by their rules, I will. Besides, I wouldn’t worry. The Glowers, strange and ghoulish as they are, have always helped us before, saved my life several times, as a matter of fact. It’ll be all
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