them in. Parsons caught sight of elaborate equipment, unfamiliar to him, in the process of being assembled.
On the bed lay Loris' father, his lips parted, his eyes glazed. His eyes, sightless in death, stared up at the ceiling.
"Cold-pack," Loris was saying, somewhere in the background, as Parsons grabbed out his instruments.
Lifting aside the sheet, Parsons saw the feathered, notched end of an arrow protruding from the dead man's chest.
"Again," Helmar said, in a tone of absolute hopelessness. "We thought . . ." His voice trailed off, baffled and wretched. "Get the pack around him!" he shouted suddenly, and attendants pushed between Parsons and the bed. He saw them expertly lift the corpse and slide it into the vacant cube; cold-pack poured in and surrounded the form until it became blurred and obscured.
After a time Loris said bitterly, "Well, we were right." The fury in her voice shocked Parsons; he turned involuntarily, and saw an expression he had never before witnessed on a woman's face. A complete and absolute hate.
"Right about what?" he managed to ask.
Lifting her head, she gazed at him; her eyes seemed to have shrunk so that the pupils gleamed like tiny, burning points, no longer located in space but somehow hovering before him, blinding him almost. "Someone is working against us," she said. "They have it, too. Control of time. Thwarting us, enjoying it . . ." She laughed. "Yes, enjoying it. Mocking us." Abruptly, with a swing of her robes, she turned away from Parsons and disappeared past the ring of attendants.
Parsons, stepping back, saw the final surface of the Soul Cube slide into place. Once again the figure floated in eternal stasis. Dead and silent. Beyond the reach of the living.
ELEVEN
Standing beside Parsons, Helmar muttered, "It's not your fault." Together, they watched the cube lifted upright. "We have enemies," Helmar said. "This happened before, when we went back into time and tried to recreate the situation. But we thought it was a natural force, a phenomenon of time. Now we know better. Our worst fears are justified. This did not happen through an impersonal force."
"Perhaps not," Parsons said. "But don't see motive where there is none." They are a little paranoid, he decided. Possibly rightly so. "As Loris told me," he continued, "none of you fully comprehend the principles that lie behind time. Isn't it still possible that--"
"No," Helmar said flatly. "I know. We all know." He started to speak further, and then, seeing something, he stopped.
Parsons turned. He, too, had meant to go on. But his words choked off.
For the first time he had noticed her.
She had entered silently, a few moments ago. Two armed guards stood on each side of her. A stir went through the room, among the people present.
She was old. The first old person that Parsons had seen in this world.
Approaching the old woman, Loris said, "He is dead again. They managed to destroy him once again."
The old woman advanced silently toward the cube, toward the dead man who lay within. She was, even at her age, strikingly handsome. Tall and dignified. A mane of white hair down the back of her neck . . . the same broad forehead. Heavy brows. Strong nose and chin. Stern, powerful face.
The same as the others. This old woman, the man in the cube, everybody at the Lodge--all partook of the same physical characteristics.
The stately old woman had reached the rim of the cube. She gazed at it, unspeaking.
Loris took her arm. "Mother--"
There it was. The old woman was Loris' mother. The wife of the man in the cube.
It fitted. He had been in the cube thirty-five years. The old woman was probably seventy. His wife! This pair, this couple, had spawned the powerful, full-breasted creature who ruled the Wolf Tribe, the most potent human being alive.
"Mother," Loris said. "We'll try once more. I promise."
Now the old woman had noticed Parsons. Instantly, her face became fierce. "Who are you?" she asked in a deep, vibrant
On the bed lay Loris' father, his lips parted, his eyes glazed. His eyes, sightless in death, stared up at the ceiling.
"Cold-pack," Loris was saying, somewhere in the background, as Parsons grabbed out his instruments.
Lifting aside the sheet, Parsons saw the feathered, notched end of an arrow protruding from the dead man's chest.
"Again," Helmar said, in a tone of absolute hopelessness. "We thought . . ." His voice trailed off, baffled and wretched. "Get the pack around him!" he shouted suddenly, and attendants pushed between Parsons and the bed. He saw them expertly lift the corpse and slide it into the vacant cube; cold-pack poured in and surrounded the form until it became blurred and obscured.
After a time Loris said bitterly, "Well, we were right." The fury in her voice shocked Parsons; he turned involuntarily, and saw an expression he had never before witnessed on a woman's face. A complete and absolute hate.
"Right about what?" he managed to ask.
Lifting her head, she gazed at him; her eyes seemed to have shrunk so that the pupils gleamed like tiny, burning points, no longer located in space but somehow hovering before him, blinding him almost. "Someone is working against us," she said. "They have it, too. Control of time. Thwarting us, enjoying it . . ." She laughed. "Yes, enjoying it. Mocking us." Abruptly, with a swing of her robes, she turned away from Parsons and disappeared past the ring of attendants.
Parsons, stepping back, saw the final surface of the Soul Cube slide into place. Once again the figure floated in eternal stasis. Dead and silent. Beyond the reach of the living.
ELEVEN
Standing beside Parsons, Helmar muttered, "It's not your fault." Together, they watched the cube lifted upright. "We have enemies," Helmar said. "This happened before, when we went back into time and tried to recreate the situation. But we thought it was a natural force, a phenomenon of time. Now we know better. Our worst fears are justified. This did not happen through an impersonal force."
"Perhaps not," Parsons said. "But don't see motive where there is none." They are a little paranoid, he decided. Possibly rightly so. "As Loris told me," he continued, "none of you fully comprehend the principles that lie behind time. Isn't it still possible that--"
"No," Helmar said flatly. "I know. We all know." He started to speak further, and then, seeing something, he stopped.
Parsons turned. He, too, had meant to go on. But his words choked off.
For the first time he had noticed her.
She had entered silently, a few moments ago. Two armed guards stood on each side of her. A stir went through the room, among the people present.
She was old. The first old person that Parsons had seen in this world.
Approaching the old woman, Loris said, "He is dead again. They managed to destroy him once again."
The old woman advanced silently toward the cube, toward the dead man who lay within. She was, even at her age, strikingly handsome. Tall and dignified. A mane of white hair down the back of her neck . . . the same broad forehead. Heavy brows. Strong nose and chin. Stern, powerful face.
The same as the others. This old woman, the man in the cube, everybody at the Lodge--all partook of the same physical characteristics.
The stately old woman had reached the rim of the cube. She gazed at it, unspeaking.
Loris took her arm. "Mother--"
There it was. The old woman was Loris' mother. The wife of the man in the cube.
It fitted. He had been in the cube thirty-five years. The old woman was probably seventy. His wife! This pair, this couple, had spawned the powerful, full-breasted creature who ruled the Wolf Tribe, the most potent human being alive.
"Mother," Loris said. "We'll try once more. I promise."
Now the old woman had noticed Parsons. Instantly, her face became fierce. "Who are you?" she asked in a deep, vibrant
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