every side. Retinas jangled, still stippled with after-images, Magdala beheld a fourth bungalow, showing its prosaic dun format in the headlamp.
The storm, sucked dry of its inshore violence by the hungry holostetic shield, crumpled away with dim boomings into the slavering sea. The wind failed.
The fourth bungalow slid behind like the others, as night collapsed on the forest.
"You missed something then, Claudio," Magdala said aloud. "But probably you've seen it all before. "
The sparks of the storm had again ignited her, precipitated her. But her fear, reborn, smote on the pliable insecurity within her. She had come through rainbow flames that did not burn, among trees that were not trees, and she at their heart, not who she seemed either, nor what she seemed.
Nothing is to be relied on, Claudio had said to her, at the beginning. It had turned out to be the litany of their enterprise.
Five minutes later, out of the black, a fifth bungalow,
84
columen-built The pre-programmed car slowed, swam toward the bungalow. Christophine's bungalow.
It was quite unlike the previous structures, and not only because the electric suffusion of color was gone.
The earlier buildings had had the prefabricated boxed style of the blocks in the Research Station compounds.
The columen bungalow was upheld on its steel columns at a height of four and a half meters, the central
support being a drum-shaped garage faced with copper cladding. The living area sat on its stilts, an octagon up in the air, with the dome of a solarium roof above. The car headlamp shone wetly black on the one-way glazium, which might or might not shine an equally opaque gold if somebody were home.
The car stopped.
Magdala sat in the car, her attention fixed on Christophine's bungalow.
Entry to the bungalow could be procured via the garage. Entry to the garage through an activating key in
the car of Christophine del Jan. The magician, however, could no doubt effect entry by other means.
The time had come, therefore, to button up the back seat and allow the magician to return into the world.
It was like having a virus trapped in a sealed jar. A beautiful, aesthetic, seductive virus. A plague. A
malediction. Satan. A wonderful irrationality, devoid of concession, bathed her nerves. "Can you still hear me, Claudio?" she said. "I am debating with myself whether to let you out. Or not. Of course, I suppose I
could leave you there indefinitely. That would be rather awkward for you, would it not? Would rather spoil
your plans."
She shut her eyes and imagined Claudio's face eclipsed by panic as she had seen it the night before. And
then she became aware that he never would have trusted her in this. She was aware even before she heard the slight hiss of contained atmosphere escaping from the back seat as it lifted. He had his own device for freeing himself when the hour of
85
freedom arrived. How had she ever dreamed it could be otherwise? The split seconds of autonomy, as ever, evaporated. She did not look about.
For his part, he did not speak to her, but reached by her to the panel to raise the rear side section of the
car.
She watched him walk between the steel columns, under the bungalow, to the garage. She could picture the
silver rectangle with which he had effortlessly got into her apartment at the Accomat. On this occasion, she
was not shown what he used, but the curving slide-door of the garage retreated, leaving the way open.
He came back to the car, into the front beside her, and drove forward into the garage.
"There's also a print-lock which will think it recognizes your thumb, and let you in," he said, conversationally. Just as conversationally, she inquired: "Will you leave the car here?" "No."
She was surprised he had bothered to answer. "Where then?"
He had stopped the car, and the garage door was closing. A white light bloomed in the garage. Claudio half-turned, half-looked at her. His eyes seemed capable of
The storm, sucked dry of its inshore violence by the hungry holostetic shield, crumpled away with dim boomings into the slavering sea. The wind failed.
The fourth bungalow slid behind like the others, as night collapsed on the forest.
"You missed something then, Claudio," Magdala said aloud. "But probably you've seen it all before. "
The sparks of the storm had again ignited her, precipitated her. But her fear, reborn, smote on the pliable insecurity within her. She had come through rainbow flames that did not burn, among trees that were not trees, and she at their heart, not who she seemed either, nor what she seemed.
Nothing is to be relied on, Claudio had said to her, at the beginning. It had turned out to be the litany of their enterprise.
Five minutes later, out of the black, a fifth bungalow,
84
columen-built The pre-programmed car slowed, swam toward the bungalow. Christophine's bungalow.
It was quite unlike the previous structures, and not only because the electric suffusion of color was gone.
The earlier buildings had had the prefabricated boxed style of the blocks in the Research Station compounds.
The columen bungalow was upheld on its steel columns at a height of four and a half meters, the central
support being a drum-shaped garage faced with copper cladding. The living area sat on its stilts, an octagon up in the air, with the dome of a solarium roof above. The car headlamp shone wetly black on the one-way glazium, which might or might not shine an equally opaque gold if somebody were home.
The car stopped.
Magdala sat in the car, her attention fixed on Christophine's bungalow.
Entry to the bungalow could be procured via the garage. Entry to the garage through an activating key in
the car of Christophine del Jan. The magician, however, could no doubt effect entry by other means.
The time had come, therefore, to button up the back seat and allow the magician to return into the world.
It was like having a virus trapped in a sealed jar. A beautiful, aesthetic, seductive virus. A plague. A
malediction. Satan. A wonderful irrationality, devoid of concession, bathed her nerves. "Can you still hear me, Claudio?" she said. "I am debating with myself whether to let you out. Or not. Of course, I suppose I
could leave you there indefinitely. That would be rather awkward for you, would it not? Would rather spoil
your plans."
She shut her eyes and imagined Claudio's face eclipsed by panic as she had seen it the night before. And
then she became aware that he never would have trusted her in this. She was aware even before she heard the slight hiss of contained atmosphere escaping from the back seat as it lifted. He had his own device for freeing himself when the hour of
85
freedom arrived. How had she ever dreamed it could be otherwise? The split seconds of autonomy, as ever, evaporated. She did not look about.
For his part, he did not speak to her, but reached by her to the panel to raise the rear side section of the
car.
She watched him walk between the steel columns, under the bungalow, to the garage. She could picture the
silver rectangle with which he had effortlessly got into her apartment at the Accomat. On this occasion, she
was not shown what he used, but the curving slide-door of the garage retreated, leaving the way open.
He came back to the car, into the front beside her, and drove forward into the garage.
"There's also a print-lock which will think it recognizes your thumb, and let you in," he said, conversationally. Just as conversationally, she inquired: "Will you leave the car here?" "No."
She was surprised he had bothered to answer. "Where then?"
He had stopped the car, and the garage door was closing. A white light bloomed in the garage. Claudio half-turned, half-looked at her. His eyes seemed capable of
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