Legends From the End of Time by Michael Moorcock, Tom Canty Page A
Authors: Michael Moorcock, Tom Canty
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consoled and hopeful; at another she would sink into despair and be forced to fight against such useless emotions as regret and anger. She could not carry such things back to Armatuce! It would be Sin. She strove to recall some suitable Maxim, but none came to her.
The machine lurched, paused, and then it continued. Another six minutes had gone by. The pain suddenly became so intense that she lost consciousness. She had expected nothing else.
She awoke, her ears filled with the protesting whining of the time ship. She opened her eyes to pink, oscillating light. She blinked and peered at the instruments. All were at zero. It meant that she was back.
Hastily, with clumsy fingers, she freed herself of her harness. The vision screen showed the white laboratory, the pale-faced, black-clad figures of her compatriots. They were very still.
She operated the mechanism to raise the hatch, climbed urgently through, crying out: "Armatuce! Armatuce! Beware of the Future!" She was desperate to warn them in case Time snatched her from her own Age before she could complete her chosen task, her last Service.
"Armatuce! The Future holds Despair! Send no more ships!" She stood half out of the hatch, waving to attract their attention, but they remained absolutely immobile. None saw her, none heard her, none breathed. Yet they were not statues. She recognized her husband among them. They lived, yet they were frozen!
"Armatuce! Beware the Future!"
The machine began to shake. The scene wavered and she thought she detected the faintest light of recognition in her husband's eye.
"We both live!" she cried, anxious to give him hope.
Then the machine lurched and she lost her footing, was swallowed by it. The hatch slammed shut above her head. She crawled to the speaking apparatus. "Armatuce! Send no more ships!" The pink light flared to red. Heat increased. The machine roared.
Her mouth became so dry that she could hardly speak at all. She whispered, "Beware the Future…" and then she was burning, shivering, and the red light was fading to pink, then to green, as the machine surged forward again, leaving Armatuce behind.
She screamed. They had not seen her. Time had stopped. She dragged herself back to the chair and flung herself into it. She tried to pull her harness round her, but she lacked the strength. She pressed the four buttons to reverse the machine's impetus, forcing it against that remorseless current.
"Oh, Armatuce…"
She knew, then, that she could survive if she allowed the machine to float, as it were, upon the forward flow of Time, but her loyalty to Armatuce was too great. Again she pressed the buttons, bringing a return of the pink light, but she saw the indicators begin to reverse.
She staggered from her chair, each breath like liquid fire, and adjusted every subsidiary control to the reverse position. The machine shrieked at her, as if it pleaded for its own life, but it obeyed. Again the laboratory flashed upon the vision screen. She saw her husband. He was moving sluggishly.
Something seemed to burst in her atrophied womb; tears etched her skin like corrosive acid. Her hair was on fire.
She found the speaking apparatus again. "Snuffles," she whispered. "Armatuce. Future."
And she looked back to the screen; it was filled with crimson. Then she felt her bones tearing through her flesh, her organs rupturing, and she gave herself up, in peace, to the pain.
9. In Which Miss Ming Claims a Keepsake
"Adaptability, surely, is the real secret of survival?" The new Margrave of Wolverhampton seemed anxious to impress his unwilling host. Lord Jagged had been silent since Dafnish Armatuce's departure. "I mean, that's why people like my mother are doomed," continued the youth. "They can't bear change. She could have been perfectly content here, if she'd listened to reason. Couldn't she, Lord Jagged?"
Lord Jagged was sprawled in an ancient steel armchair, refusing to give his affirmation to these protestations. Miss Ming had at
The machine lurched, paused, and then it continued. Another six minutes had gone by. The pain suddenly became so intense that she lost consciousness. She had expected nothing else.
She awoke, her ears filled with the protesting whining of the time ship. She opened her eyes to pink, oscillating light. She blinked and peered at the instruments. All were at zero. It meant that she was back.
Hastily, with clumsy fingers, she freed herself of her harness. The vision screen showed the white laboratory, the pale-faced, black-clad figures of her compatriots. They were very still.
She operated the mechanism to raise the hatch, climbed urgently through, crying out: "Armatuce! Armatuce! Beware of the Future!" She was desperate to warn them in case Time snatched her from her own Age before she could complete her chosen task, her last Service.
"Armatuce! The Future holds Despair! Send no more ships!" She stood half out of the hatch, waving to attract their attention, but they remained absolutely immobile. None saw her, none heard her, none breathed. Yet they were not statues. She recognized her husband among them. They lived, yet they were frozen!
"Armatuce! Beware the Future!"
The machine began to shake. The scene wavered and she thought she detected the faintest light of recognition in her husband's eye.
"We both live!" she cried, anxious to give him hope.
Then the machine lurched and she lost her footing, was swallowed by it. The hatch slammed shut above her head. She crawled to the speaking apparatus. "Armatuce! Send no more ships!" The pink light flared to red. Heat increased. The machine roared.
Her mouth became so dry that she could hardly speak at all. She whispered, "Beware the Future…" and then she was burning, shivering, and the red light was fading to pink, then to green, as the machine surged forward again, leaving Armatuce behind.
She screamed. They had not seen her. Time had stopped. She dragged herself back to the chair and flung herself into it. She tried to pull her harness round her, but she lacked the strength. She pressed the four buttons to reverse the machine's impetus, forcing it against that remorseless current.
"Oh, Armatuce…"
She knew, then, that she could survive if she allowed the machine to float, as it were, upon the forward flow of Time, but her loyalty to Armatuce was too great. Again she pressed the buttons, bringing a return of the pink light, but she saw the indicators begin to reverse.
She staggered from her chair, each breath like liquid fire, and adjusted every subsidiary control to the reverse position. The machine shrieked at her, as if it pleaded for its own life, but it obeyed. Again the laboratory flashed upon the vision screen. She saw her husband. He was moving sluggishly.
Something seemed to burst in her atrophied womb; tears etched her skin like corrosive acid. Her hair was on fire.
She found the speaking apparatus again. "Snuffles," she whispered. "Armatuce. Future."
And she looked back to the screen; it was filled with crimson. Then she felt her bones tearing through her flesh, her organs rupturing, and she gave herself up, in peace, to the pain.
9. In Which Miss Ming Claims a Keepsake
"Adaptability, surely, is the real secret of survival?" The new Margrave of Wolverhampton seemed anxious to impress his unwilling host. Lord Jagged had been silent since Dafnish Armatuce's departure. "I mean, that's why people like my mother are doomed," continued the youth. "They can't bear change. She could have been perfectly content here, if she'd listened to reason. Couldn't she, Lord Jagged?"
Lord Jagged was sprawled in an ancient steel armchair, refusing to give his affirmation to these protestations. Miss Ming had at
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