you.â¦
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8
OUT OF CHAOS â¦
Nothing. Nowhere. Lightless, soundless, weightless.⦠Nothing. Nothing to see or hear or feel. Formless, unreal.⦠Nothing.
The universe was dark, was dead, was gone. The world had ended.
No stars, no warmth, no life. The night had won, and the light was forever gone. Death had conquered. The great clock of creation had run down. The great energy gradient had been flattened. Hot, coldâthere were no words for those. No motion. Nothing.
Infinity was a dark sameness. Here, thereâthe terms were meaningless. Nowhere was everywhere; everywhere was nowhere.
One consciousness in the eternal night, stunned, reeling, afraid. One life living in the endless death. One thing aware when awareness was futile. One mind thinking when the time for thought was done.
Horn screamed. Soundlessly. Without movement. It was a shocking, mental thing without physical extensions, imprisoned with the narrow, impervious shell of the mind. It was lightning captured in a hollow ball.
No breath dilated his nostrils or stirred his lungs. No pump throbbed rhythmically in his chest. No muscles tensed or relaxed. He was a consciousness, hopelessly alone.
One mind, spinning in infinity.
Think! Think!
Infinity split. Creation!
Consciousness in the womb, weightless, eternally falling, endless distances below, above, around. Thatâs wrong. Think! No up, no down. All directions were outward.
Consciousness. A mind to think. Existence. Circular proof. Outside of this, nothing.
Birth!
Upon one fact a man can construct a universe. Always one fact, always the same. I thinkâI am. Reality begins with me. I am the universe! I am the creator.
Create, then. Everything is destroyed but you. There is nothing alive but you. There is no thought, no memory, but yours. Create!
The universe was falling through the void. Falling or weightless? Distinction meaningless: identity. Falling. Hold fast to that. A thing must fall from somewhere, fall to somewhere, fall through something.
Cling to it. Cling to sanity. Create.
Falling from somewhere. From a place of weight and solidity. Earth. Horn created Earth, complete, with green plains and gray mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas, blue sky, white clouds, and sunlight. He peopled it with animals and men. Earth. His creation filled him with longing. But Earth was behind him. He was falling from there.
Falling to somewhere. To a place of weight and solidity. Eron. Horn created Eron, complete, steel-jacketed, cold, the hub of a giant wheel, spokes reaching across the stars. Beneath the icy metal skin, he tunneled it out and peopled it with mole-men, scampering blindly through the tunnels. Eron. It was in front of him. He was falling to there.
Falling through something. Falling through one of the golden spokes. The Tube. Horn created the Tube, complete, a golden shimmering of energy outside; within, a black nothingness, an empty, timeless void, foreshortening space or expanding time so that a distance of light years could be spanned in hours. He peopled it with a man, himself. He was falling through it.
Reality. Horn created it.â¦
Memory returned. With it came sanity. Sensation was still missing, but he had these two, and he must hug them tightly or go mad. He had fallen up into the Tube, up into nothingness and insanity. He was still there, but now he had a mind that worked.
He willed his mind to feel. At the end of eternity, he gave up. Either his mind was isolated or there was nothing to feel.
Eternity. The Tube was timeless, too. Every instant was eternity.
This could be death. Horn considered the possibility calmly. He tossed it away. It was an unprofitable assumption. If true, his condition was unchangeable; if not, his acceptance of it might make it actual.
He was in the Tube. These sensationsâor these lacks of sensationâwere a result of that; probably they were the effect of it.
He had been in a Tube twice before: going
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8
OUT OF CHAOS â¦
Nothing. Nowhere. Lightless, soundless, weightless.⦠Nothing. Nothing to see or hear or feel. Formless, unreal.⦠Nothing.
The universe was dark, was dead, was gone. The world had ended.
No stars, no warmth, no life. The night had won, and the light was forever gone. Death had conquered. The great clock of creation had run down. The great energy gradient had been flattened. Hot, coldâthere were no words for those. No motion. Nothing.
Infinity was a dark sameness. Here, thereâthe terms were meaningless. Nowhere was everywhere; everywhere was nowhere.
One consciousness in the eternal night, stunned, reeling, afraid. One life living in the endless death. One thing aware when awareness was futile. One mind thinking when the time for thought was done.
Horn screamed. Soundlessly. Without movement. It was a shocking, mental thing without physical extensions, imprisoned with the narrow, impervious shell of the mind. It was lightning captured in a hollow ball.
No breath dilated his nostrils or stirred his lungs. No pump throbbed rhythmically in his chest. No muscles tensed or relaxed. He was a consciousness, hopelessly alone.
One mind, spinning in infinity.
Think! Think!
Infinity split. Creation!
Consciousness in the womb, weightless, eternally falling, endless distances below, above, around. Thatâs wrong. Think! No up, no down. All directions were outward.
Consciousness. A mind to think. Existence. Circular proof. Outside of this, nothing.
Birth!
Upon one fact a man can construct a universe. Always one fact, always the same. I thinkâI am. Reality begins with me. I am the universe! I am the creator.
Create, then. Everything is destroyed but you. There is nothing alive but you. There is no thought, no memory, but yours. Create!
The universe was falling through the void. Falling or weightless? Distinction meaningless: identity. Falling. Hold fast to that. A thing must fall from somewhere, fall to somewhere, fall through something.
Cling to it. Cling to sanity. Create.
Falling from somewhere. From a place of weight and solidity. Earth. Horn created Earth, complete, with green plains and gray mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas, blue sky, white clouds, and sunlight. He peopled it with animals and men. Earth. His creation filled him with longing. But Earth was behind him. He was falling from there.
Falling to somewhere. To a place of weight and solidity. Eron. Horn created Eron, complete, steel-jacketed, cold, the hub of a giant wheel, spokes reaching across the stars. Beneath the icy metal skin, he tunneled it out and peopled it with mole-men, scampering blindly through the tunnels. Eron. It was in front of him. He was falling to there.
Falling through something. Falling through one of the golden spokes. The Tube. Horn created the Tube, complete, a golden shimmering of energy outside; within, a black nothingness, an empty, timeless void, foreshortening space or expanding time so that a distance of light years could be spanned in hours. He peopled it with a man, himself. He was falling through it.
Reality. Horn created it.â¦
Memory returned. With it came sanity. Sensation was still missing, but he had these two, and he must hug them tightly or go mad. He had fallen up into the Tube, up into nothingness and insanity. He was still there, but now he had a mind that worked.
He willed his mind to feel. At the end of eternity, he gave up. Either his mind was isolated or there was nothing to feel.
Eternity. The Tube was timeless, too. Every instant was eternity.
This could be death. Horn considered the possibility calmly. He tossed it away. It was an unprofitable assumption. If true, his condition was unchangeable; if not, his acceptance of it might make it actual.
He was in the Tube. These sensationsâor these lacks of sensationâwere a result of that; probably they were the effect of it.
He had been in a Tube twice before: going
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