table in front of him. It was the old story; Esro Mondrian taking an action, and leaving Kubo Flammarion to clean up the mess. “I have to tell you just how intense it might get for you.”
“Tomorrow, Captain . . .”
“No, Princess Tatiana. Today. I’m sorry, but we have to do it before that shot of Paradox wears off.”
Chapter 8
Esro Mondrian had puzzled over the directions before he tried to follow them. They were far from the usual Fropper territory. He had been sent meandering through an endless series of descent shafts, to the deepest basement levels of the Gallimaufries. So far down in the Earth’s crust, continuous cooling was needed to make the levels even marginally habitable, and only the power maintenance crews visited on a regular basis. It seemed inconceivable that any successful Fropper would have an office down in these smoking warrens. But the directions had been detailed and specific.
The final hundred meters of his journey were in near-total darkness, stepping carefully along a steadily descending shallow ramp. At the foot, the gloom closed in to become absolute. Mondrian paused to unsnap a miniature flashlight from his belt.
“No lights, please,” said a soft voice from a few yards in front of him. “Take hold, Commander Mondrian, and follow me.”
“You are Skrynol?”
“I am.” A warm, fleshy flipper gripped Mondrian’s fingers. He walked, step by slow step, led by the Fropper in front of him. Finally he was guided to a seat covered by warm, velvety material.
“Sit there, Commander. And relax.”
“You have to be joking. Could you relax, in my situation? I’ve been to a lot of Froppers before, but I’ve never had to put up with anything like this. Why the darkness? I’d like at least a little light.”
“That desire is understandable. But it is not a good idea. I work far more effectively in total darkness. And with light, you might feel far less relaxed.”
“I don’t care what you look like. I don’t expect a Fropper to win beauty contests.”
“How true. But there are limits. Not every product of a Needler lab is a work of art in aesthetic terms.”
Mondrian peered into the darkness. “Are you telling me you’re an Artefact?”
“I do seem to be saying that, don’t I?” There was a trill of laughter from somewhere above and in front of Mondrian. “Does that give you a problem?”
“I didn’t know Artefacts could be Froppers.”
“If you doubt my capabilities, I can refer you to others who will provide excellent testimonials. And from my initial assessment of your mental condition, the Froppers you have visited in the past have done little for you. Could an Artefact do worse?”
Mondrian leaned back again in his seat. “I can’t argue with that. The others I’ve seen have done nothing for me. How can you say you’ve assessed my mental condition when I’ve only been here for two minutes?”
“You are asking me to reveal the secrets of my profession. I will not do so. But if you require proof that I can do what I say, you shall have an example. Sit quietly, relax as much as possible, and let your thoughts wander where they wish. I am going to attach a few electrodes.” Cold touches came on Mondrian’s forehead, hands, and neck. “And now, a few moments of silence.”
The temperature in the room was far too hot for comfort. Mondrian sat, sweating heavily, and tried to follow the Fropper’s order to relax. What form could possibly be so horrible that the sight of it was worse than this oppressive and stifling darkness? His eyes should be totally adjusted by now, but he could see nothing. Was he wasting his time, on yet another unproductive visit to a Fropper? There had to be a reason why Froppers were banned, everywhere except on Earth.
“I have enough.” Skrynol’s voice came suddenly out of the darkness. “Remember, I cannot read your thoughts, and I will never claim to do so. But I can read your body, and they tell me more about what you
“Tomorrow, Captain . . .”
“No, Princess Tatiana. Today. I’m sorry, but we have to do it before that shot of Paradox wears off.”
Chapter 8
Esro Mondrian had puzzled over the directions before he tried to follow them. They were far from the usual Fropper territory. He had been sent meandering through an endless series of descent shafts, to the deepest basement levels of the Gallimaufries. So far down in the Earth’s crust, continuous cooling was needed to make the levels even marginally habitable, and only the power maintenance crews visited on a regular basis. It seemed inconceivable that any successful Fropper would have an office down in these smoking warrens. But the directions had been detailed and specific.
The final hundred meters of his journey were in near-total darkness, stepping carefully along a steadily descending shallow ramp. At the foot, the gloom closed in to become absolute. Mondrian paused to unsnap a miniature flashlight from his belt.
“No lights, please,” said a soft voice from a few yards in front of him. “Take hold, Commander Mondrian, and follow me.”
“You are Skrynol?”
“I am.” A warm, fleshy flipper gripped Mondrian’s fingers. He walked, step by slow step, led by the Fropper in front of him. Finally he was guided to a seat covered by warm, velvety material.
“Sit there, Commander. And relax.”
“You have to be joking. Could you relax, in my situation? I’ve been to a lot of Froppers before, but I’ve never had to put up with anything like this. Why the darkness? I’d like at least a little light.”
“That desire is understandable. But it is not a good idea. I work far more effectively in total darkness. And with light, you might feel far less relaxed.”
“I don’t care what you look like. I don’t expect a Fropper to win beauty contests.”
“How true. But there are limits. Not every product of a Needler lab is a work of art in aesthetic terms.”
Mondrian peered into the darkness. “Are you telling me you’re an Artefact?”
“I do seem to be saying that, don’t I?” There was a trill of laughter from somewhere above and in front of Mondrian. “Does that give you a problem?”
“I didn’t know Artefacts could be Froppers.”
“If you doubt my capabilities, I can refer you to others who will provide excellent testimonials. And from my initial assessment of your mental condition, the Froppers you have visited in the past have done little for you. Could an Artefact do worse?”
Mondrian leaned back again in his seat. “I can’t argue with that. The others I’ve seen have done nothing for me. How can you say you’ve assessed my mental condition when I’ve only been here for two minutes?”
“You are asking me to reveal the secrets of my profession. I will not do so. But if you require proof that I can do what I say, you shall have an example. Sit quietly, relax as much as possible, and let your thoughts wander where they wish. I am going to attach a few electrodes.” Cold touches came on Mondrian’s forehead, hands, and neck. “And now, a few moments of silence.”
The temperature in the room was far too hot for comfort. Mondrian sat, sweating heavily, and tried to follow the Fropper’s order to relax. What form could possibly be so horrible that the sight of it was worse than this oppressive and stifling darkness? His eyes should be totally adjusted by now, but he could see nothing. Was he wasting his time, on yet another unproductive visit to a Fropper? There had to be a reason why Froppers were banned, everywhere except on Earth.
“I have enough.” Skrynol’s voice came suddenly out of the darkness. “Remember, I cannot read your thoughts, and I will never claim to do so. But I can read your body, and they tell me more about what you
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