his struggle with the recruiting officer.
“There’s some sausage,” the Negro said. “And some bread that’s still fairly fresh, and some red wine.”
From his loose-fitting trousers he produced a huge pocket knife and set about carving up the bread and sausage. Then he uncorked the bottle of wine and offered it to Antonella. Corson watched him with fascination.
“Never seen anything like it, hm?” Touray said, noticing his amazement. “I bet in your time you lived off pills and chemicals! But this isn’t too bad, you know. When at war you make the best of what you’ve got.”
The wine, Corson found, was warming and comforting. He bit into a chunk of bread and decided that it was time to ask a few questions. After all, here was a man who had had far more experience of this weird world.
“What surprises me,” he said cautiously, “is that the sky is practically empty. You’d expect aerial warfare to spread all over the place.” “There are regulations,” Touray said. “At least, I assume there are. In this sector of Aergistal there are no planes, no rockets and no copters. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t dogfights going on somewhere else. In fact I’d be rather surprised if there weren’t.” “Regulations,” Corson repeated thoughtfully.
“You must have noticed something right away,” Touray went on. “Nobody around here is using nuclear bombs, right? I imagine that puzzles you. But on the other side of those mountains atom bombs do go off now and then. Big ones at that!”
Corson recalled the pillars of fire and mushrooms of smoke which they had seen beyond the mountains. He nodded.
“And who makes sure the rules are obeyed?”
“If only I knew, I’d file a polite request for him to get me out of here! Oh, probably a god—or a devil!”
“Do you really think we might be in hell?”
Corson used the word readily enough, but it had little personal meaning for him. By his time, in an age dominated by cold and calculating pragmatism, its only referent was half-forgotten mythologies. And the nearest term available to match it in the galactic tongue meant no more than somewhere especially unpleasant.
Still, Touray took his point. “I’ve been wondering a lot about that,” he admitted. “But this strikes me as a pretty material kind of hell, if it is one. I managed to make some sightings on the sky as I went up and down with this balloon, and I’m convinced the ceiling is only about ten or twelve kilometers above us. Of course, even if it is made of ordinary matter, this place doesn’t look much like a natural planet. No horizon, an absolutely level surface ... Or if the planet were big enough to give this impression, we ought to have been squashed flat by the gravity in the first minute.”
Corson agreed, surprised that this man from a period so long before his own should know so much.
“I don’t think we’re in normal space at all,” Antonella said. “I can’t cog anything—not a thing. At first I wasn’t worried because our foresight does fade away now and then. But never so completely. Here it’s as though I were . . . well, as though I were blind.”
Corson stared at her. “When does your talent let you down?”
She flushed. “For a few days every month, that’s one thing. But that’s not what’s happening at the moment. And during a space flight, but I haven’t flown space very often. And when I’ve just made a jump across time, but that never lasts for long. And lastly when the probabilities in favor of several different outcomes are almost exactly balanced. But I always retain at least the ghost of the power. Here, there’s nothing at all.”
“What power is she talking about?” Touray demanded.
“Antonella’s people have a certain ability to see into the future. They call it ‘cogging’, from precognition. They can foretell events before they happen, usually a couple of minutes ahead.”
“I see. It must be like having a periscope capable
“There’s some sausage,” the Negro said. “And some bread that’s still fairly fresh, and some red wine.”
From his loose-fitting trousers he produced a huge pocket knife and set about carving up the bread and sausage. Then he uncorked the bottle of wine and offered it to Antonella. Corson watched him with fascination.
“Never seen anything like it, hm?” Touray said, noticing his amazement. “I bet in your time you lived off pills and chemicals! But this isn’t too bad, you know. When at war you make the best of what you’ve got.”
The wine, Corson found, was warming and comforting. He bit into a chunk of bread and decided that it was time to ask a few questions. After all, here was a man who had had far more experience of this weird world.
“What surprises me,” he said cautiously, “is that the sky is practically empty. You’d expect aerial warfare to spread all over the place.” “There are regulations,” Touray said. “At least, I assume there are. In this sector of Aergistal there are no planes, no rockets and no copters. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t dogfights going on somewhere else. In fact I’d be rather surprised if there weren’t.” “Regulations,” Corson repeated thoughtfully.
“You must have noticed something right away,” Touray went on. “Nobody around here is using nuclear bombs, right? I imagine that puzzles you. But on the other side of those mountains atom bombs do go off now and then. Big ones at that!”
Corson recalled the pillars of fire and mushrooms of smoke which they had seen beyond the mountains. He nodded.
“And who makes sure the rules are obeyed?”
“If only I knew, I’d file a polite request for him to get me out of here! Oh, probably a god—or a devil!”
“Do you really think we might be in hell?”
Corson used the word readily enough, but it had little personal meaning for him. By his time, in an age dominated by cold and calculating pragmatism, its only referent was half-forgotten mythologies. And the nearest term available to match it in the galactic tongue meant no more than somewhere especially unpleasant.
Still, Touray took his point. “I’ve been wondering a lot about that,” he admitted. “But this strikes me as a pretty material kind of hell, if it is one. I managed to make some sightings on the sky as I went up and down with this balloon, and I’m convinced the ceiling is only about ten or twelve kilometers above us. Of course, even if it is made of ordinary matter, this place doesn’t look much like a natural planet. No horizon, an absolutely level surface ... Or if the planet were big enough to give this impression, we ought to have been squashed flat by the gravity in the first minute.”
Corson agreed, surprised that this man from a period so long before his own should know so much.
“I don’t think we’re in normal space at all,” Antonella said. “I can’t cog anything—not a thing. At first I wasn’t worried because our foresight does fade away now and then. But never so completely. Here it’s as though I were . . . well, as though I were blind.”
Corson stared at her. “When does your talent let you down?”
She flushed. “For a few days every month, that’s one thing. But that’s not what’s happening at the moment. And during a space flight, but I haven’t flown space very often. And when I’ve just made a jump across time, but that never lasts for long. And lastly when the probabilities in favor of several different outcomes are almost exactly balanced. But I always retain at least the ghost of the power. Here, there’s nothing at all.”
“What power is she talking about?” Touray demanded.
“Antonella’s people have a certain ability to see into the future. They call it ‘cogging’, from precognition. They can foretell events before they happen, usually a couple of minutes ahead.”
“I see. It must be like having a periscope capable
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