The Shores of Death by Michael Moorcock Page B

Atlantic sea-bed would find them and she felt that Aimer hadn’t the time to make such a search. She was wrong. Soon after she had entered the water, another large car followed her.
    Green, cool and silent, the water-depths drew her down. Only here was there still peace to be found. On the surface of Earth all was disharmony and disruption.
    She soon found Narvo’s house and in a few moments was steering her car through the lock. As the water was pumped out, Narvo opened an inner door and greeted her with a smile.
    “Have they started a transmission yet? ”
    She felt it was better to give him the news directly. “They have smashed it, Narvo.”
    “Smashed it? But why? ”
    “I didn’t seek a logical reason—they just smashed it. That is what is happening. It isn’t merely that they’re destroying things like your transmitter—they’re destroying less tangible but even more important things—they’re destroying the only civilised society in history that has achieved peace and sanity.”
    He put his arm round her shoulder. “ No need to sound so melodramatic, my dear. It is difficult to see things in perspective, you know. This may be just a phase. Aimer, after all, is not a self-seeker, he believes himself right in doing what he is doing.”
    “Neither were Hitler, Rickhardt, Vinor, Krau-Boss self-seekers in the sense you mean, but nonetheless ...”
    He led her to a chair and made her sit down. “We must try to remain calm, objective—we—” He looked up. “I heard something—as if another car was entering the airlock. It can only be a friend. I’ll go and see who it is. Wait here.”
    But she waited nervously in spite of his confidence. She heard low voices for a few moments and then there was silence again. She got up. As she walked along the passage towards the airlock, she heard it open. Another arrival? She reached the door. An indicator showed her that the water was only just beginning to be pumped away. For a moment she knew that something was drastically wrong, but she could not understand what it was. Then she knew.
    Narvo was still in the airlock. It meant only one thing.
    It meant that he was dead. Andros Aimer, or his deputies, had murdered Narvo Velusi.
    In his last microsecond of life, Clovis Marca had known that he was finished, yet now he was conscious. Had Take somehow misjudged the blow? Or was he dead? He seemed to be drifting, highly aware of his own body-bulk, in spaceless infinity. He became frightened suddenly and kept his eyes tightly shut. He remained like that for hours, it seemed, then he opened them, curiosity fighting off his fear.
    In front of him something crystalline winked and shimmered. Beyond the crystal, a shape moved, but he did not know what the shape was. He turned his head. More crystal, dim outlines behind it. He moved a leg and his body turned slowly. He was completely surrounded by crystal. Attached to his mouth was a muzzle of some kind and leading off it were several thin tubes which seemed imbedded in the crystal.
    He stretched out his hand and touched the irregular surface of the crystal. It tingled slightly. The muzzle stopped him from speaking, but he managed a muffled murmur.
    Far, far away, a voice said softly, “Ah good, you will be out of there soon now.”
    Then Marca fell asleep.
    He woke up and he was lying on a couch in a small, featureless room. It was warm and he felt very comfortable. He looked around, but couldn’t see a door in the room. He looked up. There were indications that the room’s entrance was in the roof directly above the couch, he could make out thin indentations, square in shape.
    He swung himself off the couch. He felt very fit. But he wondered if he were a prisoner here. He had a feeling that he was being observed. Perhaps the walls of his room were transparent from the outside. He noted that he was dressed in a one-piece garment of soft, blue material. He touched his neck, where Take’s improvised cleaver had caught him.