he had been fortunate, exceedingly fortunate. He and his kinsmen were immune to disease or any form of bodily degeneration, and had remarkable powers of recovery from injury. But they were not immortal.
At the last possible moment, just before it touched the ground, the grid-plane pulled up and then swooped back into the sky, rising above a looming, rainbow-crystal cliff face. Eshaz went higher this time, to avoid whatever was occurring down there. Moments later he brought the plane around, circled the glittering cliff, and descended toward the riverbed. He saw the swirling dust again, but this time he remained at a safer altitude.
A small golden circle adorned the lapel of his Guardian uniform, which had been custom-fitted by a Human tailor to conform with the unusual contours of his alien body. The golden circle was the sigil of the Tulyan race, representing eternity. It was a design found everywhere in their arcane society: on their clothing, on the hulls of their ships, and on the sides of their buildings.
Today the mission of this highly intelligent race was much more limited than it had been in ancient times. Now a comparatively few Tulyans traveled the galactic sectors, performing fine ecological adjustments wherever necessary, trying to restore delicate environmental balances that had been disturbed by the careless practices of the galactic races. Humans were not alone in the damage they caused.
He brought the grid-plane as low as he could over the trouble spot, for a better look. Below him was a wide, dry riverbed with a rough, disturbed surface of crystalline soil and black volcanic rock. The disturbed area was pulsing, surging with ground and air action and then diminishing … as if breathing. He had seen this before, and needed to wait for just the right moment.
Most of Eshaz’s people remained back at the Tulyan Starcloud, their home at the edge of the galaxy. In that sacred place they thought of the old days … or tried to forget them. His brethren harbored secrets that could never be discussed with any other race, things known only to the Tulyans since time immemorial, and perhaps even before that. Much of the highly restricted information had to do with Timeweb, the way everything in the galaxy was connected by gossamer threads that were only visible to certain sentients, and then only during heightened states of consciousness.
There had been signs of increasing problems on Canopa and in other sectors of the galaxy, causing the Tulyans great concern. Handling the touch-pad controls of the grid-plane expertly, Eshaz watched the swirls of glassy dust diminish. He would have to move quickly.
Without hesitation he set the aircraft down, off to one side of the broad riverbed, a couple of hundred meters from the debris. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if Timeweb continued to decay.
It would mean the end of everything.
He stepped from the craft and made his way across the rough, rocky terrain. Every few steps Eshaz knelt to examine the ground, touching its disturbed surface, studying stones, small broken plants, and dirt. He moved closer, and confirmed his suspicions. This was no ordinary debris field, nothing that had been caused by the natural geological or weather forces of Canopa itself. He studied a blast-pattern of dirt and fragments that had been broken away from the planetary crust, and shook his head sadly. It was exactly as he had feared, a very serious situation indeed.
He watched as a patch of crystalline soil and debris began to swirl only a few meters from him, then faded from view. Unmistakably, he was looking at the early stage of a timehole, a defect in the cosmos through which matter could slip between the layers of the web and, for all practical purposes, disappear from the space-time continuum.
Bringing forth a sorcerer’s bag that he always carried in a body pouch, Eshaz stepped forward carefully, until he reached the edge of the flickering area. He sprinkled a
At the last possible moment, just before it touched the ground, the grid-plane pulled up and then swooped back into the sky, rising above a looming, rainbow-crystal cliff face. Eshaz went higher this time, to avoid whatever was occurring down there. Moments later he brought the plane around, circled the glittering cliff, and descended toward the riverbed. He saw the swirling dust again, but this time he remained at a safer altitude.
A small golden circle adorned the lapel of his Guardian uniform, which had been custom-fitted by a Human tailor to conform with the unusual contours of his alien body. The golden circle was the sigil of the Tulyan race, representing eternity. It was a design found everywhere in their arcane society: on their clothing, on the hulls of their ships, and on the sides of their buildings.
Today the mission of this highly intelligent race was much more limited than it had been in ancient times. Now a comparatively few Tulyans traveled the galactic sectors, performing fine ecological adjustments wherever necessary, trying to restore delicate environmental balances that had been disturbed by the careless practices of the galactic races. Humans were not alone in the damage they caused.
He brought the grid-plane as low as he could over the trouble spot, for a better look. Below him was a wide, dry riverbed with a rough, disturbed surface of crystalline soil and black volcanic rock. The disturbed area was pulsing, surging with ground and air action and then diminishing … as if breathing. He had seen this before, and needed to wait for just the right moment.
Most of Eshaz’s people remained back at the Tulyan Starcloud, their home at the edge of the galaxy. In that sacred place they thought of the old days … or tried to forget them. His brethren harbored secrets that could never be discussed with any other race, things known only to the Tulyans since time immemorial, and perhaps even before that. Much of the highly restricted information had to do with Timeweb, the way everything in the galaxy was connected by gossamer threads that were only visible to certain sentients, and then only during heightened states of consciousness.
There had been signs of increasing problems on Canopa and in other sectors of the galaxy, causing the Tulyans great concern. Handling the touch-pad controls of the grid-plane expertly, Eshaz watched the swirls of glassy dust diminish. He would have to move quickly.
Without hesitation he set the aircraft down, off to one side of the broad riverbed, a couple of hundred meters from the debris. He didn’t like to think about what would happen if Timeweb continued to decay.
It would mean the end of everything.
He stepped from the craft and made his way across the rough, rocky terrain. Every few steps Eshaz knelt to examine the ground, touching its disturbed surface, studying stones, small broken plants, and dirt. He moved closer, and confirmed his suspicions. This was no ordinary debris field, nothing that had been caused by the natural geological or weather forces of Canopa itself. He studied a blast-pattern of dirt and fragments that had been broken away from the planetary crust, and shook his head sadly. It was exactly as he had feared, a very serious situation indeed.
He watched as a patch of crystalline soil and debris began to swirl only a few meters from him, then faded from view. Unmistakably, he was looking at the early stage of a timehole, a defect in the cosmos through which matter could slip between the layers of the web and, for all practical purposes, disappear from the space-time continuum.
Bringing forth a sorcerer’s bag that he always carried in a body pouch, Eshaz stepped forward carefully, until he reached the edge of the flickering area. He sprinkled a
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