Delany, Samuel R - The Fall Of The Towers 3 - City Of A Thousand Suns by Delany Samuel R

Author:Delany, Samuel R.
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf

“Through here,” Jon said, motioning her towards the alley.

“What about the broken water main?” asked Alter.

“It can’t be that deep. Just wet. They’ve blocked off almost every other way to the wharf. We’d just have to go around to the airfield to get through.”

“We both know how to swim,” Alter shrugged.

“Come on.” Down the block Jon could see lights gleaming on the flooded street. They looked like sheets of black glass.

“Ever notice how dark alleys make you whisper?” She glanced at the warehouses, and the windows of empty stores drifted past. The feet began to slap water.

As they passed under a light the inverted face of a building, its dusty windows, the black wound of the doorway and lopsided steps, shattered under their sandals. Their footsteps lisped as they slogged forward. The back of his hand occasionally brushed her wrist; her shoulder gently struck his bicep, a physical assurance of mutual presence.

When they reached the corner Jon stopped. With a hand on her shoulder he halted Alter. She blinked, questioning him in the shadows.

His answer was the rising of his chin, the turn of his head denoting gathered attention.

She turned to face the same direction, listening. There was the distant sound of many feet in water.

“Malis?” asked Alter.

“Keep going,” Jon said. But when they reached the next corner they stopped again. Something was coming towards them from the cross street.

First, a mark of white fire hovered halfway down the block.

Jon dropped his hand on her shoulder again. In surprise she turned to him. “What is—” Then turned back to see for herself.

The splashing grew, and the white mark became a fireblade, aloft in the hand of a young man in white pyjamas: WARD 739. Behind him, eyes raised to the bright beacon, a dozen figures staggered, shuffled, and reeled.

When what is is congruent to what is supposed the reaction is functional and the mental processes competent. When what is and what is supposed have nothing to do with each other the choice of reactions is random. Something tears. Stay or run, laugh or frown: the decision is chance. Malis are supposed to lurk, vicious and malevolent, in the night streets of the city. But these were like no malis they had ever seen. Jon and Alter stayed and frowned.

So when the tall woman suddenly pointed a furious, quivering finger, crying, “Of course! They must have it! Quick! Catch them before they get away!” Alter and Jon were off guard. The hesitant half-movements of the figures found focus: someone dived at Jon’s legs and pulled them from under him so that he fell.

Someone else yanked Alter by the arm, and three hands caught her shoulders.

As their minds worked to pull shredding reality together she cried, “Jon, look! That woman!” She tried to ignore the fingers holding her, but her hands were still free below the elbow. Her left hand grabbed at her right elbow joint, holding to it as if it were in pain—or pain remembered.

Jon said, “My lord, that’s the Queen Mother.

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