No One Goes There Now by William Walling

Author:William Walling [Walling, William]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Sci Fi & Fantasy
Publisher: Doubleday & Company
Published: 1971-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

IX

But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays

Upon this Checker-hoard of Nights and Days;

Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays,

And one by one back in the Closet lays.

Edward FitzGerald. Ante Bellum European

of the Industrial epoch. Circa a.d. 1870

(old style).

He appeared from nowhere, a bedraggled apparition sitting dazedly in the center of the esplanade where he created an expanding island in the midst of scattered passers-by. People fell back instinctively. What with all the odd stories being bruited about, anything out of the ordinary was to be treated with utmost suspicion.

A small crowd gathered in minutes, watching the pathetic figure clad in tattered remnants of aristocratic Blacks crawl to the velvet lawn fronting the Directoral Seat and use the bole of a tree as a backrest.

Do you sense the fear? asked Tanis, watching from afar. It is a rip tide of emotion that washes away all reasoning ability.

Polct trembled. I feel it, O Tanis. It is raw and tangible. It approaches the threshold of pain.Attend, Polct, instructed Tanis. Those in authority approach.

Four Imperial Marines charged down the walk from the lobby of the Directoral Seat at a dead run. A sergeant major motioned the others to hang back while he cautiously walked to within ten paces of the man.

“Are you all right, ser?”

No reply, but things were apparently not all right. The fellow was emaciated, filthy; pale blue eyes followed the marine accusingly, and a drool of spittle trailed from his lips.

When the sergeant major drew nearer, a strong whiff of skatol told him the unfortunate aristocrat had soiled himself.

Revolted, the marine asked grimly, “Who are you?” He waited. “Can we help you?”

No answer. The sly, arrogant countenance continued to favor him with a vacant stare.

The marine bent and made as if to help the aristocrat to his feet. Blue eyes fixed themselves dumbly on his proffered hands.

“Well, we can’t just leave you here, can we?” He gingerly opened the man’s pouch, finding a wallet which he removed slowly while mumbling absurdities to calm the patrician.

He touched a sheaf of thousand credit notes with a silent whistle. “So; you’re not destitute, my friend!” He shuffled papers until he encountered a life membership chit in an Earthly chapter of Fraternity Duello.

The marine grunted and replaced the wallet. “Take it easy, ser. You’ll have help in no time.”

The aristocrat was obviously listening to other voices.

The sergeant major jogged back to his squad. “Call Sharax Medicenter for an ambulance,” he directed. ‘Tell them his name is Melas.”

Whatever will become of him? inquired Polct.

One senses compassion, answered the elder. He will he given treatment better than he deserves, for he radiated nought but unthinking malevolence even before his mind disintegrated.

Perhaps Higher Ones did not intend this, suggested Polct diffidently.

Childish rambling! indicted the elder. Think you Higher Ones would abide accidental happenings at this stage? No, young Polct, Higher Ones move ever more surely as this youthful species reveals itself. One senses a rising mode in the predictable confluence of events. Perhaps sampling will shortly become much more specific.

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