The Galactiad by E. C. Tubb

Author:E. C. Tubb [Tubb, E. C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Science fiction
ISBN: 9780575107908
Publisher: DAW Books
Published: 2011-09-29T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

EIGHT

The voices were whispers in an orange haze.

“It goes well, brother.”

“Very well, sister. I am almost tempted to take a personal interest.”

“That would be unfair.”

“Fairness? What is that?”

The sound of alien mirth, whispering tinkles which could have been the echoes of laughter or of water cascading over rocks, splintered ice showering, metal grating beneath a file.

Kennedy stirred, waking, yet the dream persisted.

A place of orange mist in which strange shapes moved in unexpected directions. Amorphous things which held no recognizable form and yet contained hints of disturbing familiarity. A sense of movement coupled with the conviction of stasis. An alien something which touched the core of his mind and froze even as it burned.

The nightmares of delirium.

The presence of the Sukhi.

Again he heard the voices, whispers scratching the surface of his brain. Ants beneath his skull.

“The challenge holds unanticipated factors, sister. These things provide much amusement. A personal wager?”

“Of what, brother?”

“A term of yavani. Take a side. If they win the contest—”

“You will pay me, brother. I am intrigued. There is a strong mind at work. Raise your perception to the elphos region, concentrate, you note?”

“A determination to survive. But wait, sister, others have different ideas.”

Again the sound of mirth, alien, horrible.

Not horrible—different.

Different and frightening.

Kennedy opened his eyes and saw, instead of the familiar shape of the room in which he had retired, a swirl of orange which thickened at the edges of his vision to give a tunnel effect so that he seemed to be staring down a tube of infinite length.

A tube in which the voices echoed in his mind.

“Careful, brother!”

“It is nothing and I am curious. This wager holds elements of enticement. One term only, sister?”

“One term—and already you are taking advantage.”

“How so?”

“Remoteness must be maintained. Things set in motion must be allowed to follow their own paths. We do not again want a conflict of wills.”

“But, sister, I am bored.”

“I too, brother.”

“Then—?”

“No.”

“You are hard, sister.”

“Yes, brother. I am hard—and watchful.”

The tunnel blurred, the end expanding, moving toward him and, for a brief second, Kennedy caught a glimpse of two faces. Faces in name only, visages which were the distortions of nightmare, a sickening combination of flesh and chiton, pseudopods writhing, crusted spines and glitters of mineral, the symmetry of crystalline growth, all blended into an ever-shifting montage.

His eyes hurt, lines and planes leading his vision into unfamiliar dimensions. His ears rang with the alien mirth and then, incredibly, the faces took on a strange familiarity.

A man and a woman—somehow he knew that. Two faces, both with brooding eyes, both with mouths curved, one up the other down.

The masks of ancient Greek tragedy.

They were gone as soon as seen, the orange mist with them, blinking out like the snap of a shutter, leaving behind only the familiar shape of the room.

A small place, the walls softly green, a carpet on the floor, a cabinet, a window which showed the crimson light of a new day.

Slowly Kennedy sat upright. The Sukhi had made contact and he had heard them.

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