[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
fallen, lay a slender, dark-haired girl.
CHAPTER NINE
Unsteadily, Callina knelt beside the crumpled form. I followed slowly, and bent
over beside her.
"She isn't dead?"
"Of course not." Callina looked up. "But that was terrible, even for us. What do
you think it was like for her? She's in shock."
The girl was lying on her side, one arm across her face.
Soft brown hair, falling forward, hid her features. I brushed it lightly
back--then stopped, my hand still touching her cheek, in dazed bewilderment.
"It's Linnell," Callina choked. "Linnell!"
Lying on the cold floor was the girl on the spaceport; the girl I had seen in my
first confused moments in Thendara.
For a moment, even knowing as I did what had happened, I thought my mind would
give way. The transition had taken its toll of me, too. Every nerve in my body
ached.
"What have we done?" Callina moaned. "What have we done?"
I held her tight. Of course, I thought; of course. Linnell was near; she was
close to both of us; we had both been talking, and thinking of Linnell tonight.
And yet.
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
"You know Cherillys' two point law?" I tried to put it into simple words.
"Everything, everywhere, except a matrix, exists in one exact duplicate. This
chair, my cloak, the screwdriver on your table, the public fountain in Port
Chicago--everything in the universe exists in one exact molecular duplicate.
Nothing is unique except a matrix; but there are no three things alike in the
universe."
"Then this is--Linnell's twin?"
"More than that. Only once in a million years or so would duplicates also be
twins. This is her real twin. Same fingerprints. Same retinal eye patterns. Same
betagraphs and blood type. She won't be much like Linnell in personality,
probably, because the duplicates of Linnell's environment are scattered all over
the galaxy. But in flesh and blood, they're identical. Even her chromosomes are
identical with Linnell's.
I took up the girl's wrist and turned it over. The curious matrix mark of the
Comyn was duplicated there. "Birthmark," I said, "but the effect is identical in
her flesh. See?"
I stood up. Callina stared and stared. "Can she live in this environment, then?"
"Why not? If she's Linnell's duplicate, she breathes oxygen in the same ratio we
do, and her internal organs are adjusted to about the same gravity."
"Can you carry her? She'll get another bad shock if she wakes up in this place!"
Callina indicated the matrix equipment.
I grinned humorlessly.- "She'll get one anyway." But I managed to scoop her up,
one-armed. She was frail and light, like Linnell. Callina held curtains aside
for me, showed me where to lay her. I covered the girl, for it was cold, and
Callina murmured, "I wonder where she comes from?"
"She was born on a world with gravity about the same as Darkover, which narrows
it considerably. Vialles, Wolf, even Terra. Or, of course, some planet we never
heard of." Her speech had impressed me as Terran; but I hadn't told Callina
about that episode on the spaceport, and didn't intend to. "Let's leave her to
sleep off the shock, and get some sleep Ourselves."
Callina stood in the door with me, her hands locked on mine. She looked haggard
and worn, but lovely to me after the shared danger, shared weariness. I bent and
kissed her.
"Callina," I whispered. It was half a question, but she freed her hand gently
and I did not press her. She was right. We were both desperately exhausted. It
would have been raving insanity. I put her gently away and went out without
looking back. It was raining hard, but until the wet red morning rose sunlessly
over Thendara I paced the courtyard, restless, and the drops on my face were not
all rain.
Toward dawn I fought back to self-control, and went back to the Keeper's Tower.
I was afraid that without Callina at my side I would not find a way into the
blue-ice room, or that Ashara had vanished into some inaccessible place. But she
was there; and such was the illusion of the frosty light, or of my tired eyes,
that she seemed younger, less guarded; like a strange, icy, inhuman Callina. My
brain almost refused to think clearly, but I finally managed to formulate my
plea.
"You can see--time. Tell me. The child Dyan calls mine--"
a
a
T
T
n
n
s
s
F
F
f
f
o
o
D
D
r
r
P
P
m
m
Y
Y
e
e
Y
Y
r
r
B
B
2
2
.
.
B
B
A
A
Click here to buy
Click here to buy
w
w
m
m
w
w
o
o
w
w
c
c
.
.
.
.
A
A
Y
Y
B
B
Y
Y
B
B
r r
"It is yours," Ashara said.
"Who-"
"I know. You've been celibate, except for Diotima Ridenow Comyn, since your
Marjorie died." She looked right through my astonished stare. "No, I didn't read
your mind, I thought the Ridenow girl might be suitable to train as I--as I
trained Callina. She was not. I'm not concerned with your moralities or
Diotima's; it's a matter of physical nerve alignments." She went on,
passionlessly, "Hastur would not accept the bare word of those who brought the
child; so he brought her to my keeping for search. She is here in the Tower. You
may see her. She is yours. Come with me."
To my surprise--I don't know why, but somehow I had felt that Ashara could not
leave her strange blue-ice room-she led me through another of the bewildering
blue doors and into a plain circular room. One of the furry nonhuman mutes--the
servants of the Keeper's Tower--scurried away on noiseless padded feet.
In the cool normal light Ashara's flickering figure was colorless, almost
invisible. I wondered; was it the sorceress herself, or merely a projection she
wanted me to see? The room was simply furnished, and on a narrow white cot at
the center, a little girl lay fast asleep. Pale reddish-gold hair lay scattered
on the pillow.
I went slowly to the child, and looked down. She was very small; five or six,
maybe younger. And as I looked down I knew they had told the truth. In ways
impossible to explain, except to a telepath and an Alton, I knew; this was my
own child, born of my own seed. The tiny triangular face bore not the slightest
resemblance to my own; but my blood knew. Not my father's. Not my brother's. My
own. My flesh.
"Who was her mother?" I asked softly.
"You'll be happier all your life if I never tell you."
"I can take it! Some light woman of Carthon or Daillon?"
"No."
The child murmured, stirred and opened her eyes. I took one step toward
her--then turned, in an agony of appeal, on Ashara. Those eyes, those eyes,
gold-flecked amber.
"Marjorie," I said hoarsely, painfully, "Marjorie died, she died ."
"She is not Marjorie Scott's daughter." Ashara's voice was clear, cool,
pitiless. "Her mother was Thyra Scott."
"Thyra? I fought an insane impulse to laugh. "Thyra? That's impossible! I
never--I wouldn't have touched that she-devil's fingertips, much less--"
"Nevertheless, this is your child. And Thyra's. The details are not clear to me.
There is a time--I am not sure. They may have had you drugged, hypnotized.
Perhaps I could find out. It would not be easy, even for me. That part of your
mind is a closed and sealed room. It does not matter."
I shut my teeth on a black, sickening rage. Thyra! That red hellion, so like and
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]