Speaker 1: Collie by Jack Egan above him, eighty feet of torpid
Speaker 1: black water hung like a shroud of death. And still
Speaker 1: he heard his ragged breathing and something else. Collie concentrated
Speaker 1: on that sound, in the rhythmic pulsing of his heart.
Speaker 1: Somehow he had to retain a hold on his sanity
Speaker 1: or his soul. After an hour of careful breathing and
Speaker 1: exploring of body sensations, Collie realized he could move. He
Speaker 1: fluxed an arm, a mote of gold sand sifted upward
Speaker 1: in the dark water. It had a pleasant color in
Speaker 1: contrast with the ominous shades of the sea. In a
Speaker 1: few moments, he had struggled to a sitting position, delighting
Speaker 1: in the curtain of glittering metal grains whirling around him
Speaker 1: as he moved. And the other sound a humming in
Speaker 1: his mind, a distant burble of tiny voices of other minds,
Speaker 1: words swirling in giddy patterns he couldn't understand. Shortly thereafter,
Speaker 1: Culley discovered why he still lived. Breathed a suit, a
Speaker 1: yellow plastic water tight suit with an orange on black
Speaker 1: shield on the left breast pocket and a clear bubble helmet.
Speaker 1: He felt weight on his back and examined it. Two
Speaker 1: air tanks and the regulator, a radio and the box
Speaker 1: suit tanks regulator, radio, black water box, sand sea stillness.
Speaker 1: Culley considered his world. It was small, it was conceivable,
Speaker 1: it was incomplete. Where is it? Where is what? He knew?
Speaker 1: He had a voice, a means of communication between others
Speaker 1: of his kind using low, frequent and see heat waves
Speaker 1: caused by agitation of air molecules. Why couldn't he make
Speaker 1: it work? Words? Thousands of them at his beck and call?
Speaker 1: What were they? What did they mean? He shifted uncomfortably
Speaker 1: in the tight yellow suit, searching the near horizon for
Speaker 1: where is it? A vague calling came from beyond the
Speaker 1: black sea curtain. Objectively, because he could do nothing to
Speaker 1: stop them, he watched his feet pick up, move forward,
Speaker 1: put down, pick up, move forward, put down. Funny. He
Speaker 1: had the feeling the concept that this action held, meaning
Speaker 1: it was supposed to cause some reaction, accomplish and act.
Speaker 1: He wondered at the regular movement of his legs, one
Speaker 1: of them. Hurt. A hurt is a sensation of pain
Speaker 1: caused by overloading sensory units in the body. A hurt
Speaker 1: is bad because it indicates something is wrong. Something certainly
Speaker 1: was wrong. Something stirred in Cully's mind. He stopped and
Speaker 1: sat down at the sandy sea bottom, gracefully like a
Speaker 1: ballet dancer. He examined his foot. There was a tiny
Speaker 1: hole in the yellow plastic fabric, and a thin string
Speaker 1: of red black was oozing out blood. He knew he
Speaker 1: was bleeding. He could do nothing about it. He got
Speaker 1: up and resumed walking. Where is it? Cully lifted his
Speaker 1: head an annoyance at the sharp thought. Go away, he said,
Speaker 1: in a low, pleading voice. The sound made him feel better.
Speaker 1: He began muttering to himself. Water, black sand, hurt, pain,
Speaker 1: radio tanks. It didn't sound right. After a few minutes
Speaker 1: he was quiet. The many thoughts were calling him. He
Speaker 1: must go to the many thoughts. If his foot was bleeding,
Speaker 1: then something had happened. If something had happened, then his
Speaker 1: foot was bleeding. No. If something had happened, then maybe
Speaker 1: other things had happened before that. But how could something
Speaker 1: happen in a world of flat gold sand and flaccid sea.
Speaker 1: Surely there was something wrong wrong, the state of being
Speaker 1: not right. Something had happened that was not right. Cully
Speaker 1: stared at the edges of the unmoving curtain before him.
Speaker 1: Where is it? It was a driving, promise filled concept,
Speaker 1: no words, just the sense that something wonderful lay just
Speaker 1: beyond reach. But this voice was different from the many
Speaker 1: thoughts it was directing his body. His mind was along
Speaker 1: for the ride. The sameness of the sea and sand
Speaker 1: became unbearable. It was too right. Somehow, Cully felt anger
Speaker 1: and kicked up eddies of dust. It changed the sameness
Speaker 1: a little. He kicked more up until it swirled around
Speaker 1: him in a thick gold haze, blotting out the terrible
Speaker 1: emptiness of the sea. He felt another weight at his side.
Speaker 1: He found a holster and gun. He recognized neither again.
Speaker 1: He watched objectively as his hand pulled the black object
Speaker 1: out and handled it. His body was evidently familiar with it,
Speaker 1: though it was strange to his eyes. His fingers slipped
Speaker 1: automatically into the trigger sheaf. His legs were still working
Speaker 1: under two drives. The many thoughts urging, and something else
Speaker 1: buried in him, a longing up and down, back and forth.
Speaker 1: Where is it? Anger? Frustration flared in him. His hand
Speaker 1: shot out gun at ready. He turned round slowly through
Speaker 1: the settling trail, of suspended sand. Nothing was visible again.
Speaker 1: He was moving. Something made his legs move. He walked
Speaker 1: on through the shrouds of death until he felt a
Speaker 1: taut singing in his nerves, and irrational fear sprang out
Speaker 1: in him, cascading down his spine, and Cully shuddered ahead.
Speaker 1: There was something. Two motives. Get there because it, they calls.
Speaker 1: Get here, Get there because you must. Where is it?
Speaker 1: The mind voice was excited, demanding something was out there
Speaker 1: besides the sameness. Collie walked on, trailing gold. The death
Speaker 1: curtain parted, an undulating garden of blue and gold. Streamers
Speaker 1: suddenly drifted toward him on an unfelt current. Cully was
Speaker 1: held entranced. They flowed before him, their colors dazzling, hypnotic,
Speaker 1: come closer, earthling. The many thoughts spoke inside his head soothingly,
Speaker 1: Here it is, Cully's mind shouted. Cully's mind was held hypnotized,
Speaker 1: but his body moved of its own volition. He moved again.
Speaker 1: His mind and the many thoughts spoke fulfillment. Almost there
Speaker 1: was one action left that must be completed. Cully's arms moved.
Speaker 1: They detached the small black box from his pack. He
Speaker 1: moved on into the midst of the weaving gold laced plants.
Speaker 1: Little spicules licked out from their flexing stalks and jabbed
Speaker 1: uncensed into Cully's body. To draw nourishishment. From the many
Speaker 1: thoughts came the sense of complete fulfillment from Cully's mind.
Speaker 1: Came further orders. Lie down. It was a collective concept.
Speaker 1: Lie still, we are friends. He could not understand. They
Speaker 1: were speaking words, words were beyond him. His head shook
Speaker 1: in despair. The voices were implanting an emotion of horror
Speaker 1: at what his hands were doing. But he had no
Speaker 1: control over his body. It was as if it were
Speaker 1: not his. The black box was now lying in the
Speaker 1: sand among the streaming plants. Cully's fingers reached out and
Speaker 1: caressed a small panel. A soundless click ran through the murkiness.
Speaker 1: The strangely beautiful gold laced blue plants began a writhing dance.
Speaker 1: Their spicules withdrew and jabbed, withdrew and jabbed. A rending,
Speaker 1: silent scream tore the quiet waters. No, they cried. It
Speaker 1: was a negative command mixed in with the terrible screaming.
Speaker 1: Turn it off, stop it, stop it, Cully tried to say,
Speaker 1: but there were no words. He tried to cover his
Speaker 1: ears within the helmet, but the cries went on. Emotions
Speaker 1: roiled the water, pain, hurt, reproach. Cully sobbed. Something was
Speaker 1: wrong here, something was killing the plants, the beautiful blue things.
Speaker 1: The plants were withering, dying. He looked up at them, stupefied,
Speaker 1: not understanding, tears streaming down his face. What did they
Speaker 1: want from him? What had he done? Where is it?
Speaker 1: A different direction materialized, a new concept of desire. Cully's
Speaker 1: body turned and crawled away from the wonderful, dying garden,
Speaker 1: oblivious to the pleadings floating now weakly in the torpid water.
Speaker 1: He scuffed up little motes of golden sand, leaving a
Speaker 1: low lying scud along the bottom, Back to the little
Speaker 1: black box in the garden. The plants, the box all
Speaker 1: were forgotten by now. Cully crawled on, not knowing why.
Speaker 1: A rise appeared. Surprise caught Cully unaware, a change in
Speaker 1: the sameness. Where is it again? The voice was insistent.
Speaker 1: His desire was close ahead. He did not look back
Speaker 1: at the black churning on the sea bottom. His legs worked,
Speaker 1: his chest heaved, Words swirled in his mind. He topped
Speaker 1: the rise below him, In the center of a shallow
Speaker 1: golden bowl, floated a long, shiny cylinder. Even from here
Speaker 1: he knew it was huge. He knew other things about it,
Speaker 1: how heavy it was, how it was that it carried
Speaker 1: others of his kind. He had been in it before,
Speaker 1: and they were waiting for him. He lurched, on, Captain,
Speaker 1: here comes Cully, the midshipman shouted from the airlock. Look
Speaker 1: what they've done to him. The old man's gray eyes
Speaker 1: took in the spectacle without visible emotion. He watched the pathetic, bleeding,
Speaker 1: yellow plastic sack crawl up to the ship and look up.
Speaker 1: His hands reached down and lifted Cully up into the lock.
Speaker 1: They took his suit off and stared with loathing at
Speaker 1: what had once been a man. A white scar zigzagged
Speaker 1: across his forehead. The captain bent close in range of
Speaker 1: the dim blue eyes. It was a very brave thing
Speaker 1: you did, Cully. The whole system will be grateful. Venus
Speaker 1: could never be colonized as long as those cannibals were
Speaker 1: there to eat men and drive men mad. Cully fingered
Speaker 1: the scar on his forehead and looked unseeing into the
Speaker 1: old man's compassionate eyes. I'm sorry, Cully. We all are.
Speaker 1: But there was no other way, prefrontal lobotomy, destruction of
Speaker 1: your speech center. It was the only way you could
Speaker 1: get past the telepass and destroy them. I'm sorry, Cully.
Speaker 1: The race of men shall long honor your name. Cully
Speaker 1: smiled at the old man, the words churning in his brain,
Speaker 1: but he did not understand where is it? The emptiness
Speaker 1: was still there. End of Cully by Jack Egan