"Not any crazier than this." She indicated the dead flowers, the blackened ground cover around them. A deeper fear shot through her that he sensed immediately. "You're not by any chance channeling this malevolence, Flinx?"
"No!" he snapped back so sharply that she flinched and Pip rose momentarily. "I resist it at every turn. I'm not even sure it's aware of me, in the way we think of awareness. The scale of physical, or maybe metaphysical, values is so different that I'm not sure this whatever it is is even capable of being conventionally aware of me." His voice fell. "And then there are times when I think, when I'm convinced, that it's looking directly at me."
"Looking? It has eyes?"
"Some organ capable of perceiving with, anyway." He regarded her helplessly. "I'm trying hard to find suitable referents for things I don't understand, Clarity."
Her tone was sympathetic. "What happens when it perceives you?"
"I run." Puzzlement and confusion played with his expression. "It's a wholly mental retreat. I have no control over any of this."
"Of course you don't." She tried to sound encouraging. "It's a dream."
"That's what I choose to think. But there are times when it feels like I'm being guided, or directed, by something else-some other consciousnesses that are forcing me into these dreams and pushing me outward to confront this evil. It doesn't matter anymore. I told you this years ago. Whether all this is taking place of my own volition or under some kind of outside influence, I came to the conclusion that it's up to me to do something about it."
"You still think you can do something about it?" She frowned. "How can you do something about a malevolence you can sense only in dreams? And what difference does it make, anyway?"
"You said you saw nothing in your dream," he said.
"That's right. No light, no color: just darkness."
"That's what there is in the places where this manifestation holds sway. Nothing. No stars, no planets, no life. Nothing. These dreams have convinced me, Clarity, that the nothingness is coming this way. And that's what it will leave in its wake: nothing." He made a sweeping gesture that took in ground, forest, lake, sky, and by inference everything beyond.
"All this will disappear. Life and sentience will vanish from this portion of the cosmos. Everything will become extinct and have its place taken by this evil. Everything." He turned back to her. "Don't you remember before when I told you how I felt about this, in Owngrit, on Gorisa?"
She sat in silence for a while, taking in the flower trees, the lake, the rolling, color-clad hills, because she felt she had to. This talk of vast malevolences and all-encompassing evil had left a growing darkness in her soul that needed pushing back. All the more so because she had indeed heard of it before-six years ago.
"And I thought you just needed to talk about headaches. It's this stupid purpose of yours again, isn't it? The same thing those outlandish Ulru-Ujurrian creatures entangled you with back on Gorisa. I didn't know you could repeat the experience without them around."
"It's the same thing I felt then, Clarity. I'm sure of it." He sidled a little closer and was gratified that she didn't draw away. "As my abilities mature, the headaches intensify and so do these dreams-even without the Ulru-Ujurrians around to prod and manipulate. And, just like I told you on Gorisa, I can't escape the impression that because of my talent, it's incumbent on me to do something about this oncoming darkness. That feeling hasn't changed, either." He shrugged. "I still see it as my purpose, yes."
She remembered what had happened, on that distant, highly developed world she had once thought to make her home. "I was hoping maybe you had gotten over that. But you're still trying to come to terms with it, aren't you? Still trying to become a complete human being. This separated us once before. Why can't you forget about it, Flinx? Tell yourself it's not your responsibility. My God, can't you make that part of it go away? You said back then that nothing may happen involving this emptiness, this evil, for a very long time."
He had to correct her. "I said that we may have a little time. I couldn't be more specific about it then any more than I can now."
"Well, can't you leave it at that? I don't understand how you can give your whole life to trying to combat something that exists only as a recurring nightmare. It's just your dream, after all."
He looked away from her. "I'm not sure about that, either, Clarity."
It took a moment for the significance of his reply to sink in. "Are you trying to tell me that somebody else is participating in your dreams? Functioning in them? That's impossible."
"Is it? Didn't I just project something of what I was experiencing into your dream? If I can do that, who's to say some other entity can't project what it's feeling or dreaming onto me? Remember what I said about feeling that I was being guided, or directed?"
Having to deal with Flinx and his nightmares was difficult enough. That another-or several others-might also be involved opened up a whole range of possibilities, none of them to her liking. "But there's nobody else here, Flinx. Not this time. Nobody but you and me. The Ulru-Ujurrians aren't around to impel you."
He put a comforting hand on her leg. "Just because you had to be close to me to be influenced by my dream doesn't mean that I have to be physically proximate to whatever may be influencing my dreams." He pointed across the lake. "It could be in the hills or back in the city or not even on this world. I don't know. I'm still trying to understand what's happening. I haven't had time to try to get to the how it's happening."
"You said 'whatever.' Not 'whoever.' Then you do have some sense of what may be influencing you?" She struggled to remember all the confusing details of that singular day so many years ago. "Is it the Ulru-Ujurrians again?" She looked around. "Even though they're not present?"
"I do sometimes have the feeling that they're behind at least some of what's happening to me. But I have no proof."
"I thought they were nice, even if they and their world are under Commonwealth Edict. If they're the ones making you suffer like this, then I guess I was wrong about them."
"I said it was just a feeling," he corrected her. "There's a sense that other entities are involved as well." His expression tightened. "I keep trying to identify them, but it's difficult. They're only components of dreams, and the evil within the emptiness is so dominant that it's hard to focus on anything else. One source I think I know for sure-it's a device, a very ancient device. The other two are still pretty indistinct. From one I get these constant feelings of warmth-I suppose that could be the Ulru-Ujurrians, but I'm not sure-and from the other nothing but the color green. I guess that could be them, also." He put a hand to his head. "Like I said, everything is complicated and imprecise-pretty hard in that context to identify anything for certain."
She eyed him dubiously. "Just a color?"
He nodded. "And sometimes I'm not sure even of that. It's all so maddeningly complex and constantly changing, and my thoughts are never clear. Except for one thing: that these perceptions and I and this oncoming evil are all bound together somehow and that I have no choice but to try to do something about it. That hasn't changed. It's my purpose, my responsibility as a sentient being to contest evil, no matter what form it may take, no matter how extensive its scope." He took one of her hands in his. "And now you're bound up in it, too, because you've shared some of it, if only in the form of a passing contact."
She wanted to pull her hand away, but did not. "That one touch was more than enough for me, thank you very much. I want to help you, Flinx, but I don't want anything to do with some great emptiness and unimaginable evil and some vague, dubious purpose. Life is too short. I'm only a single human being. So are you, if you'll only pull yourself back from these bizarre dreams long enough. You've already sacrificed most of your life because of it. Don't surrender the rest."
It was a persuasive argument, an appealing argument. One he had already reflected on many, many times before. "Clarity, don't you think I'd like to? Don't you think I want to have a normal life? I'd give an
ything not to be caught up in this. But I don't have a choice. It's not up to me."
This time she was the one who took his hand in hers. "Of course it is, Flinx. Who else would it be up to? Just set it aside. I know you can't eliminate all thoughts of it completely. It's too strong, too much a part of you. All I'm saying is, let the cosmos find another savior. Live out your life. Let someone else take on this preposterously colossal burden. There's really nothing you or any other individual can do in the face of something so big, anyway. Let all these dream-penetrating, thought-twisting entities, whatever they are, deal with it. Would you try to stop a sun going nova? Could you if you wanted to?" She smiled. "I don't think so."
"Not by myself, no," he murmured thoughtfully, "but I have the inescapable feeling that I'll have a lot of help in this-that I'm a key to it, but not the magnitude. You're right in saying that I'm just one individual. But a very small key can open a very big door."
"Keys are easily damaged." She released his hand. "I say let these interfering entities find themselves another key. I'll listen to you, Flinx. I'll help you if I can. I'd like to see your headaches go away. But you're right about one thing, I think. If you don't stop them and the dreams that they make worse, they are going to kill you. I wouldn't want to see that happen."
"Neither would I," he admitted readily. "How do we go about doing that?"
"I don't know." Her lips were set firmly. "But I do know that we're going to try. Because if we don't make the dreams go away, and you don't die, then you're liable to continue projecting them on me, and I'll do whatever I can to keep from having to go through that experience ever again."
CHAPTER EIGHT
William Ormann, vice president of Ulricam Corporation's marketing operations in Sphene, was ostensibly a contented man. In his early thirties, he had risen to hold a position of some importance within a well-respected company whose products were known and appreciated on many worlds. Fortified by modern medicine, he had his health. Assisted by modern surgical technology, he had his looks. Which, to be honest, were once again in need of a little in the way of artificial augmentation. He commanded a substantial salary and bonuses, lived in a beautiful two-bedroom house by the beach, was more or less liked by his colleagues, valued by his superiors, and was all but engaged to the most attractive researcher in the company, if not the entire city. The little matter of his last marriage had ceased to be a complication in his life nearly ten years ago.
If he did not have everything, he certainly was well on his way toward acquiring it. Not only was his job good, but, he enjoyed it. And he had the privilege of doing it on Nur, the most envied world in the humanx Commonwealth.
He and Clarity Held had been going together, dating, romancing, courting, whatever convenient sociological appellation one should choose to append to their ongoing relationship, for about a year now. There had been other men in her life. Ormann had been prepared to hear about them from the time when he had first managed to catch her eye. Given her beauty and intelligence, it would have been irrational to have expected anything else. She had also informed him that she would, if and when it suited her, continue to see other potential partners besides him. That, too, he was prepared to accept. After all, she had without question or comment allowed him the same flexibility.
He did not move too fast, which she clearly appreciated. It was hard to watch her go out with others, though the emotional pain was salved somewhat by his own relationships. Gradually, and especially during the past six months, they had by mutual agreement seen less of others and more of each other. Everything was looking very well indeed. He had the career, he had the income, he had the respect, and with time and patience, he was sure he would have the fitting partner.
Then the redhead showed up.
At first, Ormann found it amusing that some callow youth from Clarity's past should put in so unexpected an appearance. As she had already told him, she was five years older than her visitor. That made Bill Ormann, if not old enough to be this Philip Lynx's father, at least more than old enough to look at the newcomer from a position of complete confidence. Admittedly, the youth was mature beyond his years, but that still could not obviate the age difference.
Furthermore, he was downright weird. The way he looked at other people, at his surroundings, the strange manner he shambled down a corridor in search of Clarity, all pointed to a confused if not disturbed individual. Much of the time he kept his head down and stared at the floor, as if this would somehow lessen his lankiness or diminish his presence. Sometimes when he spoke it was as if he were hesitant to form words, as if his brain were one step behind his tongue.
After their initial meeting, Ormann almost felt sorry for him. All he could see that Lynx and his Clarity had in common was some shared work history from her time on Longtunnel and that both of them possessed identical exotic pets. Observing the two of them on subsequent occasions, the notion that there might be something deeper between them never crossed Ormann's mind.
That was a month ago. Since then, Clarity had been spending more and more of her free time in the tall young man's company. She was apologetic, she was polite, she was never evasive, but she was firm. And each hour, each day she spent with Philip Lynx was one less hour and one less day she spent with Bill Ormann.
At first, he was resigned. Then he began to grow irritated. By the end of the month he was angry and frustrated. Angry, because Clarity continually put him off in favor of Lynx. Frustrated, because for the life of him he could not see what she saw in the guy. He was taller than Ormann but not significantly. He was slimmer, not as muscular, certainly not as handsome. Equivocal about his background and means of support, Lynx said only that he was a student getting by on a family stipend. No brilliant future there, Ormann had assured himself. Clearly Lynx was intelligent, but hardly brilliant. Nor was he entertaining or amusing. If anything, he was downright reticent in the presence of others.
So the question remained: what did Clarity see in him? What drew her to him so strongly that she repeatedly kept putting off vice president Ormann's invitations to dinner, to immersion theater, to the beach? For a bad moment he thought that perhaps Lynx was some kind of spectacular lover, but observation and subtle querying of Clarity soon quashed that notion. What then? Ormann decided there was only one way to find out.
He would ask her directly.
She was surprised but not shocked to see him sitting on the couch in her tenth-floor codo when she returned home from work on Friday. To facilitate their relationship, they had swapped habitat security codes several months ago. It had never occurred to her to change hers after Flinx arrived.
At such times Bill could be expected to be waiting for her with cold drinks, a flash-heated supper, a big smile, and a kiss. Tonight there were only the drinks. One did not have to be an emotional telepath like Flinx to sense that he was troubled. His condition was not serious enough to disquiet Scrap, however. As soon as they were through the entrance, the minidrag launched himself from her shoulder and flew to its favorite place atop the decorative aerogel bubbles that lined the back of her lake-view lounge.
"Good evening, Bill." Picking up the drink he had made-it was perfect as always-she sat down in one of the two chairs opposite the couch. That in itself was significant, he felt. Prior to the arrival of this Philip Lynx, she would always have sat down next to him. "You didn't tell me you were coming over tonight."
He fondled his own drink but didn't sip from the self-chilling glass. "I was afraid if I did you'd say you were going to be busy. Out consoling your long-lost friend again. Personally, I think he should be pretty well consoled enough by now. Don't you?"
She smiled. "You're jealous. Bill."
He put the glass down on the swirl of spun silicate filaments that formed the table between them. The small fountain in the center fizzed with tinted energy. "Damn right I'm jealous. Who is this kid, to be taking up so much of your time? Of our time. You told me after he got here that the two of you hadn't spent all that much time
together on Longtunnel. So why the extended contact now? I'd say you've done more than your share of hand-holding."
She sipped at her drink, the pale liquid redolent of peaches and barru, straight rum and crooked eloqueur. It burned her throat. Not unlike this unexpected and unwanted confrontation. Clearly, she wasn't going to be able to dismiss him with a smile and a kiss tonight. Out of the corner of one eye she kept a watch on Scrap. Whatever Bill Ormann said, the minidrag would let her know what he was actually feeling.
"I've told you, Bill. Philip is just a friend. He's a complicated man who's been through a lot. He needs someone to listen to him, and he doesn't have a lot of friends."
Ormann grunted unsympathetically. "Closemouthed as he is, I'm not surprised." He peered a little harder at her. "Or is he more voluble when he's alone with you, Clarity? What do you do to help loosen his tongue?" He posed the question with a half smile, but beside the big window, Scrap's head lifted and turned in his direction.
"I've told you that, too." She made no effort to conceal her exasperation. "I listen to him. I'm just a sounding board for his problems."
"You sure that's the only kind of board you're being for him?" The now-alert minidrag raised its wings from its flanks but did not unfurl them.
Putting her drink down. Clarity did not even try to fake a smile. "That's not very funny. Bill."
"It was intended as a joke." His expression had turned grim. "This nonsense has been going on for more than a month, Clarity. I think I've been patient. A lot of guys wouldn't just stand aside and let a relationship proliferate between their fiancée and some skinny, eerie stranger from offworld."
"I'm not your fiancée, Bill."
"Not formally, no. I thought what we had between us had progressed past the point of formalities being necessary. Maybe I was wrong. Am I wrong, Clarity?" He was watching her closely.