mass. "You sure?" he asked me.
"Quite," I said. And I was immediately sorry for having cut him so short. It was the atmosphere of the place, so damned military. And it was Morsfagen. Like Herodtrying to destroy the Child. I was the assassin sent out. And whether my knife was an intellectual or a physical one made no difference, really.
I was on edge for another reason; there was a certain dinner guest this evening
This time I parachuted through the emptiness of his consciousness, no flailing, ready for the drop that awaited me Labyrinth
The walls were hung with cobwebs, and the floor was strewn with dirt and bones. The walls were multi-fluted, polished here, rugged here, but a uniform gray everywhere. Far down there, somewhere in the nova-like center of the mind was the Id. It gave out the same, nearly unbearable whine that all Ids do. And somewhere above, in the blackness and the perfect quietude, was the area where the conscious mind should have been. It was clear that the mind of a super-genius was strangely unhuman.
Most minds think in disconnected pictures, flittering arrays of scenes and snatches of the past, but Child's mind created an entire world of its own, a realism within his mind, an analogue that I could explore like the actual terrain of some lost land.
There was a clacking of hooves, and from the source of light at the end of the tunnel came the outline in smoke, then the form in flesh of a Minotaur, nut-brown skin and all textures of black hair, eyes gleaming, steam caught in the large ovals of the nostrils.
"Get out!"
I mean no harm.
"Get out, Simeon."
There was a blue field of sparks crackling above his head, and psychic energies shot thin sporadic flames from his nostrils, the steam to hang there afterwards.
"Leave a monster his only privacy!"
I too am a monster.
"Look at your face, Monster. It is not wrinkled like a dried fig; it is not old beyond its years with seeing; it is not caked with the dust of unlived centuries. You pass for human in your world. You pass. At least, you pass."
Child, listen to me. I amHe charged and grasped at me with hoof-hands. I fashioned a sword from my own fields of thought and smashed him broadside on the head.
The sound rang in the stone corridors.
My arm reverberated with the force of the blow.
And he was gone, a vapor in the darkness, a phantom.
Holding the green glow of the weapon, I advanced slowly down the twisting halls toward the inner part of him, where his theories would bubble, where thoughts would run in molten rivers. I came out, finally, on an earthen shelf above a yawning pit. Far below, eternities away, drifting and glowing, was a circular mass, and the heat it threw into my face was great.
From here had come the Minotaur. From here came everything.
I reached out and grasped for anything, a subcurrent, a cracked image, the shell of a daydream, and I caught a Hate River ebbing and flowing.
HATE, HATE, HATE HATEHATEHATEHATE-HA-TE-HATEHATE
HATE Somewhere in the middle of it, a two-headed thing swam, cutting the foul waters with a viciously spined neck. I caught the "T" in HATE and traced it along the currents, searching. T leads ToThumb and a suckling mouTh and The sucking mouTh suddenly To a brown nipple and a moTher's breasT and again The T dominaTed and I allowed The river To carry me ineviTably on Toward Theorem
Theory Through Tees Through Thousand Times Tedious Tiring Ten Times one Times Two To SubOughT-seven in drepshler Tubes now being used
The flood was too fast. I could see the theory, but I could not divert it fast enough toward the ocean in the distance where a waterspout whirled (taking the thoughts to the little bit of conscious mind he possessed). The thoughts that were now being spoken in dust whispers in a room
"Quite," I said. And I was immediately sorry for having cut him so short. It was the atmosphere of the place, so damned military. And it was Morsfagen. Like Herodtrying to destroy the Child. I was the assassin sent out. And whether my knife was an intellectual or a physical one made no difference, really.
I was on edge for another reason; there was a certain dinner guest this evening
This time I parachuted through the emptiness of his consciousness, no flailing, ready for the drop that awaited me Labyrinth
The walls were hung with cobwebs, and the floor was strewn with dirt and bones. The walls were multi-fluted, polished here, rugged here, but a uniform gray everywhere. Far down there, somewhere in the nova-like center of the mind was the Id. It gave out the same, nearly unbearable whine that all Ids do. And somewhere above, in the blackness and the perfect quietude, was the area where the conscious mind should have been. It was clear that the mind of a super-genius was strangely unhuman.
Most minds think in disconnected pictures, flittering arrays of scenes and snatches of the past, but Child's mind created an entire world of its own, a realism within his mind, an analogue that I could explore like the actual terrain of some lost land.
There was a clacking of hooves, and from the source of light at the end of the tunnel came the outline in smoke, then the form in flesh of a Minotaur, nut-brown skin and all textures of black hair, eyes gleaming, steam caught in the large ovals of the nostrils.
"Get out!"
I mean no harm.
"Get out, Simeon."
There was a blue field of sparks crackling above his head, and psychic energies shot thin sporadic flames from his nostrils, the steam to hang there afterwards.
"Leave a monster his only privacy!"
I too am a monster.
"Look at your face, Monster. It is not wrinkled like a dried fig; it is not old beyond its years with seeing; it is not caked with the dust of unlived centuries. You pass for human in your world. You pass. At least, you pass."
Child, listen to me. I amHe charged and grasped at me with hoof-hands. I fashioned a sword from my own fields of thought and smashed him broadside on the head.
The sound rang in the stone corridors.
My arm reverberated with the force of the blow.
And he was gone, a vapor in the darkness, a phantom.
Holding the green glow of the weapon, I advanced slowly down the twisting halls toward the inner part of him, where his theories would bubble, where thoughts would run in molten rivers. I came out, finally, on an earthen shelf above a yawning pit. Far below, eternities away, drifting and glowing, was a circular mass, and the heat it threw into my face was great.
From here had come the Minotaur. From here came everything.
I reached out and grasped for anything, a subcurrent, a cracked image, the shell of a daydream, and I caught a Hate River ebbing and flowing.
HATE, HATE, HATE HATEHATEHATEHATE-HA-TE-HATEHATE
HATE Somewhere in the middle of it, a two-headed thing swam, cutting the foul waters with a viciously spined neck. I caught the "T" in HATE and traced it along the currents, searching. T leads ToThumb and a suckling mouTh and The sucking mouTh suddenly To a brown nipple and a moTher's breasT and again The T dominaTed and I allowed The river To carry me ineviTably on Toward Theorem
Theory Through Tees Through Thousand Times Tedious Tiring Ten Times one Times Two To SubOughT-seven in drepshler Tubes now being used
The flood was too fast. I could see the theory, but I could not divert it fast enough toward the ocean in the distance where a waterspout whirled (taking the thoughts to the little bit of conscious mind he possessed). The thoughts that were now being spoken in dust whispers in a room
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