Highway of Eternity Read Online Free PDF

over control to me and I’ll get you out of there.”
    â€œYou mean you’ll take control of this place we are in and move it elsewhere?”
    â€œThat’s what I mean. Do you object to it?”
    â€œI don’t like it,” Corcoran said. “But we’re in no position to do much quibbling.”
    â€œYou keep saying we. Are there more of you?”
    â€œTwo of us.”
    â€œAre you armed? Do you carry weapons?”
    â€œNo, of course not. Why should we have weapons?”
    â€œI wouldn’t know. Perhaps …”
    â€œYou’re wasting time,” shouted Corcoran. “We could crash at any time.”
    â€œYou have the proper button?”
    â€œYes, I have.”
    â€œThen push it.”
    He pushed it. Darkness clamped in on them, a darkness that brought instant disorientation—as if they had been divorced from all reality. There was no sense of movement—no sense of anything.
    Then there was a slight bump. The darkness fled and there was sunlight pouring through the windows and from the widening edges of a door, or port, that was opening downward, pivoting on its lower edge.
    â€œI suppose,” said Boone, “this is where we get off.”
    He stepped to the door. Beyond the port that had become an inclined exit he saw a lawn. Up the lawn was a house—an old house of considerable extent, built of weathered fieldstone that showed, here and there, a growth of moss.
    A man who wore a hunting coat was coming down the lawn toward them. Over a crooked arm he carried a shotgun. He was flanked, on his right side, by a happy dog, a beautiful golden setter, and on his left by a globular monstrosity that stood almost as high as he did. The monstrosity was rolling sedately along beside him, matching its pace to his. Over all its surface, it was studded with extremely sharp-pointed spikes, gleaming and flashing in the sun. But the spikes, despite their sharpness, did not sink into the turf. For an instant, Boone had the strange feeling that it was walking on tiptoes, which was replaced almost immediately by the realization that it was floating, revolving slowly as it floated.
    Boone walked down the slope until he reached the end of it and stepped down on the lawn. Behind him, Corcoran had halted and was staring at the scene, moving his head from side to side to take in all of it.
    Up the lawn, several other people had come out of the house and were standing on the broad stone steps, watching what was going on.
    The man with the shotgun, still flanked by the happy dog and the monstrosity, halted a dozen paces away and said, “Welcome to Hopkins Acre.”
    â€œSo this is Hopkins Acre?”
    â€œYou have heard of it?”
    â€œJust recently,” said Boone. “Just the other day.”
    â€œWhat was said of it?”
    Boone shrugged. “Not much. Nothing actually. Simply that someone had developed a sudden interest in it.”
    â€œMy name is David,” said the man. “This grotesque alien is Spike. I am happy that you made it. Horace is not the sort of technician into whose hands I would want to place my life. He is fumble-fingered.”
    â€œHorace is the one we spoke with?”
    David nodded. “He has been trying for months to get in touch with Martin. When our panel alerted us this morning, he thought Martin was trying to reach him.”
    Corcoran came down the incline to stand beside Boone. “My name is Corcoran. My companion is named Boone. We are both immensely curious about what has happened to us. I wonder if you could explain it.”
    â€œYou are no whit more curious than we,” said David. “Let’s all go up to the house and talk. I think Nora will be serving lunch soon. Perhaps a drink or two before we gather at the board.”
    â€œThat would be excellent,” Boone told him.

4
    Shropshire: 1745
    â€œThe one important thing for you to realize,” Horace told them, “is that