The Celestial Blueprint and Others Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

anger against the conqueror who had inflicted the Skin upon him.
    Archambaud was a shorter phantom, rolypoly even in his psychic manifestations, emitting bursts of impatience because other people did not talk fast enough to suit him, his mind leaping on ahead of their tongues, his fingers wriggling to wrap themselves around something valuable—preferably the eggs of the golden goose—and a general eagerness to be up and about and onwards. He was one round fidget on two legs yet a good man for any project requiring action.
    Faintly, Rastignac detected the slumbering guard as if he were the tendrils of some plant at the sea-bottom, floating in the green twilight, at peace and unconscious.
    And, even more faintly, he felt Lusine’s presence, shielded by the walls of the shaft. Hers was a pale and light hand, one whose fingers tapped a barely heard code of impotent rage and voiceless screaming fear. But beneath that anguish was a base of confidence and mockery at others. She might be temporarily upset, but when the chance came for her to do something, she would seize it with every ability at her command.
    Another radiation dipped into the general picture and out. A wild glowworm had swooped over them and disturbed the smooth reflection built up by the Skins.
    This was the way the Skins worked. They penetrated into you and found out what you were feeling and emoting, and then they broadcast it to other closeby Skins, which then projected their hosts’ psychosomatic responses. The whole was then integrated so that each Skin-wearer could detect the group-feeling and at the same time, though in a much duller manner, the feeling of the individuals of the gestalt.
    That wasn’t the only function of the Skin. The parasite, created in the bio-factories, had several other social and biological uses.
    Rastignac almost fell into a reverie at that point. It was nothing unusual. The effect of the Skins was a slowing-down one. The wearer thought more slowly, acted more leisurely, and was much more contented.
    But now, by a deliberate wrenching of himself from the feeling-pattem, Rastignac woke up. There were things to do, and standing around and eating the lotus of the group-rapport was not one of them.
    He gestured at the prostrate form of the mucketeer. “You didn’t hurt him?”
    The Ssassaror rumbled, “No. I scratched him with a little venom of the dream-snake. He will sleep for an hour or so. Besides, I would not be allowed to hurt him. You forget that all this is carefully staged by the King’s Official Jail-breaker.” “ Me’dt!” swore Rastignac.
    Alarmed, Archambaud said, "What’s the matter, Jean-Jacques?”
    “Can’t we do anything on our own? Must the King meddle in everything?”
    “You wouldn’t want us to take a chance and have to shed blood, would you?” breathed Archambaud.
    “What are you carrying those swords for? As a decoration?” Rastignac snarled.
    “Seelahs, mfweh,” warned Mapfarity. “If you alarm the other guards, you will embarrass them. They will be forced to do their duty and recapture you. And the Jail-breaker would be reprimanded because he had fallen down on his job. He might even get a demotion.”
    Rastignac was so upset that his Skin, reacting to the negative fields racing over the Skin and the hormone imbalance of his blood, writhed away from his back.
    “What are we, a bunch of children playing war?”
    Mapfarity growled, “We are all God’s children, and we mustn’t hurt anyone if we can help it.”
    “Mapfarity, you eat meat!”
    "Voo zavf w’zaw mfweh” admitted the Giant. "But it is the flesh of unintelligent creatures. I have not yet shed the blood of any being that can talk with the tongue of Man."
    Rastignac snorted and said, “If you stick with me you will some day do that, m’ftveh Mapfarity. There is no other course. It is inevitable.”
    “Nature spare me the day! But if it comes it will find Mapfarity unafraid. They do not call me Giant for