The Shores of Death Read Online Free PDF Page A

gone.”
    “No.” The word was long drawn out, hollow. “No— this is enough. If they haven’t got at the recorders, they should tell us what happened.”
    “We don’t really need to check. Do we?”
    Clovis nodded slowly.
    They left the ship.
    The bead in Clovis’s ear said: “Any instructions?”
    “Destruct,” said Clovis.
    As they got into their car on the edge of the field, they saw the golden ship crumple, saw the flash, heard the sharp smacking sound as it was vapourized.
    Fastina was pale. “You should have told Barre Calax to have taken tomorrow’s ship back to Ganymede instead of today’s,” she said. “If he’d seen that body, he’d have changed his mind.”
    “Perhaps,” said Clovis. He felt chilled. He shivered, trying hard to stop himself.
    It was no good, he thought. It was no good, he couldn’t take that. The cold flesh, the stink of decay, the uselessness of it all. Somewhere he’d find what he wanted. He could be close. There had been hints. Oh, yes, it was every man for himself now.
    Narvo was saying: “I promised to publish my idea today.”
    “Your idea?”
    “Yes—the project to replace this one. You know— the message.”
    Clovis nodded absently.
    “Where did you cut out?” Narvo smiled. “I’m sorry, Clovis. I suppose I’m babbling.”
    The warm sun had risen. They passed over green hills and valleys, heard the sound of birds, were narrowly missed by a veering air carriage from which a young man yelled a happy Good Morning.
    Clovis stretched back on the couch, his stomach feeling contracted, his mind confused, unsuccessfully trying to get rid of, the impressions of the last hour. Twisted faces, contorted bodies, filth, wreckage, bones.
    Bones. Memento mori that Earth could do without at this time; that he could do without in particular. Most of them didn’t realise what death was, didn’t realise how important it was, how terrible. Finish. No more thinking, no more feeling—just an eternal falling away and then nothing at all. No! Yet he himself, in his farewell speech when the government resigned, and later at the Great Glade, had comforted them, told them to be philosophical, to get as much from life as they could, since they would be the last to have the opportunity. We must resign ourselves to the inevitable ... A stupid cliche and he had not even meant it. You must resign yourselves.
    As for him, the awareness of nearing extinction had brought him a goal. He could have no sons and daughters now. He needed something else. And he would find it. He would find it, though he could do nothing with it when he had it. His ambition was senseless, pointless, ridiculous, it made him ridiculous, a clown. The world which admired him would laugh at him if it knew what he sought. He was not sufficiently detached to laugh at himself. He had to follow his obsession—it was his master. He would follow it, in spite of everything. Madness, as dark as any that had come to the crew of the ship, nibbled on the edges of his brain. It was clouded, it was marred. You are a fool, Marca—what you seek is not worth the finding! Did Take know? If Take knew what he sought, how could Take judge whether it was worth finding or not?
    Take? It wasn’t a natural name. It sounded wrong. Who was he? How could he have guessed? Marca’s questions had been guarded. No-one could have realised what he was after. A casual inquiry here, an odd remark there—and he had been sure the rumour was true— there was a man somewhere who could help him. A recluse, a scientist, perhaps on one of the Bleak Worlds ... Did Take have that information? Even if Take was a good telepath, Marca would have been aware that his mind was being intruded upon. Though, of course, if Take was looking for the same thing, he may easily have reached the right conclusion. But then Take would not have said that it wasn’t worth it—not unless he had failed in his own ambition—the same as Marca’s— and then decided. Well he