CHRYSALIS Read online

  Juan Marie had been paying attention to his condition, for it was a matter of great concern to him. The pain wasn’t as great as it had been. His breathing was coming easier, and his thoughts were not quite so rambling, nor quite so feverish. He attributed it to the sulfa, to the morphine, to the natural healing powers one so often saw in animals and primitive man. Whatever the reason, he was definitely on the mend. He fell into a fitful sleep, dozing and waking, the welcoming ceremony blending hazily into his disconnected dreams.

  The Director was on the platform, watching, and the pilot took full advantage of his opportunity. He brought the ship down in a virtuoso display of airmanship, taking advantage of a blustery cross-lake breeze to sideslip the nifty little aircar right on to the landing bullseye. He drew a smile and a “Bravo” from the Director, who liked a show of machismo as much as the next man.

  Sandy and the assistant medical officer wheeled the stretcher across the platform. Kosh made a great show of welcome, scratching Old Bo vigorously behind his ears, a display of affection that caused Bo to growl in his sleep, a growl that brought a delighted laugh from Kosh. He shook hands with every member of the transport aircar crew, as promised, shook hands with Sergeant Stebbins twice and patted him on the back. He was told the man who found the hound in the lava fields was the sandy haired man pushing the stretcher, and joined Bo, Sandy and the two doctors in his private elevator.

  “My congratulations, Sandy,” Kosh said, giving him his best smile, “I understand it was you who found the hound.”

  “Yes sir, but it was a close thing. The poor hound was near to death.”

  “Well, thanks to you he’s on the road to recovery. You will stay in Linngard tonight, guest of the Director, and tomorrow we shall discuss a suitable reward. Dr. Asoki's assistant will direct you to the bachelor enlisted men's quarters, where I’m sure you’ll be quite comfortable.”

  The elevator stopped and everyone debouched into a large anteroom. Kosh and Asoki disappeared through a pair of double doors, followed by the stretcher, which was now being wheeled by two of the anteroom staff.

  “But,” Sandy said to the retreating Dr. Kosh, to no avail. The doors swung shut.

  “Follow please,” Dr. Asoki’s assistant said. He led Sandy to a stair door and pointed up. “Level 8,” he said. “Bachelor enlisted men. Goodbye, please.”

  36

  “There doesn't seem to be anything out of place, Professor,” Tomas said. “I've run a verification on all the data, and everything checks. The sending portal is clear, the receiving portal is clear. Wherever Mr. Albergest is, he isn't in one of the portals, and he isn't anywhere in between, either. If he were still a stream of energy hung up somewhere, we'd know it. He arrived in the portal in 14LQ638, Professor, and the data says he was reconstituted and is no longer there.”

  “Let me go look for him, Jorgim,” Amanda cried.

  “What, and lose the two of you?”

  “Then what are we going to do? Just leave my brother somewhere out between the stars, God knows where in time? Is there any possibility he came out someplace else?”

  “The only place else is the comic book world,” Tomas said thoughtfully. “If you think about it, Professor, the portal is in two worlds, the world of 14LQ638 and the world of the transparencies. Mr. Albergest could very well have stepped out of the portal and into the comic book world.”

  “Thank you, Tomas,” Amanda cried, “thank you very much!”

  “Sorry, Amanda. But that's the only possibility I can see.”

  “I agree, Tomas,” Thorstenssen said. “Let's keep our eye on those transparencies. If Juan Marie shows up, I personally will get in that portal and go get him.”

  37

  Kosh's description of Old Bo's condition was encouraging, and indeed, his heartfelt outpouring of affection for Old Bo was quite touching, if one didn’t know the circumstances under which Bo's present condition came about.

  “I never intended harm to the hound,” Kosh said sincerely, “but bungling underlings are often the price of leadership.”

  “Where is Old Bo now?” Simon asked.

  “In the Infirmary,” Kosh answered lightly, “where he belongs, to rest, to be cared for until fully recovered from his ordeal.”

  Ellysia smiled her sympathy. “All's well that ends well, I believe.”

  They had dinner by the fishwall, as was Kosh's habit when entertaining a small number of guests, in front of the big, walk-in fireplace, where a charming fire threw flickering orange reflections on the glass. The lakebed floodlights were not on, and in the dark water beyond the glass one caught only fleeting glimpses of flashing fish, darting past, lit briefly by the light from the room, or nuzzling wide-eyed at the outside of the glass for algae, flicking away instantly at some imagined threat.

  They sat at a small but well-laid table, just the three of them, attended by a phalanx of uniformed and obsequious waiters. The evening was pleasant, the dinner delightful, the wine excellent, and Kosh himself in great good humor.

  With the dessert came a message for Kosh, who listened attentively and smiled, nodding his head vigorously. “Good, good,” he said.

  After dinner they sat on the sofas, at the other end of the room, Kosh seeing to his duties as host with the liqueur.

  Kosh looked at the ornate wall clock and said, “Will you excuse me, please?” He walked quickly to a panel set in the far wall, where he pulled a switch. The lakewater floodlights came on, turning the area in front of the fishwall into day, startling the denizens, who retreated to the safety of the darkness.

  “You will find this very entertaining,” Kosh grinned. He picked up a telephone and said a few words.

  “What is it, dear?” Ellysia asked brightly.

  “You shall see, my love,” he chortled, rejoining his wife and guest, “you shall see. Watch the wall.”

  “May I freshen your drink, Mr. Pure,” Ellysia cooed, “or would you prefer something else, a Bushmills Irish whiskey, perhaps?”

  “A Bushmills will be fine, thank you,” Simon said.

  Kosh looked quickly at his wife, but the smile didn’t leave his face. “Here he comes,” he cried jubilantly.

  Something drifted by the fishwall, something obscenely white and flaccid, sinking slowly past the fishwall before settling silently onto the brightly lit lakebed.

  “My God!” Ellysia exclaimed, “what in the world is that?”

  “Why, it’s our friend Gaeton Thon, my dear,” Kosh laughed. “We couldn’t leave him to rot in the sulfur fields, now could we?”

  “How horrid,” she said, but she didn’t turn away, as first one small fish, then another, darted in to taste of the newly arrived meal.

  “We don’t always feed them Governors,” Kosh laughed, “but at one time he was, as you may know, a chum.”

  “Your humor is a bit grisly for me, dear,” Ellysia grimaced, and turned to get Simon his Bushmills.

  More and more fish attacked the corpse. Pieces of viscera and torn off flesh floated in the reddening water. The big boys were in it now, the shad, the slashing pike, hundreds of them, darting in and tearing at the flesh, gulping it down whole, almost hidden in the blood-red cloud. The smaller ones hung about the perimeter, relegated to gathering up the floating debris, and were themselves often the victims of the feeding frenzy.

  “And so we say goodbye to our friends,” Kosh said sadly, flicking off the lakebed floods, mercifully screening the final reward of Gaeton Thon. “Especially those who disappoint us.”

  Ellysia knew the signs. Her husband was about to turn morose. She rose and extended her hand to Simon. “So good of you to come,” she said. “It’s been a most pleasant evening.”

  She walked him to the door, not speaking, not touching. Kosh stood in front of the wall, impassive, unmoving, looking out, thinking of his departed friend.

  “Goodnight, Director,” Simon said, from across the room.

  “Goodnight, my boy,” Kosh answered softly, without turning around.
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  “I’ve delivered a message to Dorothea,” Ellysia whispered hurriedly. “She believes the hound will be in the study. Act swiftly, and boldly!”

  “Good night, Ellysia,” he smiled. “Dinner was delightful. If we do it again, though, hold the entertainment.”

  He left them there, in their lakefront fishbowl, and headed for the anteroom and the stairwell to his level. He was getting a feel for the geography of the place. He waved goodnight to the staff in the anteroom and bounded up the steps. He was in a fever to see if Shallcross and Pearlman had found Marianna, and if they had they would see to leaving right away. Ellysia could take care of her medusa problem herself. As for Old Bo, he was confident the Infirmary wouldn't be too hard to find. Old Bo’s presence complicated the escape, but he had no intention of leaving the hound behind.

  He was thinking these thoughts, taking the steps two at a time, when he suddenly stopped, jolted, as if he’d run into a wall. A deep and languid blackness stole over him, enveloping him in a writhing mass of wet, crawling whispers. The stair tower disappeared. He heard no sound. He was inside a black and impenetrable aura, unable to move.

  In the soundless blackness, from deep inside, welling up from the depths of his soul, came the sweet singing of the snakes, the melody flowing softly in a gentle minor, the harmony separating and converging, moving and twisting, like the snakes themselves. A surge of sensuality rippled through him, exciting him. He closed his eyes and thought of the musky darkness, and the slick, warm tendrils of her love.

  The singing snakes led him to a dim and empty corridor. He followed it as surely as had he lived there all his life, as in a sense he had. The welcome door opened and he again beheld the chasm of absolute darkness.

  He heard a flutter of wings, and a small golden glow came toward him, dipping and weaving. As the tiny creature brushed his face he saw it was Khalid, with the tiny topaz around his neck. He walked to the center of the room as before, and stood there, listening, waiting, heart pounding wildly, his senses aflame, his manhood erect and throbbing.

  She came to him, making not a sound until he heard her laugh, low and sultry. She stood close to him and he smelled the musky earth.

  “I am here, my love,” he whispered, and Khalid fluttered gently to his shoulder.

  “Poor Ellysia,” she laughed softly, “she tries so hard.”

  The snakes began their insistent probing, searching for the buttons and the fastenings. Khalid fluttered away without protest as the dinner jacket was gently removed. His shirt came undone, revealing the brilliant green glow of the emerald.

  “I see that Juan is well,” she breathed. “I had heard otherwise, and was much distressed.”

  The golden glow circled and returned, resuming its place on his shoulder. He started to unbuckle his belt, but she pressed herself to him and kissed him, whispering, “No, I like to do it.”

  Khalid chirped and fluttered away, circling wildly. The snakes moved slowly across his face, and down his chest, slithering and twisting, singing softly, slick and warm.

  Simon sighed in complete surrender. “And I like you to do it,” he sobbed. “I want you to do it.” He put his trembling arms around her and buried his face in the wonderful warmth and wetness of the writhing snakes.

  38

  Juan Marie woke to absolute and complete darkness, and like almost everyone upon waking in the dark and in a strange place, he had no idea where he was. An insistent tendril of thought tugged at him, demanding his attention, forcing him to concentrate his mind. He closed his eyes again and drifted downward. The pictures formed, playing in the theater of his consciousness. He saw a green, misty glow, and recognized it as the emerald, but he had no idea where it was, or what the pictures meant. He forced himself further down, deeper into his consciousness. He felt his mind expand as the emerald glow diffused throughout the entirety of his being. He felt the cool green tendrils grow, and heard them whisper softly. He saw the emerald then, cleft and faceted, its sharp light brighter than the mist. By its light he saw the snakes, and his stomach churned.

  He saw the tiny glow of the golden topaz, and knew it was the equally tiny flier Khalid. He saw the tortured face of Tal Avenger, lips drawn back in agony, covered with hissing, crawling snakes, and he knew, for he had been there, that the agony was perceived as ecstasy, that putrid corruption was perceived as intoxicant, that filth was perceived as purity.

  He came back up, slowly, as if emerging from a dream. The pictures flickered out, and he knew what he must do. The emerald had been insistent since this afternoon, when it had spoken to him in his grave, that Tal Avenger needed him. With pain and effort he forced himself up. Scents came to his delicate nostrils, the scents of alcohol and antiseptic, of sterile gauze and absorbent cotton, of latex gloves and surgical gowns. He knew now where he was. He was in the Infirmary.

  He carefully eased himself onto the floor. His side hurt, and the exertion broke the new scabbing, causing him to bleed again, but the pain wasn’t as bad as this afternoon, and the bleeding stopped almost immediately.

  He left the Infirmary, moving gingerly at first, the movement loosening the cramped muscles, pleased to note he was walking almost normally. The stiffness in his side was easing. The pain was pushed aside, buried deep, replaced with an urgency of purpose.

  Down the dark and deserted corridor he trotted, for he needed no light to guide him to medusa. From experience, he knew the only entrance to her apartments would be locked and impregnable. He knew an elevator connected her with the Director's study, but there seemed even less likelihood of getting past the Director's guards than of getting past medusa's locked door. But he also knew the ways of medusa. He knew the secret stair, the stair that led from her apartment up to the exit above the lake, the stair that also led from her apartment down to the lake bottom. To reach it, he’d have to go topside, he’d have to enter from the lake exit platform. The thought of the vulnerable stair filled him with pleasure. If she can get to the stair from the apartment, he could get to the apartment from the stair. Pains and hurts forgotten entirely, he headed for one of the stair towers that led to the surface, to one of the concrete shafts thrusting above the lake. He pushed through the double swinging doors. No one was in the tower, for the honest citizens of the city of Linngard were long abed.

  He took the steps two and three at a time, exulting in his new found strength. He knew the city, knew that what stretched ahead of him was ten levels of city, then a further hundred feet of stair tower through empty water to the surface, three hundred steps top to bottom. He ran swiftly, taking the steps in silent bounds, a counter-clockwise upward spiral, breathing easily, collapsed lung forgotten in the urgency of the moment. He passed the last of the city levels and knew from here out there was little risk of seeing someone on the stair. He pounded up, his pads making rhythmic thudding sounds on the concrete stair, and when he reached the top he pushed open the door and found himself on the outside. A fresh, cool breeze blew stiffly off the lake, directly into his face, bringing scent of resinous pine forests from the distant shore.

  The stair tower platform was a man’s height above the surface of the lake, and was enclosed by a parapet wall. He put his paws on the parapet and looked over, searching for the concrete shaft that was the medusa's private stair tower. The moon was up, bright and full, making the concrete forest stand out in brilliant relief from the dark lake. In addition, each tower had amber lights around the perimeter, spaced evenly, so that the forest shown with clustered points of yellow light. He found the medusa's tower, for it stood alone, separated from the rest of the concrete forest by a wide stretch of water.

  Without hesitation, he leaped over the parapet, plunging into the cold lake with a shock that caused him to gasp. He was a powerful swimmer, but the parapet leap had aggravated the wound in his side, and pain seared his every stroke. Fighting the pain and the cold, Old Bo swam steadily for medusa’s tower.

  He knew his problem would come when he reached the tower, for the parapet
rose high above the water, and would require a mighty leap. He knew he had one thing going for him. The towers had a ledge at water level, wide enough to stand on in the event someone found himself in the water with no way to get back onto the tower.

  He reached the tower and pulled himself gratefully onto the ledge, where he stood, leaning against the concrete tower wall, catching his breath, waiting for a spasm of pain in his side to pass. He didn’t wait long, though, for he knew every moment was precious, every moment delayed was a further moment in hell for Tal Avenger. He stood on his hind legs and stretched to his uttermost limit. Straining mightily, he got his paws and eyes level with the parapet. The platform was empty, and the metal door gleamed dully in the moonlight.

  He knew that whatever he could see over he could jump over, though the narrowness of the ledge meant it would have to be a vertical leap, making it infinitely more difficult than it might have otherwise been. He thought no more about it. He gathered his muscles and leaped. His chest and legs scraped the concrete, impeding him, but he got his front paws over the parapet and dug his back paws into the concrete tower side, trying to push himself up and over. His center of gravity was too far back, however, and he started to slip, he couldn’t maintain purchase with his front paws, and his hind legs could not dig into the concrete deeply enough to compensate. He fell backward into the water, making a mighty splash. He crawled again onto the ledge, where he stood, head down, shaking with pain.

  He shook the water off, took a deep breath, and leaped again. This time he gained the extra inch, the extra purchase, the extra thrust with his hind legs. With a mighty effort, he was over the parapet and onto the tower platform. He grasped the door handle in his teeth and pulled it open. He was down the stairs in a flash, the door closing automatically behind him, running fast, bouncing off the walls on the turns in a darkness complete and impenetrable. Down he went, counting the unmarked landings. He knew the medusa was on Level 2, one level above the Director, one level above the lakebed. He knew as well that the stair continued past Level 2 to the level of the lake bottom, where it ended at a two-door waterlock chamber that led to the lake.