Descending Road - NEVER FAILED TO DRAW HIM IN by Dana W. Paxson

NEVER FAILED TO DRAW HIM IN

1563 4D

Arlen burst into his high chamber again; the great steel doors rang. This would work, yes, he would get the Complex back for the City, and with little or no help from the militia and Frintar and the government bunch. And Rhin and Durlow and the rest of them could go downcity and suck drainage, especially Rhin. This would leave Arlen with exclusive control of nearly all of the South Sector.

He smiled, and gestured the comm panel up from the floor. “Mentrius! It’s been two hours. Are you ready?”

The voice and face rose before him. “We’re ready. Uill‘s people got out of the way at the mid-levels, just as you’d arranged, and we replaced them. Some trouble getting Frintar hooked up, but I briefed her about my plan and she okayed it. She’s gotten an alien team working just below our topside group. They’re running short combat shifts, but there are a lot of them. Word is one of their groups nailed the rebel hospital in half a shift. Struck deep in a shaft raid.”

“Yes. The rebels are all bottled up in the Complex with a lot of wounded. But why the short shifts? The aliens are usually high-endurance, run round the day.” Interesting. The aliens rarely changed their ways, but when they did, it meant something big was going on.

“She said it’s that meeting they’re having, the one they insisted on regardless of the Power Complex takeover. She cut a deal with them, to let them run the meeting at the Upper South Domehall and still stay out of our way except for the military help they’re sending.”

Arlen bit his lip. Bad news. He had wanted to keep the aliens out of the way and make sure they didn’t come in with the rebels; but then they had decided to leave the ship anyway, and now this damn commander had gone around him to give them support. It looked like she’d gambled and won, but he’d take it up with the regionals, maybe even Gullinder. Unless Gullinder had started it all. “How was she so sure they’d be of real help? I don’t like this.”

“I asked her that, and she said she’s got the approaches to their meeting-space locked up. If they try anything, she says she’ll bottle them in there and impound the ship.”

Impound the ship! Arlen ran the words through his mind several times, savoring them like a potent curse. “How could she claim authority to do this? It violates the Essential Protocol.” The aliens had dictated the EP to humans back when they’d shown themselves. It had always been like holy scripture.

Mentrius shrugged. “That’s what she said, just before she cut off.”

Arlen ran his fingers along the chest seam of his coverall. What was going on? What had he missed? This had to be Gullinder‘s doing. No. More likely this impoundment statement was a show for his own, Arlen‘s, benefit. And time was short.

“All right,” he said to Mentrius, “She’s not telling the whole story, of course. Treat what she says as truth, and operate the way we’d planned. I want to know about any moves she makes that don’t add up for you. I’ll contact you when the last pieces are in place, no more than an hour in any case.” The nodding image of Mentrius faded.

The images on the walls of Arlen‘s chamber shifted in unison, as if the bedrock surrounding the room had just turned to waves and rocked the room like a boat. He reeled. Trenzil‘s limbs hadn’t moved; Arlen‘s own body and nerves had reacted to the walls. Anchoring his frame of reference to Tariall‘s shrouded box on one wall, he scanned the images.

A great whelming, a storm of light and fire, ripped across the panorama, circling the entire room with flickering seas and forests red and orange and yellow up to hot white. Figures, near-human, horned and winged and tailed and clawed and haloed with surging tendrils distilled from meteor light, gathered shape from flame and leaped forward to couple, wrestle, merge again and spew forth from their loins yet more figures that danced and coupled and exploded over and over in a monstrous orgy of shuddering heat.

The figures’ faces contorted in anguish as they mouthed silent words. One by one they focused their eyes on Arlen; they pointed to him, held out hands and claws and fists to him; their gaze followed him; their mouths pleaded, threatened, cajoled, cursed. He backed to the center of the chamber, raising an arm in front of his face to ward off the fire, and remembered only then that the walls gave no thermal projections.

He lowered his arm again; the figures scattered into a dusky brown sky that faded to black, the last ones tiny star-sparks at the glimmer-drawn horizon in the great distance. Amazing. He saw into the wall as if it opened a world around him. The illusion had never failed to draw him in, but this time, as never before, its beings had actually seen him.

Story List	SURPRISE ME	Author Page
USER SURVEY	PUZZLE ME	MAKE ELM MARK

HOVER Lucida Bright BARE	HOVER Lucida Bright FULL	HOVER Palatino Linotype BARE
HOVER Palatino Linotype FULL	HOVER Times New Roman BARE	HOVER Times New Roman FULL
PAD Arial BARE	PAD Arial FULL	PAD Lucida Bright BARE
PAD Lucida Bright FULL	PAD Times New Roman BARE	PAD Times New Roman FULL


	NEVER FAILED TO DRAW HIM IN 1563 4D Arlen burst into his high chamber again; the great steel doors rang. This would work, yes, he would get the Complex back for the City, and with little or no help from the militia and Frintar and the government bunch. And Rhin and Durlow and the rest of them could go downcity and suck drainage, especially Rhin. This would leave Arlen with exclusive control of nearly all of the South Sector. He smiled, and gestured the comm panel up from the floor. “Mentrius! It’s been two hours. Are you ready?” The voice and face rose before him. “We’re ready. Uill‘s people got out of the way at the mid-levels, just as you’d arranged, and we replaced them. Some trouble getting Frintar hooked up, but I briefed her about my plan and she okayed it. She’s gotten an alien team working just below our topside group. They’re running short combat shifts, but there are a lot of them. Word is one of their groups nailed the rebel hospital in half a shift. Struck deep in a shaft raid.” “Yes. The rebels are all bottled up in the Complex with a lot of wounded. But why the short shifts? The aliens are usually high-endurance, run round the day.” Interesting. The aliens rarely changed their ways, but when they did, it meant something big was going on. “She said it’s that meeting they’re having, the one they insisted on regardless of the Power Complex takeover. She cut a deal with them, to let them run the meeting at the Upper South Domehall and still stay out of our way except for the military help they’re sending.” Arlen bit his lip. Bad news. He had wanted to keep the aliens out of the way and make sure they didn’t come in with the rebels; but then they had decided to leave the ship anyway, and now this damn commander had gone around him to give them support. It looked like she’d gambled and won, but he’d take it up with the regionals, maybe even Gullinder. Unless Gullinder had started it all. “How was she so sure they’d be of real help? I don’t like this.” “I asked her that, and she said she’s got the approaches to their meeting-space locked up. If they try anything, she says she’ll bottle them in there and impound the ship.” Impound the ship! Arlen ran the words through his mind several times, savoring them like a potent curse. “How could she claim authority to do this? It violates the Essential Protocol.” The aliens had dictated the EP to humans back when they’d shown themselves. It had always been like holy scripture. Mentrius shrugged. “That’s what she said, just before she cut off.” Arlen ran his fingers along the chest seam of his coverall. What was going on? What had he missed? This had to be Gullinder‘s doing. No. More likely this impoundment statement was a show for his own, Arlen‘s, benefit. And time was short. “All right,” he said to Mentrius, “She’s not telling the whole story, of course. Treat what she says as truth, and operate the way we’d planned. I want to know about any moves she makes that don’t add up for you. I’ll contact you when the last pieces are in place, no more than an hour in any case.” The nodding image of Mentrius faded. The images on the walls of Arlen‘s chamber shifted in unison, as if the bedrock surrounding the room had just turned to waves and rocked the room like a boat. He reeled. Trenzil‘s limbs hadn’t moved; Arlen‘s own body and nerves had reacted to the walls. Anchoring his frame of reference to Tariall‘s shrouded box on one wall, he scanned the images. A great whelming, a storm of light and fire, ripped across the panorama, circling the entire room with flickering seas and forests red and orange and yellow up to hot white. Figures, near-human, horned and winged and tailed and clawed and haloed with surging tendrils distilled from meteor light, gathered shape from flame and leaped forward to couple, wrestle, merge again and spew forth from their loins yet more figures that danced and coupled and exploded over and over in a monstrous orgy of shuddering heat. The figures’ faces contorted in anguish as they mouthed silent words. One by one they focused their eyes on Arlen; they pointed to him, held out hands and claws and fists to him; their gaze followed him; their mouths pleaded, threatened, cajoled, cursed. He backed to the center of the chamber, raising an arm in front of his face to ward off the fire, and remembered only then that the walls gave no thermal projections. He lowered his arm again; the figures scattered into a dusky brown sky that faded to black, the last ones tiny star-sparks at the glimmer-drawn horizon in the great distance. Amazing. He saw into the wall as if it opened a world around him. The illusion had never failed to draw him in, but this time, as never before, its beings had actually seen him.