Greg Bear Eon 1 Eon

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He saw others coming down beside him and above him, only a few below.
In all, hundreds of them.
Mirsky tried to hold back tears and could not.
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Chapter Twenty-seven "Where's Patricia?" Carrolson looked around the mess.
"I don't know," Farley said. "She was here a few minutes ago."
"We should go find her."
"i'll go," Carrolson said. She had to get outside anyway; she wasn't sure she
could stand the scene in the cafeteria any longer.
She stepped out under the tubelight and looked back and forth across the
compound. Her eyes fixed on something astonishing. Against the dark gray
southern cap, tiny points of white were falling like snow---dozens, then
hundreds of them.
A marine ran by carrying two Apples. "Look!" she cried, pointing and turning
a half-circle. No one paid her any attention. The marine jumped onto the
tailgate of one of the fully loaded troop trucks rumbling out of the compound.
Carrolson shook her head to clear it. She was drunk with grief and anger; any
solid thought seemed to be vomited away by a nauseated mind.
She couldn't afford such a handicap now.
She had to think clearly and she had to find Vasquez.
On the opposite side of the compound, a train pulled away from the elevated
station. She glanced at her watch; as scheduled, the fourth chamber stop,
1400 hours. The platform was empty; none of the trains were being used for
troops, only trucks. The trains were doing their automatic best to keep
everything normal.
"Jesus," she said, suddenly realizing. Vasquez had wanted to' return to the
library. Which one did she mean?
Farley ran up beside her. "We're being invaded," she said, astonished.
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"Paratroopers. Russian soldiers. Cosmonauts.
Whatever they are, they've come down in the first and second chambers.
They're coming down here, too."
"I've seen them," Carrolson said. "Patricia's gone to the library. We have
to find hen-" "How? The train's gone. Not another for half an hour. We
can't take a track--they're all in use."
Carrolson had never felt so helpless and out of place. She stood with fists
clenched, facing the southern cap. Most of the parachutes had descended below
their line of sight.
Patricia stared at the seat ahead of her, biting her lower lip.
Nobody was guarding the train; that was either an oversight, or providential.
She had been in a dream ever since leaving Earth. Was it possible to be
trapped in a dream?
In a dream, you can do anything, if you learn how to control, to shape and
command.
And the equations hit by the chalk . . .
If what she had seen in the equations was correct, then at this very moment,
there was a placea curvewhere Father sat in his chair, reading
Tiempos de Los Angeles; and the corridor would pass right near it. She only
had to search for the right door, the right section of the corridor, and she
could find Rita and Ramon, Paul and Julia.
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She could hardly wait to tell Lanier. He would be pleased.
Rimskaya would be proud he had recommended her. She had solved the secret of
the corridor--the last pieces of the puzzle falling into place in a dream, no
less.
She could take them all home again.
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The train came to her stop and she exited, climbing the stair to the ground
level.
"Miss Vasquez?" Patricia turned to face a man she had never met before. He
sat on the concrete edge of the underground entrance. His hair was black and
short and he wore a close-fitting black suit.
"Excuse me," she said, her eyes not really focusing on him. She was in the
grip of a powerful working state. "I don't know who you are. I
can't stay."
"Nor can we. You must come with us."
A tall creature with a head almost as narrow as a board and jutting eyes rose
from behind the ceiling. Its shoulders were wrapped in silvery fabric;
otherwise it wore nothing. Its skin was smooth as fine leather and just as
brown.
She stared, inner concentration evaporating.
"Things are in quite a riot here, aren't they?" the man said.
Patricia realized that he had a nose but no nostrils.. His eyes were pale
blue, almost blank, and his ears were large and round.
"Excuse me," she said more softly. "I don't know who you are."
"My name is Olmy. My companion is a Frant; they don't have names.
I hope you don't mind our intruding. We've been watching everybody very
closely."
"Who are you?" Patricia asked.
"I lived here, centuries ago," Olmy said. "And my ancestors before me.
For that matter, you could be one of my ancestors. Please.
We don't have time to talk. We must leave."
"Down the corridor."
"Really?"
"That's where my home is. The Frant and his people come from elsewhere. They
. . . well, working for us doesn't quite describe it."
The Frant shook its head solemnly. "Please don't be frightened," it said, its
voice like a large bird's, low and warbling.
A breeze from the northern cap pushed through the outskirts of the third
chamber city, rustling the nearby trees. Following the breeze came a slender
craft about ten meters long, shaped like a cone flattened lengthwise, with the
nose truncated. It drifted gracefully
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landed on the point of a single central pylon.
"You've done some remarkable work,' Olmy said. "There are people where
I live who will be very interested."
'i'm trying to go home," Patricia said. She realized she 'sounded like a lost
child speaking to a policeman. "Are you a policeman? Do you guard the
cities?"
"Not always," Olmy answered.
"Please come with us," the Frant said, stepping forward on long and
.oddly bent legs.
"You'll kidnap me?"
Olmy held out his hand, whether supplicating or indicating the situation was
not his to control, she could not say.
"If I don't go willingly, you'll make me?"
"Make you?" He seemed puzzled, then said, "You mean, force you?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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