The Shores of Death (3 page)

Clovis was saying: “Well, Barre, you’re as adamant as ever, ah? You colonials are of tougher stuff than us.” Though Barre spoke good-humouredly, his voice had something of the timbre of the machines he had lived with and by all his life. “Not tougher, Clovis—perhaps more realistic. Certainly less romantic. I might even say that you Earth people are in love with the idea of your own extinction—it’s still remote enough.”

Clovis smiled. “It may be true of many, but not of me. Death, decay of any kind horrifies me.”

Barre laughed. “Oh, horrified, are you? I sometimes think that the self-control that you folk pride yourselves on has resulted in the atrophy of your emotions. You are so
civilised.
You might not be human at all in any real sense.”

“The emotion’s there, Barre—we don’t let it cloud our minds or spoil our behaviour. We still have our artists, you know, to prove it.”

“I have my suspicions of most of them—they don’t do anything for me.”

“Not even Alodios?”

“Alodios is good, yes—but didn’t he disappear some time ago? They said he left Earth. Now he
is
a giant. Born out of his time for most of you. Too rich, judging by some of the recent criticisms I’ve seen.”

“And too romantic? You can’t have it both ways.” Fastina, also an admirer of Alodios, whose composite ‘ novels ’ of music, prose, poetry, paintings and mobiles dominated the art world, said: “Did you ever meet him, Clovis? I’ve always liked his early stuff—like
Cheerless Ben Evazah
and
Seasons By Request
—but I’ve found his later stuff difficult—obscure—nothing to help you key-in to what he’s thinking.”

“I never met him. I sent several invitations; asking if I could visit him when those failed, but he keeps himself to himself. I wonder where he is now.”

Narvo was looking out over the lake. He said: “
I stand on the shores of death, where there is no ocean—Only an eternal dropping away.”
He turned. “That’s Alodios, I think. Something from one of his early pieces.”

The setting sun seemed to deepen the lines on his face and Fastina suddenly felt sorry for him, realising for the first time the full implications of the Earth’s impending fate.

Velusi’s dining room was not large. Its walls were ornamented by abstract frescoes, reminiscent of Mayan art. A somewhat ornate room, not to Fastina’s taste. Beyond the now-transparent walls, she could see the dark glitter of the lake, with a huge moon hanging over it. It was very peaceful.

They ate and talked of many things—of the meeting, of the issues and personalities involved, and they talked of old problems solved, as they hoped to solve this one. But though they spoke a great deal, Fastina felt a little uncomfortable, as if she were an intruder. Secondly, she could not easily forget the sense of anticipation that dominated her, and she began to resent the presence of Velusi and Calax, wishing that she and Clovis could be alone.

At length Clovis got up. As yet he hadn’t told Narvo that Fastina wished to stay, but now he said:
“
Narvo —you’ve no objection if Fastina spends a few days here?” The old man smiled. “Of course not. You’re welcome.” But she felt again that she’d intruded, that her being here lessened the time that Velusi could spend with his friend. Yet, she told herself fatalistically, there was nothing she could do about it.

Narvo and Barre Calax had rooms near to the ground, but Clovis had chosen a room near the top of the building, so they took their leave of one another in the dining room.

After Narvo and Barre Calax had dropped down the gravishute, Clovis and Fastina went up it. The shute opened directly on to Clovis’s room, but as he drew level with the entrance, Clovis frowned.

“The lights are out,” he said. “Surely Narvo hasn’t removed the lamps without telling me ... ”

Fastina thought that she heard a note of tension in his voice. He caught the grip by the side of the entrance, clasping her arm with his other hand. They entered his room.

Surprised, she saw the silhouette of a man against the transparent wall. A man who held his head in a peculiar way.

In a world without crime, locks and alarms did not exist so that the man could have entered the room when and how he chose. And he was guilty of a crime—an invasion of privacy at very least.

This wasn’t what shocked Marca so much as his recognition of the man. He paused by the gravishute entrance, still gripping Fastina’s arm.

“What do you want here?” he said.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t speak.

For the first time in his adult life, Clovis Marca let his emotions get the better of him. Anger and fear shook his body as he released his hold on Fastina’s arm and plunged across the room towards the dark figure.

“This time I’m getting my explanation,” he said, reaching out to grasp the man.

The intruder moved just before Clovis’s hands touched him. He moved rapidly*—faster than it should have been possible for a man to move—towards the gravishute. But Fastina blocked the entrance with her body. He veered aside and stood stock still again. Then he spoke, his voice melodious and deep.

“You will never be able to touch me, Clovis Marca. Let me leave here. I mean you no harm, I hope.”

“No harm—you’re driving me insane with this pursuit. Who are you—what do you want from me?”

“
My name, so far as it matters, is Take.”

“Take—a good name for a thief.”

“I did not come here to steal anything from you. I merely wished to confirm something.”

“What?”

“To confirm what I guessed you are looking for.”

“Be quiet! ” Clovis looked at Fastina.

“You are ashamed?” asked Take.

“No, but it doesn’t suit me to reveal what I’m looking for—and I’m not sure you know.”

“I know.”

Then Take had leapt to where Fastina stood, pushed her gently aside and jumped into the gravishute, so swiftly that it was impossible to follow his movements.

Clovis ran across the room and followed him into the gravishute. Above him he heard Take’s voice calling a warning.

“You are a fool, Marca—what you seek is not worth the finding!”

Reaching the roof, Clovis saw a small carriage taking off. He ran towards Narvo’s car before he realised that Narvo had the only subsonic key. He had left his own craft at the spacefield when Narvo had picked him up. He watched the car disappear over the mountains and he breathed rapidly, deliberately relaxing his body and regaining control of himself.

Fastina now came on to the roof and stood beside him.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stop him. He moved too quickly. Have you ever seen a man move as fast as that? How does he do it? You’ve seen him before? I have, too—on several of the planets you were on. Is that what you meant when you mentioned your male nemesis?”

He nodded. “I must find out where he comes from —where he’s staying on Earth. There’s still some organisation left. It shouldn’t take long.”

“He isn’t from Earth, is he? There’s something about him....” 

Clovis knew what she meant.

She smiled. “He couldn’t be in love with you, too, could he?”

Then Clovis knew there was only one means of forgetting the enigmatic Take, for a while at least— only one means of relaxing. He turned and grasped Fastina, pulling her towards him, bending her head back to kiss her. pushing his hands over her body, feeling her arms circle him and her nails dig into his back as she gasped:

“Oh, Clovis! Oh, you
stallion
! ”

The ship came silently down. It landed on the deserted field in the cool dawn. It was a big, complex ship of a golden plastic alloy that was turned to deep red by the rising sun. It landed in a faint whisper of sound, a murmur of apology, as if aware that its presence was unwelcome.

Three figures started forward over the yielding surface of the spacefield. In the distance, to their right, were the abandoned hangars and control rooms of the field, slim buildings of pale yellow and blue.

The voice in Clovis’s ear-bead said: “Shall we open up?”

“You might as well,” he said.

As they reached the circular ship, the lock began to open, twenty feet above them. They paused, listening —listening for a familiar sound, a sick sound they didn’t want to hear.

They didn’t hear it.

Drifting up on their gravstraps, they paused at the open airlock. Clovis looked at Fastina. “We know what to expect—you don’t. Are you sure—?”

“Yes.”

Narvo Velusi pursed his lips. “Let’s go in.” The old man led the way through the airlock into a short passage.

The first body was there. It was a woman’s body. It was naked, contorted and it stank. The grey flesh was filthy, the hair matted, the upturned face was twisted, the eyes wide, lips snarling back from the teeth, the cheeks hollow. The flesh showed signs of laceration and the woman’s fingernails seemed imbedded in her right breast.

Fastina turned away. “I didn’t realise— ” She went quickly back. “I’ll be outside.”

Clovis sighed. “Jara Feraz, I think, Narvo. Twelve years conditioning, training...” He shuddered as he drifted over the body. “Less than six months out— and this.”

The ship was silent. In the main control cabin they found two others. A man’s body lay over a woman’s and she seemed to be embracing him, the rictus of her mouth giving her the appearance of revelling in some obscene joy, though Clovis guessed she had been trying to ward the man off. The remains of the other three were also there—bones. Some of the bones had been gnawed, some split. Face grim, Narvo operated the door to the galley. He glanced inside.

“Enough supplies for at least another eighteen months,” he said. “We made the controls of everything simple enough, in case this should happen. All they had to do was break the seals on the packs.”

“But they didn’t. You’d think they’d retain
some
survival instincts, however primitive.”

“Isn’t that a definition of madness, Clovis—something which makes you act against your natural instincts? Look—that’s how we lost contact.” He pointed at the smashed cameras above. Their protective cases had been torn open. Everything breakable had been broken. Machinery was twisted, papers torn, streamers of microtape programmes were scattered everywhere.

Clovis picked up a length and waved it. “The party’s over,” he said. “I don’t think they enjoyed it.”

Narvo shook his head. “All those tests, all those years of training them, conditioning them, all the precautions we took. They were intelligent people, Clovis— they knew what to expect and how to fight it. They had courage, initiative, common sense and fantastic self-control—yet in six months they become insane, bestial— travesties—grotesque animals, more debased than we can guess—” He glanced at the wall in which the galley door was set. He pointed at the pictures drawn on it in what could have been human blood. “That sort of thing comes early. We can’t get out of the galaxy, Clovis. We should have realised it before we began the project. None of this crew was born on Earth—but their grandparents were. How many generations would it take?”

“There’s only another to go,” Clovis said.

Narvo rubbed his face. “Shall we revive one? We could do it for about ten minutes if they’re not too far 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.