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.Just.away.”There was a short silence.Then Torephes’ eyes grew wide; his mouth opened, but he made no sound other than a quiet gurgling.His lips drew back in a terrified snarl.His fists clenched, and he half stood up in the chair, his neck muscles straining and his back arched tensely.Vakeis gasped, and hid her eyes on Charait’s shoulder.Before anyone could say a word three tectmen had arrived and had made Torephes away through the small tect at the edge of the stage.“No one home,” said Anabben.“That poor young boy,” said Tradenne.“He was a fool,” said Anabben.“He got what he deserved.He wanted glory, but he didn’t want to work.Just to parrot the rotting words of some ancient ghost.”“Don’t you pity him?” asked Rochei.“No, I don’t.He knew what might happen.”“But we all started like him,” said Charait.“We all take that chance.You can’t blame him; you did it yourself once.”“No, I didn’t,” said Anabben quietly.The others looked puzzled.Anabben frowned; if he explained now he would be doing a service, he thought.There need never be another Stalele, another Torephes.“Don’t you see?” he said.“All of you, fishing in the wild streams of death for a shred here and a tatter there.But everything you find belongs with the dead, with the dead worlds of thousands of years ago.But not me.Don’t you see? For the first time in scores of centuries, someone is creating.I don’t merely report, I write.There never was a Sandor Courane.His words are from my mind.”Vakeis began to cry.Charait grabbed Anabben’s wrists.“You are saying that you do not have TECT send you?” he asked.“No,” said Anabben defiantly.“I have never tried.”“Then you’ve lied?” asked Tradenne.“I cannot comprehend,” said Briol.“You are not performing those bits of fiction? You are speaking them yourself? I cannot comprehend.”Anabben looked from one person to the other.In the strange light in the stadium each face seemed incredulous and afraid.“Don’t you understand?” shouted Anabben.“I do it myself!”They moved away from Anabben, leaving him by the empty chair.He looked wildly for some sign of approval, of awed surprise, but found only loathing.He started to scream, but stopped when Tradenne raised a hand.“You are very different” said the old man.Before he finished speaking three tectmen had appeared to make Anabben away.* * * *MANY MANSIONSby Robert SilverbergRobert Silverberg has appeared in each number of Universe, with a series of stories that combine the sense of wonder with a sense of humor.He won a Nebula Award for his first story in this series, “Good News from the Vatican.” In this new novelette he explores the infinite possibilities for human absurdity that are offered by time travel and alternate time tracks.You think you’ve seen all the variations on the go-back-in-time-and-kill-your-grandfather plot? But they’re literally endless.* * * *IT’S BEEN A rough day.Everything gone wrong.A tremendous tie-up on the freeway going to work, two accounts canceled before lunch, now some inconceivable botch by the weather programmers.It’s snowing outside.Actually snowing.He’ll have to go out and clear the driveway in the morning.He can’t remember when it last snowed.And of course a fight with Alice again.She never lets him alone.She’s at her most deadly when she sees him come home exhausted from the office.Ted why don’t you this, Ted get me that.Now, waiting for dinner, working on his third drink in forty minutes, he feels one of his headaches coming on.Those miserable killer headaches that can destroy a whole evening.What a life! He toys with murderous fantasies.Take her out by the reservoir for a friendly little stroll, give her a quick hard shove with his shoulder.She can’t swim.Down, down, down.Glub.Goodbye, Alice.Free at last.In the kitchen she furiously taps the keys of the console, programming dinner just the way he likes it.Cold vichyssoise, baked potato with sour cream and chives, sirloin steak blood-rare inside and charcoal-charred outside.Don’t think it isn’t work to get the meal just right, even with the autochef.All for him.The bastard.Tell me, why do I sweat so hard to please him? Has he made me happy? What’s he ever done for me except waste the best years of my life? And he thinks I don’t know about his other women.Those lunchtime quickies.Oh, I wouldn’t mind at all if he dropped dead tomorrow.I’d be a great widow -- so dignified at the funeral, so strong, hardly crying at all.And everybody thinks we’re such a close couple.Married eleven years and they’re still in love.I heard someone say that only last week.If they only knew the truth about us.If they only knew.Martin peers out the window of his third-floor apartment in Sunset Village.Snow.I’ll be damned.He can’t remember the last time he saw snow [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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