DIE, SHADOW!

BY ALGIS BUDRYS

I

Ive come a long way to die alone, David Greaves thought as Defiance tumbled through the misty shroud of Venus, hopelessly torn apart by the explosion in her engines. On the console in front of him, the altimeter was one of the last few meaningful instruments, and it told him there were only a few tortured miles remaining before the ship he had brought this farhad spent his fortune in building when no government would yet consider risking a manned rocket on his flightwould smash down to its doom on a planet no man had ever walked.

Battered and tossed in his seat by the ships crazy tumbling. Greaves tensed the oak-hard muscles of his arms and thrust himself up to his feet. He wasnt dead yet. He wasnt dead and, if the slim chance paid off, hed still be present to laugh in the governments face when the first, safe, cautious official venture finally made its way across the emptiness between Earth and the Suns second planet.

Dragging himself from handhold to handhold, his tendons cracking with the strain, he levered himself toward the Crash Capsule, forced open its hatch and pulled himself through, while the winds of Venus tore at the shattered hull and the scream of Defiances passage through the murky sky rose to a savage howl.

Outside the cloud-lashed hull there were no stars. Below, no one knew what sort of jungle or sea, or desert of whipping poison sand might he in wait. Greaves had not cared when he set out, and did not care now. If men had always waited to be sure, if all the adventurerers of mankind had waited until the signposts had gone up, the cave bears would still be the dominant form of life on Earth, and races undreamed of might never know such a thing as man to contest their sway over the Universe.

Ill live to see my share of that, Greaves thought as he pulled the capsules hatch shut and dropped into the special padding that, in theory, would cushion much of the impact. Or else Ill know I tried. He tripped the lever that would flood the capsule with Doctor Eckstroms special anestheticthe experimental compound that mightjust barely, mightoffer a chance.

As the hiss of the yellow-tinged, acrid gas became louder and louder in his ears. David Greaves thought again of the almost obsessive lengths to which he had gone in making sure that there would be such a thing as the capsule. The entire projectthe decision to build the ship, to sacrifice for it the personal fortune he had built up in his meteoric rise from obscurity to being one of the worlds most dynamic and certainly youngest industrialistshad been marked by his fanatical persistence and dedication. But that dream had come first, and the fortune secondthe sole purpose of his career, from its very beginnings when he was only another engineer test pilot, had simply been to accumulate the means so Defiance could be built. But the ship had been three-quarters complete when he conceived the idea for the capsule. He could not even now remember exactly when or how he had decided that he must have some device aboard that would protect him from a crash andhere was the vital thing he insisted uponkeep him alive, no matter how injured, no matter how long might be necessary, until rescuers could reach him.

For him to even think in terms of rescuersof depending on otherswas totally uncharacteristic. For him to divert a major portion of his dwindling resources from work on the ship itself, and push toward the elaborate design of the capsule, was, in some lights, again uncharacteristically foolish. But he had done it, and now

Now the anesthetic created by the man some said was a medical genius and some said was a quack had flooded over him.

He could feel the first effectthe calm, the drowsy peace. By the time the Defiance smashed into the ground very soon nowhis metabolism would have slowed to a carefully metered rate. It would take hours for his heart to beat once. To him it would seem as if each day was only a few minutes. The jagged nerve-flashes of pain would be only a faraway slow tingle; the blink of an eye would encompass hours of actual time, and he would be here, safe, asleep, until the hatch was opened and he was taken out into the air, where slowly the effects would wear off.

Meanwhile, there was more than enough gas compressed into the capsules tanks to keep him perfectly relaxed for a hundred years. The valvea simple device he had sketched out in five minutes, as if the design had been part of his mind for yearswould continue to meter out the supply at the optimum rate and pressure.

It was only nowperhaps a hundred feet from impact, perhaps only a hundred hairs-breadthsthat he suddenly saw the flaw in the design.

He struggled to reach the valve, in a useless reflex, for there would have been nothing he could have done, no matter how much time remained. Then he fell back, a twisted grin on his face. Ive come a long, long way to trap myself, he laughed in his drowsing mind, as the ship crashed, and the capsule, torn from Defiances side, rebounded like a cannon shell from Heaven upon the outraged soil of Venus, and the overhead clouds sprang into flamed reflection from the blast of Defiances end.

In the capsule, the valve controlling the flow from the illogically copious supply of anesthetic snapped off cleanly. David Greaves lungs jolted to the impact as a centurys dosage of the high-pressure gas delivered its one giant hammerblow of sleep

Of sleep like death

Of sleep so slow, so majestic, that only the eternally ageless body might testify to life. Of sleep without end, without motion, until

II

The womanthe sensuous ivory-skinned woman with eyes like dark jewels and hair like midnight framing her red-lipped facekissed him again and then drew back to touch his cheek.

Wake, she whispered softly. Wake, sleeper.

David Greaves looked up at her through slowly dawning eyes. The scent of spices was in his nostrils. As the womans hair brushed his face again, the fragrance increased.

My name is David Greaves, he said, and looked up at the sky and then around him.

There was now no envelope of cloud to hide the face of this planet from the Sun; no such shroud as had concealed the Venus of his day in dazzling white without and muffled it in somber black within. This sky was ruddy, ruddy with the light of the days last moments, and the clouds through which the sunset burned were only crayonstrokes of ochre across the orange sky.

He lay in state, facing that sunset, on some sort of black metal couch which supported him on a multitude of sweeping, back-bent arms. Beneath him, a dozen low broad steps of olive-green polished stone led down to a long forum, flagged with the same gold-veined, masterfully fitted paving. Around the court ran a low wall, again of stone; friezed, and burnished to a dull glow. From the wall, tall slim pillars thrust into the air.

And atop each pillar, cast and carved in black metal washed by the lingering light, crouched a monster.

No single artist could have created such a bestiary of gargoyles. Some he could trace in their evolutionthe vulpine, the crustacean, the insectile. Fangs and pincers slit the cool, invigorating breeze that flowed over the court. Antennae quivered and hummed in the air, and a myriad legs were poised in tension, forever prepared to leap. Others were beyond any creation he know of limbs and wings contorted into shapes that had, undoubtedly, been taken by living things

in lives unimaginable to any man. And all of them, imaginable or not, faced toward him forever.

At the foot of each pillar, mounted in a cresset on the wall at its base, burned a torch. And so, when night fell, then the shadows of all these monsters would be cast upward onto the stars, and he would lie sleeping in the pooled light of the torches, while all around him these creatures stood watch.

How many nights had he lain here? How many centuries to wash the fog of sleep out of every nook and cranny of his lungs, when each breath might take a thousand yearsten thousand?

But he was not done with studying his surroundings. He had heard sound when he turned his head. Now the sound was a rising murmur as he lifted his shoulders to look down the length of the court of monsters toward the far end. There were people there. They had been seated on stone tiers that rose up toward a collonaded temple. There he could see an altar through the open sides and, on that altar, a flame that burned bright and unwinking against the outline of the lowering Sun.

The people were rising to their feet. From them came an open-throated murmur that became a cry of savage joyof unbearable tension finding release.

Who are they? he asked the woman as he sat up and felt his body stretch with power cramped too long, as he squared back his shoulders and peered through the twilight in the court of monsters.

Your worshippers, David Greaves, she said, standing beside him among the many arms of his couch. The people whose last hope you are. She added softly: My name, though you did not ask, is Adelie. She paused. I, too, am one of your worshippers. Wherever there are human beings, throughout the Universe, you are worshipped.

He looked at her more closely. There was a lift to one black-winged eyebrow that was less reverent than a god might like, though a man could have no quarrel with it. She stood gracefully on sandaled feet, dressed in a single white garment girdled around her waist by a belt made of the same metal in which the monsters were cast. He saw that the clasp was shaped into a profile of his own face. And he saw from the wear that it showed that it was oldolder than she could be, older perhaps than this court. This

shrine? He wondered how many priestesses had worn that belt.

How many of his priestesses.

He frowned and got down, feeling the touch of the day-warmed stone on his bare feet. He was dressed, he saw, in a black kilt and nothing else. He returned his glance to the worshippers and saw that the men were dressed similarly, and that the women wore flowing, calf-length, translucently light robes like Adelies.

There was motion at one corner of his eye, and he turned his head sharply to see the arms of the couch sweeping down, folding and bending against its sides. Now he saw that he had been cradled in the arms of a great black metal beast. It crouched atop the dais. Its head was bent supplicatingly, bright oily metal barely visible at the joinings of its mechanical body.

He glanced quickly up at the monsters atop their columns. Are they all like that? he asked Adelie.

An old mans gruff voice answered him from the other side of the beast-couch. They wont spring down to devour youyou neednt be afraid of that. Two men came into view, one old, one young and very slim. The old one rapped the couch with his knuckles. This tended you in your sleep. It is made in the shape of the most ferocious race that ever rivaled Man. It is now extinctas are all those others up there, for the same reason.

The thin young manvery pale, very long of limb stretched his broad, tight mouth into a smile that covered half his face without mirth. Not the most ferocious, Vigil.

Your kind will learn about that, the old man snapped.

Not from you and yours, the slim man said lightly.

Greaves turned to Adelie, who waited, poised, while old Vigil and the young man quarreled. Tell me the situation, Greaves said.

Adelies lips parted. But the old man interrupted.

The situation is that you have been awakened needlessly and would best go back to sleep at once. My daughter and these fanatical sheep he waved an angry arm at the standing worshippershave forced me to permit this. But in fact Humanity neither needs you nor wants you awake.

Oh, on the contrary, the young man said. Humanity needs its god very badly at this hour. But you are only a man, not so?

Greaves looked from one to the otherthe leather-skinned old man with his mop of ringleted white hair, the young one who was human in appearance but somehow claimed some other status. Who are you two?

I am Vigil, your guardian, and this is

I am Mayron of The Shadows, the young man said, and he held himself as carelessly as before, but his face looked directly into Greaves. See my eyes.

There was nothing there. Only darkness speckled by pin-points of light; thick, sooty darkness like oil smoke, and sharp lights that burned through it without illuminating it.

Mayron that was First of Men, Vigil said bitterly.

Mayron that is First of Shadows, the empty-skinned thing replied proudly, and began to weep great, black tears that soon emptied it, so that the skin drooped down into a huddle on the pave and a black cloud in the shape of a man stood sparkling in the dusk before Greaves. Mayron that will again be First of Men, when all men are shadows. Mayron that is already First of many men. And which of us is a god, David Greaves?

Adelies face glowed with excitement. Her red lips were parted breathlessly. The crowd on the tiers had loosed a great, wailing moan, which hung over the court of conquered monsters as the first stars became visible on the far horizon.

Greaves took a deep breath. He could feel his body tensing itself, the muscles rippling, as though his hide needed comfort.

Which of us is a god, man? Mayron repeated softly, his voice coming from the entire cloud. What is it you can do against me, you whose entire virtue rests on doing nothing?

That would depend on what was expected of me at this moment, Greaves said.

This moment? Mayron chuckled. At this moment, nothing.

In that case, get out of my court and come back when theres something to do.

Mayron laughed, throwing his head back, the laughter high and insolent. How like a god! How very like the real thing.

Greaves frowned. If you were a man, once, you might remember how that feels. But the laugh had bothered him.

Oh, I remember, I remember. And tomorrow we fight, man. Laughing, Mayron bent and picked up the skin he had discarded. He crumbled it by the waist in one fist, and brandished it negligently at the worshippers. They shrank back with a moan of horror as he strode towards the far wall. At the wall he flipped the white, fluttering thing over, and as a cloud passed through the stone. Perhaps on the other side he put on his human form again. Greaves could not tell. The sun was down, and only a little light glowed on the far horizon. The torches guttered in the court of monsters, and the worshippers were hurrying up the steps, out through the temple and away.

III

Greaves, Adelie and Vigil stood beside the beast-couch. All right, Greaves said. Now there are things I want to know, and I want no quarrels, Vigil?

And by what right do you order me around? the old man growled. You may be a god to some, but you are not my god.

You owe it to me, atheist. If I was awakened today, at this pat moment, I could have been awakened before. I wasnt. You kept me asleep, guardian, when I could have been free as any other man. So you owe me.

The old man grunted. Youre brave with Mayron and brave with me. But all men are brave, each in his own way. We need no gods.

But you have one.

Adelie touched his arm. You have, lived from the beginning of human history. And you were a great hero. That much the legends tell us. You were braver than any man, and for your bravery, you could not die. While other heros conquered the stars and, in their time, died, you lived on. While enemy after enemy was beaten by Man, and the victorious men died, you lived on. The stars and all worlds became ours. Men loved and begat, and men died, but you lived on. It seemed to us that as long as you lived, all men would have something to rememberhow great Man is; what the reward of courage can be. It seemed only fitting that we should bring to you the trophies of our achievements. It seemed only right to believe that you had survived to some purposethat a day would come when Man would need his greatest hero.

Precisely, Vigil snorted. Man worships nothing but himself. You were a convenient symbol. It did no harm. It may have done some good. Of course, the chuckle-heads took it all literally. And sothanks to Mans stupid persistence in breeding idiots as well as men with some brains, you, whoever you are, whatever kind of filibustering bravo you actually were, have become the focus of a cult populated by the credulous, the neurotic and those who profit by them. I hope you are grateful for your legacy!

Greaves looked up at the stars. There were some constellations that might have been the ones he knew, distorted by his transit to another viewpoint

or by time. He was no astronomer.

Ive come a long way, he thought, and I wonder what the end of it will be. Those who profit from the credulous, hmm? he said to Vigil.

I am your guardian and I guarded you. As many others have done before me, from various motives. This is not your first court, nor your tenth. The ritual around you is compounded from thousands of years of hogwash, as some time when every venturing hero had to have a leman patiently awaiting his return. My duties no doubt were originally medical. But the couch has been attending to thatwith some exceptionsfor centuries. And you may be assured, Mans history has not been one unbroken triumph, nor his civilization any steady upward climb. But we built while you slumbered. I had thought to prevent your besmirching Mans greatness with your cheap legend.

Or perhaps he was afraid of the god he denies, Adelie murmured, her eyes glowing warmly.

Greaves looked from her to her father. So she believes in me and you do not, he said to Vigil. But it may be youre not entirely sureand from the looks she gives me, it may be she isnt, either, He grinned crookedly. Man may have climbed, but I assure you he hasnt changed.

He smiled at the looks on both their faces. Divinity was new to him, but humanity was not. If these two had thought perhaps they had some dull-witted barbarian herethe one for his faith in his faithlessness, the other for her pleasuresit had been time their error was corrected.

Old man, god or not I have been called out

whether it pleases you or not. And I wont willingly lay me down to sleep again until I think its time. So you had better tell me what all this is about, or I will blunder around and perhaps break something youre fond of. Adelie laughed.

Vigil swung his arm sharply toward her. Thisthis would-be courtesan was once Mayrons great love, when he was First of us all. Because he could find nothing to conquer for her in all the Universe, he began dabbling beyond it for a worthy prize. And he found it. Oh, he found it, didnt he, my child?

Be careful, Father, Adelie spat. The worshippers follow me now that Ive wakened him as promised, and you

Quiet, Greaves said mildly. He was telling me something.

That I was, Vigil said angrily, while his daughters look at Greaves was the least sure it had ever been, and for all the need you have of it, I might as well not. But if I may say it once and get it said, I can then go to my meal and the two of you will be free to amuse yourselves. Mayron discovered the Shadows, when his machines touched some continuum beyond this one, and the Shadows ate him. But like the fox that lost his tail in the trap and then cozened other foxes with the lie that it was better so and fashionable besides, Mayron made a virtue of his slavery. Those who give themselves up to the Shadows never rest and never hunger. They know no barrier. And no love. No true joy. No noble sorrow. An untailed fox is safe from catching by the tail. A Shadow has no spirit, no humanity, nosoul. But there are always dunderheads. Mayron has them, and down in that city of his down there the old man waved a hand at the horizon, but all Greaves could see from where he stood were the glowing tops of what he took to be three fitfully active volcanoeshe has a city full of dunderheaded shadows who go to some temple he has built and enter the Shadow chamber to be changed. The admission is easily gained; the price of freedom from human care is humanity.

And up here, Greaves said, other dunderheads come to gain what in exchange for what?

Gain at least some sort of affirmation at the cost of remaining men! the old man growled. If they are simple, at least they are human! And even an intelligent man can see the value in what is embodied here.

As witness yourself. Yes.

I didnt want to wake you! We know enough so you could have been awakened centuries ago. But to what purpose? To turn another hooligan loose to upset civilization, and lose the symbol of that precious thing? When Man himself can rescue himself? But, no, this one, this superstition-ridden tramp I wish Id strangled in her cradleshe stirred the worshippers up, she arranged the combat between yourself and Mayron, she

When and where?

What?

This fight Mayron and you have both spoken of.

Tomorrow at noon. In the city. But theres no need for it. Tomorrow Mayron dies, and the other Shadows die. You can watch or notas long as you stay out of the way.

Greaves looked at Adelie. Your daughter, Vigil, does not look much impressed.

Impressed! Impressed! The old man was very nearly dancing with rage. Ill show you! Come with me. Vigil turned without looking back and pattered rapidly down the steps of the dais, his calloused feet slapping indignantly on the time-buffed stones.

Greaves frowned after him. Then he jerked his head to Adelie. Come on, he said, and they, too, walked quickly down the length of the court of the conquered monsters. And for the first time since their creation the pillared gargoyles did not have to bear the sight of Man.

The scent of Adelies fragrance was in Greaves nostrils again as they followed the old man through the temple, past the altar where the eternal flame burned bright enough to sting. He said nothing to her. She volunteered no words of her own. But she walked close enough to brush his thigh with hers. Greaves smiled appreciatively.

Vigil led them to a small chamber in one wing of the temple. He flung open the door with a clatter of bolts in a concealed lock, and pointed inside. Lookthe two of you. Its not just Mayron who can dabble with machines. For every clever man, there is another just as clever.

A gun of green metal was mounted on a pedestal in the center of the chamber. Slim and graceful as a wading bird with one extended leg, it poised atop its mount and sang quietly of power and intent to kill. The friezed walls of the chamber hummed in harmonic response to the idle melody of the gun. Greaves felt his hackles rising unreasonably, and he very nearly growled with outrage at the sight of it.

Tomorrow at noon, Vigil said in a high, triumphant-voice, the weapon will be swung to point through that window and down up Mayrons city. And when it is done, there will not be a single Shadow alive down there.

Greaves walked to the window in the chambers far wall and looked down. But it was dark below; nothing to mark the outlines of a city as cities had been in the time he remembered. The temple apparently stood atop a high hill, with the city in a great valley at its foot, but again all Greaves could see were three glowing mountaintops across the way, and, beyond them, the night sky.

Then suddenly one of the volcanos flared for an instant, and the few overhead clouds reflected redly down into the valley.

Greaves caught his breath. The city had emerged black and immense, extending for miles, its lightless towers like the spine-bones of a beast half-eaten and rotting in a tidal pool. Then the light was gone and once again there was nothing visible down thereif the undead beast had chosen to bestir itself and stealthily move on some errand of the night, no one standing here could have known until it was too late.

So thats the city of the Shadows, Greaves said.

The city that was once the First City of Man, Vigil said bitterly. That Mayron has made into an outpost of Hell. Where no man dares live; where they say that those with Shadows, once they were in sufficient number, dragged women and children into the Chamber of Shadows so that their men, heartbroken, joined them when their Shadow-children returned to plead with them.

And this gun of yours is going to do what to them? he asked.

Kill them.

I know that. How? Greaves stared at the old man through narrowing eyes.

A beam of power, made of the stuff that spins within all thingsthe pure force of this continuum.

You mean this thing is some kind of particle emitter an electron or photon gun?

Our science need not concern itself with crudities like names, barbarian. This gun was made as a song or a poem is madein the mind of a man who dreams weapons where another man might dream bridges

and when the gun finds its fruition, tomorrow when Mayron expects no mightier enemy than you, then the beam will sweep that city, and when it stops Mayrons city will be a tomb for empty skins. And Man will build another First City, and those who fled shall have a place again, and

Who builtwho dreamedthis piece of ironmongery? Greaves growled. Who was the poet you?

Yes! Why not? Do you think because I am an old man

A heedlessly spiteful one who hasnt stopped to think.

Stopped to think! Look! Vigil seized the torch at the doorway and lifted it high. Did you think I wasnt sure? That the weapon has not been tested?

Now Greaves could see why the gun sang rather than rested in quiet patience. A Shadow hung against the far wall, supported by its outstretched arms, its hands sunken wrist-deep in the stone. And though it jerked its legs and struggled feebly to be free, the hands remained trapped. Under the sound of the idling gun, he could distinguish a quiet, thin, whimpering.

Adelie laughed softly to herself.

Vigil crowed: He cannot movewhat little strength remains to him is needed for bare existence

if I were to touch that control

The weapon is at its lowest settingit has incomparably more power than that; it has the power of all the Universe in itand look what it can do when it is barely tapped in to its source of power!

Greaves rumbled in his throat. Suddenly the guns song was more than he could stand. He barely seemed to move, but Vigil had time to shout, the outraged cry beginning to echo in the chamber when suddenly there came the snap of rending metal, and a choked stammer from the gun. And the Greaves had the gun in his hands, completely torn from its pedestal. He threw it out into the night in a bright flash of fire that bathed them all in a thunderclap of light. Greaves stared after it, his teeth bared, the horrid sound of his hatred still rumbling within him. When that had dwindled, leaving him with his heavy chest heaving for air, the trapped Shadow had vanished, no doubt to tell Mayron that Humanitys godling had gone insane.

Adelie was very pale. Vigil was trying to speak.

And that from the old man was enough to bring back the first scarlet edge of the fury he had turned on the gun.

Close your mouth! Greaves commanded him. I have to go fight Mayron tomorrow, and I dont want another word out of you. Go find something useless to do. Adelie, I want a bath, some food and drink. Right now!

IV

During the night, he asked Adelie: Im supposed to fight him with my hands, is that it? Or with simple weapons of some kind? And this will prove to the worshippers all over the Universe or to the Shadows that either my or Mayrons way of life is right?

Yes, she said. And you are very strong. Im sure you will win. I was sure when I suggested it to Mayron. Hes so completely confidentI knew I could trick him into it.

Later he asked her: Tell mewas there a famous weapon poet in First City? And he took her hand, not letting go of it. When she asked him, once, hesitantly, why he had broken the gun, he answered honestly: Because it seemed hateful. And other than that, they said very little to each other during that night, and whatever they did say had about as much truth in it as all the things they had said or he had been told from the first moment of his awakening. He did not sleep. For one thing, he felt no need of it. For another, he was frightened. He did not want to be a Shadow

In the morning he had forgotten fear. Steps led from the temple to a pathway that wound down toward the city. He stood for a moment at their head, with the altar burning behind him, and then stepped out into the morning, with Adelie and Vigil following.

There were people waiting out there. They lined the path, murmuring among themselves. As he strode along they fell in behind him, leaving behind the temporary shelters they had put up when they fled from the city and took refuge here.

Sheep, Vigil snorted as he padded through the dust beside Greaves. All right, let them see you brought down. Ill make another gunif your stupidity hasnt robbed me of the time I needand then theyll see



Im sure that if I lose today, Mayron will give you all the time you need. Maybe hell even send that same Shadow poet back to you with whatever story youll believe this time.

What? Vigil stammered.

What did he tell you? That he would create the gun for you because he hated the Shadows, even though he was a Shadow? Did he tell you how he remembered how fine it was to be a man? Is that the story you believed? You simple, credulous murderer! And you repaid him by testing it on him. As he well suspected you might. Its not only humans who can be brave. Or sacrifice themselves for the ferocity of their race. Or were you too busy taking Humanitys name in vain to ever consider that? You never dreamed that gun. Not youyou may be foolish, but you dont hate this Universe.

Vigil was blinking at him. What?

Adelie laughed. Last night, father. He asked me about weapon poets. Theres no use trying to lie out of it.

Greaves smiled at her. Thats right. I asked you, and from that moment on you knew I was cleverer than Mayron thinks. But you never got away to tell him that, did you? You know, he said thoughtfully, youd better hope I win today. Mayron wont be too fond of you if I give him any more shocks.

Adelie grinned. I thought of that. But if you win, he dies. And if you die

?

You will have had your glory anyway? You will have engineered the battle of the gods, and dabbled in other pleasures, too? Greaves was still smiling, but Adelies eyes grew wider. Maybe itll be that simple, Adelie. But who can tell the minds of gods, hmm?

And so David Greaves strode into the city of Shadows, followed by a fearful multiture and two badly shaken people. He walked down a broad avenue at whose end something black bulked and glimmered, while things with black-filled eyes stood watching thin-lipped. And as he walked he showed none of his fear.

He stopped at the end of the avenue, with the tall towers looming over him, and stood facing the Temple of Shadows. There was no sign of life in the square black opening that served as a door for the featureless stone block, dark but not as dark as a Shadow.

He threw back his head and called: Mayron!

The worshippers huddled around him. Vigil, like them, was throwing anxious looks over his shoulders as the citys Shadows crowded closer.

Adelie murmured: There he is.

And he was trotting lightly down the steps, smiling. He wore his human skin as naturally as if it were more than a cloak, and Greaves had to look hard to see that when he smiled his lips stretched but no teeth showed.

Well, Man in all your pride. Are you ready?

Ready as any man. How do you propose to go about this?

Adelie didnt tell you?

She told me as much as I asked. I didnt ask much. Could you suggest any way I could have refused the conditions, no matter what they are? That loses the fight right there. Wasnt I supposed to understand that? Do you think politics is a recent invention?

Fierce, fierce, Mayron murmured. Well spoken. He chuckled. When I was a man, I would have liked you.

Get to the business, Mayron.

The Shadow held up his hand. Not so fast. Perhaps we can arrive at some

Arrive at nothing. Put up or shut up. Vigil no longer has that monstrous gun and theres no point in this for you today. But there is for me, and you dont have much time to realize that. He glowered at the Shadow, feeling the rage, feeling the onrush of the bright white exaltation when the body moves too fast for the brain to speak, when what directs the body is the reflex founded on the silent knowledge of the brains deep layers, where the learning has no words.

Mayron frowned. His head was cocked to one side. If he had had eyes, he would have been peering at Greaves face. But he said nothing; he had lost the moment, and now Greaves used it.

You scum, Greaves said, his voice booming through the Temple square for all the Shadows to hear. A weapon that drains the power of this continuum! You leechyou would have had that doddering old man put all my stars out!

And now the moment was at its peak, and Greaves screamed with rage, so that the faces of the towers were turned into sounding boards and the shout crackled in the air like thunder. He jumped forward, one sweeping arm tossing Mayron out of his way and flailing for balance, while Greaves sprang into the Temple and charged the Chamber of Shadows.

And now the fearthe great devouring fear that came like fangs in his belly but did not stop him. Now the fear as he burst through the acolytes and into the black, light-shot sphere that quivered at the focus of Mayrons machine. And he stood there, feeling the suck not of one voracious universe but manyall the universes that had eaten the over-curious Mayron and sent back a Judas goat in his skin to conquer what belonged to Man. Feeling the icy cold, and the energy-hunter that could suck Mans Universe dry and still leave a hunger immeasurable.

But the ragethe rage that came to him, that came to the god uncounted generations of men had made while David Greaves lay sleeping but his deepest mind lay awake, feeling, feeling the faith, knowing the splendor of what Man had doneThe rage that could make a god, that could give a creature like David Greaves the power to create, to dream a manto make a David Greaves who would lie waiting, ready to become a god

That rage went forth.

And in parallel continuums of life unimaginable, the dawn of Apocalypse burst upon suns unnameable and worlds unheard-ofupon all the universes which were the true Shadows. The god who was David Greaves again, when the rage had passedthat image which Man himself had made stood blazing his fury in the Chamber of Shadows, and the Universe of Man was free and safe. But in the places of the Shadows there was no hope, no joy, no place of refuge. Mankind was come forth, and galaxies were dying.

One last snap of the fangsone moment when the death-spurred Shadows almost had their greatest prize of alland then it was over. Greaves turned and strode out of the blasted Chamber, and the acolytes cowered, covering their eyes, not yet realizing that once more they had eyes.

David Greaves appeared on the temple steps, and began walking slowly down, his legs shaking with exhaustion. Adelie watched him coming toward her. Around her, Shadows that had once been men were men again, but at her feet Mayron lay without his skin, and though her father had fled, she did not dare go without learning what the look on David Greaves face meant for her.

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