The main double door was shut,
but the small door, set inside the left frame, was ajar. Haste propelled him
towards it, far more urgently than the caution which plucked at him as he
stepped across the threshold.
The thoughts that tramped through
his head were shouting contradictions – this should be the opportunity of my
life yelled one inner voice; not at all – this is a historic crisis, not
a personal one, yelled another. My own needs? Forget them! They are of no
importance at such a time. Above all I must avoid another personality clash –
The reception hall appeared empty
at first. Not quite silent, though. One of the ventilators purred in an alcove.
And around that little corner, some lamplight spilled.
Midax advanced a step or two.
From the alcove emerged a young
man carrying a folder. His pale abstracted features glimmered in profile as he
carried the folder to the desk; only then – squarely behind his rampart – did
the official turn to face Midax.
Recognition sparked between them:
this was the very same official, the offhand clerk who had refused to hand
Midax an application form earlier that day.
Now a smugness spread over the
man’s face as if to say, Back for another
try? Get past me if you can. I am in,
and you are out.
Out loud the man spoke heartily:
“Good evening, Splasher! What can
I do for you this time?” His mouth, by now, had sagged into an outright gloat
as he went on, “Did you leave something behind? Unfortunately, the lost
property office – ”
“ – Is now closed,” Midax
finished for him, leaning forward. He balled his fists, placed his knuckles on
the desk and pronounced the syllables: “I – have – some – in – for – ma – tion
– for – you.”
“Oh really, let’s have it then.”
“Sparseworld is on its way,” said
Midax.
Ever so slight was the start the
man gave, hardly losing his equilibrium for more than a split second.
“Of course it is,” he replied;
“we are all aware that some day – ”
“Careful now,” said Midax. “Listen
again: Sparseworld is on its way. And I mean perceptibly.”
The official could do nought but
stare.
Midax added, “I found the first
trace.”
The words rolled around in the
silence. The official seemed paralyzed except for his jerking eyeballs.
Midax’s nerves drew tighter until
he cried out, “I know you don’t want this, but so what? Move! Get somebody
higher up! Aren’t you lot supposed to be the greatest organization in
existence? Somebody should be interested!”
As soon as the words had left his
mouth Midax would have recalled them had he been able, since he immediately saw
that by his vehemence he had given the official some sort of handle. The young
fellow a moment ago had been frantically evasive; now his face once more
displayed a comfortable grin.
“Don’t get so excited, Splasher. Your
case will be dealt with when its turn comes up, I promise. We get heaps of
anomalies reported by members of the public, amateur naturalists or amateur
cosmographers who are often quite emotionally exercised by what they think they
have found. In every case so far, we have been able to reassure them. Now, I’ll
just give you an Observation Form, you can go home and fill it in at your
leisure, and next time you happen to pass this way, simply hand it in. All-rightee?”
“You know,” said Midax slowly, in
a voice that seemed to himself to be coming from an extremely great distance,
“you have just lost an opportunity.” Inside him some vast greyness far beyond
anger was gathering itself into an implacable wave. Without counting the cost,
he prepared to walk forward.
As if the opposition were no more
than smoke – as if he could will it to be smoke – he did step forward, at this
moment no longer worried that to cause a scuffle here would outrage the dignity
of the Institute and get him banned from its hallowed halls forever.
Quite unaware, in that instant of
blind determination, of the terrible expression which had appeared on his face,
he was mildly astonished when he noticed that the official had staggered back
several yards. What was the clown doing, tottering like that?
At that moment a slit of light
appeared further up the hall.
Midax’s heart sank at the thought
that he had caused some kind of commotion. He wasn’t sure – had he actually
struck the idiot who had barred his way?
The silhouette of a second
official increased in sharpness as more light came on in the further reaches of
the hall. The figure padded forward, to reveal itself as a large,
untidily-dressed man with a craggy, lantern-jawed face.
Lecturer Inellan.
Midax cursed silently: this was
going from bad to worse – this fellow whom he had shown up and mocked,
reappearing now of all moments, as fat-headed Fate again mismanaged the way
stuff happened.
“Well, Ervar,” said Inellan to
the shaken clerk, “do we shut up shop, or is there a little matter to clear up
here?” And the Lecturer gazed equably from face to face.
“The Splasher has come back,”
mumbled Ervar.
“The one whose application we
turned down – yes, I see.” Inellan’s voice sounded different from earlier in
the day; its lazy imprecision was gone. He locked eyes with Midax. “And he’s
smirking at us again….”
Midax, with a rueful head-shake,
replied: “No, Inellan, I was just chiding myself. I seem to have gone about
things the wrong way. Trouble is, I don’t quite know what I should have done. Can
you tell me what’s the procedure, if one has to bring the news that the thing
which you people have been warning the world against for millions of days has
finally come in sight?” He shrugged, “Just curious, you know…”
“Go on,” said Inellan, voice now
stony. “Repeat your message.”
“Sparseworld is approaching. I
spotted a trace,” announced Midax in his most factual tone. “Want to come and
look? It’s about two hundred yards down the road.”
For a stiff moment the lecturer
glared, then his shoulders drooped. He muttered, “We must assume that you may
know what you are talking about.” Seeing the stricken look on Ervar’s face he
added, “You have to give the Splashers their due, they do keep their eyes
open.”
Ervar whispered, “So what do we
do now, sir?”
“We’re going to need witnesses,”
sighed Inellan. “Find who’s left in the building. I think you’ll get the Judge,
and possibly Ultrisk. And get Rersh if you can.”
Ervar darted away. He was gone
for a couple of minutes, during which Inellan brooded at the floor, Midax could
think of nothing to say, and each idle instant was a limbo for the wafting
seeds of fear.
Voices grew audible further down
the hall. Back into sight came Ervar, followed by three others. Ultrisk was a
shaggy-fringed, dome-headed, portly man of middle age, shorter than Inellan. Jaekel
was a middle-aged woman, lean and rangy, with a long face and thin humourless
mouth. A third official, male, heavily muscled, only slightly older than Midax,
was the enforcer named Rersh.
To all of them Inellan said,
“Midax Rale – whom some of you have met earlier in the day – has claimed a
sighting.”
“You really mean – ” began
Jaekel.
Inellan held up his hand. Turning
to Midax he said: “I haven’t even asked you what type of manifestation you
claim to have seen. This is no time to rely upon subjective descriptions. Lead
us to the spot.”
Out through the Institute door,
down the steps between the columns, and onto the rougher surface of the avenue,
Midax strode while the others kept up, their hard silence causing him to wonder
what they would do if it turned out that he was bringing them on a fool’s
errand.
Logic told him that they must be
used to false alarms. Therefore the penalties for getting it wrong would not be
too severe. Imagination, however, refused to listen to logic. A cartoon built
up in Midax’s mind, of him being surrounded and squeezed flat as paper and slid
into an envelope marked unrecorded punishment. However, he repeated to
himself, his was not a fool’s errand. He glanced at the muscle-bound
figure of Rersh jogging beside him, and thought: I know why they brought
you, my chunky friend, but you aren’t making any arrest tonight.
“This is the spot,” said Midax
and pointed exactly at the fused grass-blades, still visible in the twilight.
The others gathered round, saw,
and bowed their heads at this herald of a doom that towered above all personal
concerns.
Midax’s sense of triumphant
vindication was scattered away on the breeze that moaned over the grass. Down
there at their feet grew the little trembling portent of that
no-longer-mythical condition, Sparseworld, and no one could think of
point-scoring in front of such a sign.
Inellan broke the silence. “We
had better get to work.”
Ultrisk remarked, “Final Stage
Plan One, looks like.”
Jaekel’s lips stretched wider and
thinner and the words cracked out of her: “So we padlock the past, by
broadcasting the truth we hoped never to see… Brrr,” she shivered. “Sorry,” she added.
Ultrisk growled, “So long as it’s
planned out...”
Inellan made a gesture of
irritation. “It is. Don’t doubt that. The work has been done. The plans
are all made; we just have to make sure we implement them... Let’s get back
inside. I’m starting to freeze out here.”
Ultrisk said, “And by the by, we
haven’t yet congratulated our young discoverer friend.”
Inellan slid a hand inside his
coat. “I intend to do more than congratulate him.” He said to Midax, “I brought
something along for you, Discoverer, thinking you’d want it.”
“I do,” said Midax, watching for
the hand to re-emerge.
“Sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“In some things, yes.”
“Here you are.” The hand came out
holding sheets of folded paper. Midax took them, glanced at them. The
application form.
“Report to reception in the
morning.” Inellan turned to go, then half-turned back. “How much do you
actually know about what you’re letting yourself in for?”
“Only that it’s big – that big,”
said Midax, pointing at the faint structural outline which loomed a mile beyond
the Olamic building.
Inellan’s lip quirked: “A box big
enough for a Splasher, maybe?”
Bleak chuckles from the other
officials faded into a wry silence.
Rersh chipped in with, “That’ll
be the day.”
“That’s the point,” commented
Inellan. “When you get in the box, that is the day.”
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