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and turning. We saw noth-
ing new en route, just more gizmos and gadgets lying about.
The rooms were something. There were six of them six main ones, anyway. They
were spacious, with alcoves and walk-in closets adjoining each. The major
spaces communi-
cated by means of wide L-shaped passageways. There were no doors except those
to the six bathrooms. The fixtures in these were strange but usable. What was
remarkable was how the place was furnished.
"Look at this bed!" Susan squealed.
It was circular and big enough to park the rig on. Mounds of fancy cushions
covered it. Overhead hung a tent-like can-
opy, and a translucent fabric screen ran around it.
"You could have an orgy in here," Susan said. "What do you say, gang?"
"You go first," Daria told her.
There were other beds, most not as large, but big enough, three to each room,
along with smaller daybeds, couches, re-
cliners, and other things you could rack out in. More than enough for
everybody. There were tables, chairs, settees, ot-
tomans, and other pieces, everything executed with exquisite craftsmanship.
The place was lavish. There were imaginative lamps, painted screens, inlaid
tables, tapestries, intricately woven rugs, and shelves of objets d'art.
Nothing in any of the rooms was done in a recognizable style. Some things were
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50 John DeChancie PARADOX ALLEY 51
faintly oriental, others functionally modem. A few looked positively antique.
All were tasteful and seemed to comple-
ment one another. The shiny black floor and the lucent green glass walls made
the place absolutely striking. A showcase.
"Nice," Lori said after touring the suite.
"I wonder if all this was here," Liam said, "or Prime had his lads bring it up
from the cellar."
"Had it manufactured special," Scan ventured. Then he yawned, scratching his
unruly red beard. "Mother of God! I
could sleep for a week. After all that time in the truck..." He lowered
himself onto a purple velvet chaise longue and plumped a pillow. He sighed and
smiled, then keeled over.
He was right. Those beds looked inviting. Too inviting, maybe. But what else
was there to do? We had some time to kill.
"Okay, children," I said. "Nap time. I'll stay up, then.
Carl? How about you taking second watch?"
"Yeah," he said through a yawn. "Sure."
I caught it, and yawned, too. "Jeez, everybody stop doing that. I'll never
stay up."
Ten minutes later, after everyone had had a chance to go to the head, they
were all conked out and I was left stalking the suite like a ghost. I
considered the possibility that the food had been drugged. But I had probably
eaten more than anyone, and though I was tired as hell, I wasn't on the verge
of passing out. I felt capable of staying up as long as I needed to. As long
as I didn't lie down.
There wasn't much to do. Hanging in one of the rooms was a landscape painting,
done with watery colors in an impres-
sionistic style. I spent a few minutes examining it. It had been done on a
hard oval board with no frame. The scene was of a pleasant, semi-arid planet,
stunted trees fringing on a low hill to the right, jagged rocks up on a high
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ridge on the other side, a rock-strewn dry streambed meandering through the
middle.
A heavily cratered half-moon, far bigger than most I'd seen, looked over the
hill in a hazy, dark-pink sky. I speculated as to where and when this planet
existed or had existed. Inhabi-
tants? No signs.
I don't know at what point I realized that this wasn't a painting. The more I
looked at it, the more real it became.
Edges got gradually sharper, detail came into focus. This was a photograph of
some kind. Perhaps. Something different, maybe.
The scene reminded me of a place I knew, certain areas of a planet called
Osiris, I forget the catalogue number. The moon was a little too big, though.
But Osiris has a pink sky. I
remember eating lunch one day on Osiris. I'd pulled off the
Skyway and had opened the hatches, letting in warm, dry air.
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Pleasant smells, quiet. I'd come by way of an ice world, and the sudden shift
in climate was soothing. I've always liked that aspect of the road. Radical
contrasts, abrupt changes.
Yes, the place did look a lot like Osiris. Those rocks should be a little more
on the beige side, though. Yeah, like that. And the trees were a little
different. Make them a little taller and color the foliage russet there we go.
Come to think of it, Osiris's moon is pretty big at that, but smoother. Not as
many craters make it look more like a baked potato with acne scars, that's it.
And
I jumped when I realized what was happening. There was the surface of
Osiris beige rocks, russet trees, potato moon.
I had changed the painting.
I walked away. Or the painting had been reading my mind.
Yuck. I don't like things that hang on walls and read my mind. Don't like it
at all. Call me stodgy and conventional.
I meandered on. There were other things to look at, other pictures on the
wall, but I was spooked a little. I did stop to examine some pottery. The
stuff could have come from any-
where. From Earth even. It had a vaguely American Indian feel to it but I'm no
expert, and really couldn't tell for sure.
The gang had all zonked out in one of the big rooms.
George and Winnie were rolled up into a ball; Carl and Lori, too. Susan and
Daria had stretched out side by side on the circus-tent bed, with long, skinny
John prone and perpendicu-
lar to them, the three of them forming the Greek letter pi. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]