been caught in the hoisting gear of the oreship. They had pulled me free and dragged me here to die. But I couldn’t die. The woman waited for me, in the bare room in the city. I had come here, to the port, to earn money for food and fuel. Dangerous work, but there was bread and coal in it.
For some; not for me.
I had torn a sleeve from my coat, bound the leg. The pain was duller now, more remote. I would rest awhile, and then I could start back.
It would be easier, and far more pleasant, to die here, but she would think I had abandoned her.
But first, rest . . .
Too late, I realized how I had trapped myself. I had let sleep in as a guest, and death had slipped through the door.
I imagined her face, as she looked out over the smoky twilight of the megalopolis, waiting for me. Waiting in vain.
Mellia’s face.
And I was back in the bright-lit room.
Mellia lay slack in the chair of torment.
“You gauge things nicely, Karg,” I said. “You make me watch her being outraged, tortured, killed. But mere physical suffering isn’t enough for your sensors. So you move on to the mental torture of betrayal and blighted hope.”
“Melodramatic phrasing, Mr. Ravel. A progression of stimuli is quite obviously essential to the business at hand.”
“Swell. What’s next?”
Instead of answering he closed the switch.
Swirling smoke, an acid, sulphurous stench of high explosives, powdered
For some; not for me.
I had torn a sleeve from my coat, bound the leg. The pain was duller now, more remote. I would rest awhile, and then I could start back.
It would be easier, and far more pleasant, to die here, but she would think I had abandoned her.
But first, rest . . .
Too late, I realized how I had trapped myself. I had let sleep in as a guest, and death had slipped through the door.
I imagined her face, as she looked out over the smoky twilight of the megalopolis, waiting for me. Waiting in vain.
Mellia’s face.
And I was back in the bright-lit room.
Mellia lay slack in the chair of torment.
“You gauge things nicely, Karg,” I said. “You make me watch her being outraged, tortured, killed. But mere physical suffering isn’t enough for your sensors. So you move on to the mental torture of betrayal and blighted hope.”
“Melodramatic phrasing, Mr. Ravel. A progression of stimuli is quite obviously essential to the business at hand.”
“Swell. What’s next?”
Instead of answering he closed the switch.
Swirling smoke, an acid, sulphurous stench of high explosives, powdered