Psychological fiction; Science fiction; Short stories; Space travelers -- Fiction
The bathroom was off to the right side of the balcony. Harvey found he
needed nothing but a drink of water--it was purple. His chin showed no
signs of erupting in its usual forest of thick, dark hairs. He swore
good-naturedly at this (it had been his intention to grow a beard), put
his razor away, and undressed for bed. A pair of loose, soft pajamas of
neutral color lay across the cot. They fit him.
* * * * *
The aqua sky showed thousands of vari-shaped blobs that whirled crazily
overhead; he at first mistook them for clouds. Gradually it became
apparent that they were moons, each a different color. Somehow the
glinting gold one seemed familiar to him. Finally he gave up trying to
chase down a forgotten memory and looked past them to the stars.
Now, what were stars? Harvey stared at the powder sprinkled across
the sky. He _must_ know what they are; he knew what they were called,
didn't he? Or had he just imagined the name--made it up himself?
"Greeeeeep," the Changeling said softly. Harvey switched his gaze from
the sky to the out-stretched form of a bear rug lying on the floor
beside the cot. "Greeeeeep." Hmmm. The Changeling's body was barely
vibrating. It must be asleep.
Harvey watched the animal for several minutes. A faint blue breeze
sighed through the parapets of the Palace mounting above him. Below, in
the courtyard, he heard the stealthy rattle of chains.
_Ghosts?_ His mind rejected the possibility at once. He had never
believed in them before--why start now? His mind worked furiously as
the sound halted. Bridge. Drawbridge. He recalled seeing a drawbridge
across the moat when Dana had led him swimming yesterday ... only,
_they_ had entered through a small door set flush with the surface of
the water. Someone must be letting the drawbridge down, and it had to
be Dana. Harvey raised up on his elbow and carefully put a foot over
the edge of the cot. He crept to the railing of the balcony and looked
down eighty feet of blue emptiness to the yellowness of the hill. Down
it, a cloaked figure followed a crooked path to the Edge of the World.
_Dana._
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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