Cully - Jack Egan 2

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1:00Cully concentrated on that sound, and the rhythmic pulsing of his heart. Somehow he had to retain a hold on his sanity, or his soul. After an hour of careful breathing and exploring of body sensations, Cully realized he could move. He flexed an arm, a moat of gold sand, sifted upward in the dark water. It had a pleasant color in contrast with the ominous shades of the sea. In a few moments he had struggled to a sitting position, delighting in the curtain of glittering metal grains, whirling around him as he moved. And the other sound, a humming in his mind, a distant burble of tiny voices of other minds, words swirling in giddy patterns he couldn't understand. Shortly thereafter Cully discovered why he still lived, breathed, a suit, a yellow plastic watertight suit, with an orange on black shield on the left breast pocket,

2:02and a clear bubble helmet. He felt weight on his back and examined it, two air tanks and the regulator, a radio, and the box. Suit, tanks, regulator, radio, black water, box, sand, sea, stillness. Cully considered his world. It was small. It was conceivable. It was incomplete. Where is it? Where is what? He knew he had a voice, a means of communication between others of his kind, using low frequency heat waves caused by agitation of air molecules. Why could he make it work? Words, thousands of them, at his back in call. What were they? What did they mean? He shifted uncomfortably in the tight yellow suit,

3:02searching the near horizon for, where is it? A vague calling came from beyond the black sea curtain, objectively, because he could do nothing to stop them. He watched his feet pick up, move forward, put down, funny. He had the feeling, the concept, that this action held meaning. It was supposed to cause some reaction, accomplish an act. He wondered, at the regular movement of his legs. One of them hurt. A hurt is a sensation of pain caused by overloading sensory units in the body. A hurt is bad, because it indicates something is wrong. Something certainly was wrong. Something stirred in Cully's mind. He stopped and sat down at the sandy sea bottom, gracefully, like a ballet dancer. He examined his foot. There was a tiny hole in the yellow plastic fabric,

4:03and a thin string of red black was oozing out. Blood. He knew. He was bleeding. He could do nothing about it. He got up and resume walking. There is it. Cully lifted his head and annoyance at the sharp thought. Go away, he said, at a low pleading voice. The sound made him feel better. He began muttering to himself. Water. Black sand. Hurt. Pain. Radio tanks. It didn't sound right. After a few minutes, he was quiet. The many thoughts were calling him. He must go to the many thoughts. If his foot was bleeding, then something had happened. If something had happened, then his foot was bleeding. No. If something had happened, then maybe other things had happened.

5:06Before that. But how could something happen in a world of flat gold sand and flaccid sea? Surely there was something wrong. Wrong. The state of being not right. Something had happened that was not right. Cully stared at the edges of the unmoving curtain before him. Where is it? It was a driving, promised filled concept. No words. Just the sense that something wonderful laid just beyond reach. But this voice was different from the many thoughts. It was directing his body. His mind was along for the ride. The sameness of the sea and sand became unbearable. It was too right somehow. Cully felt anger and kicked up eddies of dust. It changed the sameness a little. He kicked more up until its world around him in a thick gold haze, blotting off the terrible emptiness of the sea.

6:06He felt another weight at his side. He found a holster and gun. He recognized neither. Again he watched objectively. As his hand pulled the black object out and handled it. His body was evidently familiar with it, though it was strange to his eyes. His fingers slipped automatically into the trigger-shief. His legs were still working under two drives. The many thoughts urging, and something else buried in him, a longing, up and down, back and forth. Where is it? Anger, frustration flared in him. His hand shot out, gun at ready. He turned around slowly. Through the settling trail of suspended sand, nothing was visible. Again he was moving. Something made his legs move. He walked on through the shirards of death until he felt a taught singing in his nerves.

7:07A rational fear sprang out in him, cascading down his spine, and Cully shuddered. Ahead there was something. Two motives. Get there, because it, they, calls. Get here. Get there because you must. Where is it? The mind-voice was excited, demanding. Something was out there besides the sameness. Cully walked on, trailing gold. The death curtain parted. An undulating garden of blue and gold streamers suddenly drifted toward him on an unfelt current. Cully was held entranced. They flowed before him. Their colors dazzling, hypnotic. Come closer Earthling. The many thoughts spoke inside his head soothingly. Here it is, Cully's mind shouted.

8:08Cully's mind was held hypnotized, but his body moved of its own volition. He moved again. His mind and the many thoughts spoke. Fulfillment, almost. There was one action left that must be completed. Cully's arms moved. They detached the small black box from his pack. He moved on into the midst of the weaving gold-laced plants. Little spicules licked out from their flexing stocks and jabbed, uncensed, into Cully's body to draw nourishment. From the many thoughts came the sense of complete fulfillment. From Cully's mind came further orders. Lie down. It was a collective concept. Lie still. Dear friends, he could not understand. They were speaking words, words were beyond him.

9:08His head shook and despair. The voices were implanting an emotion of horror at what his hands were doing, but he had no control over his body. It was as if it were not his. The black box was now lying in the sand among the streaming plants. His fingers reached out and crest a small panel. A soundless click ran through the merceness. The strangely beautiful gold-laced blue plants began arriving dance. Their spicules withdrew and jabbed, withdrew and jabbed, a rinding silent screen tore the quiet waters. No, they cried. It was a negative command, mixed in with the terrible screaming. Turn it off! Stop it. Stop it, Cully tried to say, but there were no words. He tried to cover his ears within the helmet, but the cries went on.

10:11Emotions roiled the water. Pain hurt. Reproach. Cully sobbed. Something was wrong here. Something was killing the plants. The beautiful blue things. The plants were withering, dying. He looked up at them, stupified, not understanding. Tears streaming down his face. What did they want from him? What had he done? Where is it? A different direction, materialized. A new concept of desire. Cully's body turned and crawled away from the wonderful dying garden, oblivious to the pleatings, floating, now weakly in the torporid water. He scuffed up little boats of golden sand, leaving a low-lying scuttle along the bottom, back to the little black box in the garden. The plants, the box, all were forgotten by now. Cully crawled on, not knowing why.

11:13A rise appeared. Cully was caught on a wearer. A change in the sameness. Where is it? Again the voice was insistent. His desire was close ahead. He did not look back at the black churning on the sea-bottom. His legs worked. His chest heaved. Words swirled in his mind. He topped the rise. Below him, in the center of a shallow golden bowl, floated a long, shiny cylinder. Even from here, he knew it was huge. He knew other things about it. How heavy it was. How it was. That it carried others of his kind. He had been in it before. And they were waiting for him. He lurched on. Captain, here comes Cully. The midshipman shouted from the airlock. Look what they've done to him.

12:14The old man's gray eyes took in the spectacle, without visible emotion. He watched the pathetic, bleeding yellow plastic sack crawl up to the ship and look up. His hands reached down and lifted Cully up into the lock. They took his suit off and stared with loathing at what had once been a man. A white scar zigzagged across his forehead. The captain bent close, in range of the dim blue eyes. It was a very brave thing you did, Cully. The whole system will be grateful. Venus could never be colonized, as long as those cannibals were there to eat men and drive men mad. Cully fingered the scar in his forehead and looked unseeing into the old man's compassionate eyes. I'm sorry, Cully. We all are. But there was no other way. In front of lobotomy, destruction of your speech center, it was the only way you could

13:16get past the telepaths and destroy them. I'm sorry, Cully. The race of men shall long honor your name. Cully smiled at the old man, the words churning in his brain, but he did not understand. Where is it? The emptiness was still there. The end of Cully by Drackegan.