Cully - Jack Egan 2

President Barack Obama. Virginia, we are counting on you. Republicans want to steal enough seats in

Congress to raid the next election and wield unchecked power for two more years. But you can stop

them by voting yes by April 21st. Help put our elections back on a level playing field and let

voters decide not politicians. Vote yes by April 21st. Paid for by Virginians for fair elections.

When you run a business, there are a lot of boxes to check. Let's see, payroll, check, inventory,

check. Insurance? Ah. Well, good thing Simply Business makes getting small business

insurance fast and easy. Just answer a few questions, review your quotes, and get covered in

under 10 minutes, all online. It's that simple. Check Insurance off your list at simplybusiness.com.

President Barack Obama. Virginia, we are counting on you. Republicans want to steal enough seats in

Congress to raid the next election and wield unchecked power for two more years. But you can stop

them by voting yes by April 21st. Help put our elections back on a level playing field and let

voters decide not politicians. Vote yes by April 21st. Paid for by Virginians for fair elections.

Cully by Jack Egan

Above him, 80 feet of torped black water hung like a shroud of death and still he heard his ragged

breathing and something else. Cully 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 and 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 heatwaves 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, searching 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, 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, a complish

enact. 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, and 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. Where is it?

Cully lifted his head and annoyance at the sharp thought.

Go away, he said, in 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. Before 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, promise-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. He 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, alonging 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 shrouds of death until he felt a thought singing in

his nerves. An irrational 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.

Cully'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

stalks 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. We are friends. He could not understand.

They were speaking words. Words were beyond him. His 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. Cully's fingers reached out and crest a small panel.

A soundless click ran through the mercenus. The strangely beautiful gold-laced blue plants began

a writhing dance. Their spicules withdrew and jabbed, withdrew and jabbed,

a rending silent scream 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. Emotions 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 torped water.

He scuffed up little moats 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. A rise appeared. Surprise caught Cully unaware. 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.

The 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. Prefrontal lobotomy, destruction of your speech center. It was

the only way you could get 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.

End of Cully by Drackegan. With its two juicy beef patties and three slices of milt and cheese topped

with tangy big arch sauce, the big arch is what happens when you start making a McDonald's burger

and never stop. The big arch, the most McDonald's McDonald's burger yet for a limited time.

At the UPS store, reinsure your small viz stands out with a variety of high quality paper stock

options, banners, posters for stores and more. Most locations are independently owned, product

services pricing and hours of operation may vary. See center for details, the UPS store. Be

unstoppable, come into your local store today and get your print on. Greenlight helps kids learn

about money the way most of us never did by actually using it. It's a debit card and money app

that teaches kids to earn, save and spend in real life. Not just swipe and hope for the best.

Learning happens naturally in the moment. Parents can set limits, see spending in real time and

guide better habits along the way, all in one place without constant check-ins or cash runs.

Don't wait, try green light risk-free today at greenlight.com slash try green light.