for Orchestra , careful not to turn the audio onto the loudspeakers of the library. She still felt shaky at times, especially those times when Francis went under. Like now.
The miniaturized receiver imbedded in Lanier's earlobe softly began transmitting. And Lanier began feeling what it must've been like for Perry Eventide. Love . Troublesome, complex, enchanting. A lost love unlike any that a man had ever known.
And darkness swelled around him as the vibrations filled his quiet mind then shimmered down his spinal cord. His skin tingled. Letting go, letting go , he told himself. Become Perry Eventide. Search him out . Breathing in and out. One breath at a time. Let the darkness fill.
Christy jumped in her chair. The muted pop ! came as Lanier vanished from his position on the floor of his workroom. It seemed unnatural for a living being to do such a thing, and it always startled her.
The sonic-wafer had run its course.
Dizzy, he dropped to his knees, shaking his head as if he hadn't gotten enough air. He sat down promptly in the slender, pale yellow grass and looked around, orienting himself. His confusions only lasted a few seconds, but when he cleared his mind, letting the music generate a sense of the vision, he always knew where he was. And why.
Ascertaining the time of day, he looked up at the sun. But there was no sun. Instead, a bright strip, extending the length of the sky, like the surface of a single mirror, glistened brightly. The sky itself was blue and cloudless, but there was nothing resembling a sun anywhere in the heavens above him.
At first he thought it was some kind of illusion, but glancing to either side of him, he observed that the light which draped the prairie on which he had "landed" seemed just the slightest bit drab. Artificial , he reasoned. Artificial light .
He rose slowly, brushing off bits of grass and dirt from his long coat, staring up at the long track of "sunlight." Ahead of him sat a low range of sparse hills. Catalpa trees, bent at odd angles, dotted the countryside.
Then he noticed that, through the haze, the horizon seemed to curve upward in the soft daylight. He turned around. Behind him, at a distance of about twenty kilometers, the end of the world seemed to lift upward into obscurity as well, as if the earth curved upward rather than down. Yet, he could see a thin vein of a river, or a stream, bending up with the curve of the land. The haze of dust or mild pollution made it difficult to see any further up along the horizon.
The wind riffled his hair, tugging at the folds of his long coat at his feet. He knew then just exactly where he was. He was on the inside surface of an immense O'Neill space cylinder. Only this one seemed infinitely more sophisticated than the two now in existence orbiting the moon's Lagrange points.
It seemed more real , much more functional and less barren than the ones men were currently working on in space. The grasses swayed in the slight breeze, and Lanier could make out a flock of blackbirds rushing through a small cluster of sycamores in a wash below him. He grasped a handful of dirt, and not only did its texture seem real, it broke freely and appeared quite healthy in this fragile and highly artificial environment. Up ahead, he noticed deer droppings, and in several spots on the hillside it seemed as if the turf had taken on a bit of overgrazing. Sheep , he realized.
Lanier turned his inner ear toward the music, and listened. Yes, he could see it now. He pictured the whole craft spinning in space as graceful as a prima ballerina in a slow pirouette on a stage surrounded by darkness and iridescent faces. The faces were the stars.
He climbed a nearby hill. He couldn't see any cities or prominent structures from where he stood. This strip of the cylinder seemed hilly and rugged. Little could be seen. He snapped out his amplified binoculars. Above him, almost to the zenith, he scanned the terrain overhead for any sign of cities or villages.
The miniaturized receiver imbedded in Lanier's earlobe softly began transmitting. And Lanier began feeling what it must've been like for Perry Eventide. Love . Troublesome, complex, enchanting. A lost love unlike any that a man had ever known.
And darkness swelled around him as the vibrations filled his quiet mind then shimmered down his spinal cord. His skin tingled. Letting go, letting go , he told himself. Become Perry Eventide. Search him out . Breathing in and out. One breath at a time. Let the darkness fill.
Christy jumped in her chair. The muted pop ! came as Lanier vanished from his position on the floor of his workroom. It seemed unnatural for a living being to do such a thing, and it always startled her.
The sonic-wafer had run its course.
Dizzy, he dropped to his knees, shaking his head as if he hadn't gotten enough air. He sat down promptly in the slender, pale yellow grass and looked around, orienting himself. His confusions only lasted a few seconds, but when he cleared his mind, letting the music generate a sense of the vision, he always knew where he was. And why.
Ascertaining the time of day, he looked up at the sun. But there was no sun. Instead, a bright strip, extending the length of the sky, like the surface of a single mirror, glistened brightly. The sky itself was blue and cloudless, but there was nothing resembling a sun anywhere in the heavens above him.
At first he thought it was some kind of illusion, but glancing to either side of him, he observed that the light which draped the prairie on which he had "landed" seemed just the slightest bit drab. Artificial , he reasoned. Artificial light .
He rose slowly, brushing off bits of grass and dirt from his long coat, staring up at the long track of "sunlight." Ahead of him sat a low range of sparse hills. Catalpa trees, bent at odd angles, dotted the countryside.
Then he noticed that, through the haze, the horizon seemed to curve upward in the soft daylight. He turned around. Behind him, at a distance of about twenty kilometers, the end of the world seemed to lift upward into obscurity as well, as if the earth curved upward rather than down. Yet, he could see a thin vein of a river, or a stream, bending up with the curve of the land. The haze of dust or mild pollution made it difficult to see any further up along the horizon.
The wind riffled his hair, tugging at the folds of his long coat at his feet. He knew then just exactly where he was. He was on the inside surface of an immense O'Neill space cylinder. Only this one seemed infinitely more sophisticated than the two now in existence orbiting the moon's Lagrange points.
It seemed more real , much more functional and less barren than the ones men were currently working on in space. The grasses swayed in the slight breeze, and Lanier could make out a flock of blackbirds rushing through a small cluster of sycamores in a wash below him. He grasped a handful of dirt, and not only did its texture seem real, it broke freely and appeared quite healthy in this fragile and highly artificial environment. Up ahead, he noticed deer droppings, and in several spots on the hillside it seemed as if the turf had taken on a bit of overgrazing. Sheep , he realized.
Lanier turned his inner ear toward the music, and listened. Yes, he could see it now. He pictured the whole craft spinning in space as graceful as a prima ballerina in a slow pirouette on a stage surrounded by darkness and iridescent faces. The faces were the stars.
He climbed a nearby hill. He couldn't see any cities or prominent structures from where he stood. This strip of the cylinder seemed hilly and rugged. Little could be seen. He snapped out his amplified binoculars. Above him, almost to the zenith, he scanned the terrain overhead for any sign of cities or villages.
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