Read Online Logan Trilogy by William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: William F Nolan, George Clayton Johnson
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closed his eyes.
He would open them in a moment, in just another moment after a moment and then he would tell Jess and would open them and in a moment he would and it was so, easy to keep them closed for a moment and the wind had gone and that was strange and there was no cold and he could open them in a moment and there was no problem and he would. He would.
Logan slept.
He opened his eyes to a frieze of crystal beasts dancing in a blue fire. He blinked. The frieze wavered, became solid. Extending to the limit of his vision was a capering host of otters conjured from diamond ice. And more.
Logan sat up to an incredible tableau.
There, a fish of sequined rainbow scales caught in a zircon wave.
There, a tusked walrus with mirror-ice eyes, his body veined with blacks and purples.
There, a flight of crystal birds in a crystal sky.
Planes and projections. An intricate scrimshaw of glassed fretwork, rising in prismed tiers, shot through with light jewels: dandelion yellows, crimson lakes, cerulean blues, flashing and reflecting, illuminated by a barrel-sized lamp of carved bone which sizzled and flickered. And supporting this fragile lacework was an immense column, angling up into the vaulted roof of the ice cavern.
Logan felt bottled in the heart of a teardrop chandelier.
The room reeked of burning seal oil.
Jess lay on the floor beside him. Her eyes stirred She awakened, gasped.
"Overwhelming, isn't it?" said a fluting voice.
A creature stood before them on chromed legs. From the midpoint of his sternum to his hips he was coils and cables. One hand was a cutting tool. His head was half flesh, half metal.
"A machine!" said Jess.
"No! not machine, nor man, but a perfect fusion of the two and better than either. You see before you the consummate artist whose magnificent creativity flows from manmetal. The man conceives in hunger and passion; the metal executes with micrometric exactitude. No human sculptor could match the greatness here displayed."
So this was Box: an insane half-man living in a self-created world of fantasy. Logan wondered just how much humanity remained in him. "We were told you could help us find food."
"Dolts!" shrilled Box. "Barbarians! Are you no more than walking bellies?"
"We're human and we're hungry," snapped Logan. "Don't you eat?"
"I feed the soul, not the body. Art before hunger!"
Jessica's eyes ranged about the glittering chamber. "All of this—it is beautiful," she said softly.
Half of Box smiled. "Ah—but wait for the winds." His voice hushed. "Then my birds sing. My great walrus breathes. My palace chimes and bells. And the deep grottoes whisper my name: Box…Box…
Bahhhhhxxxsss." His voice sobbed into silence.
"Birds, fish, animals…" said Jess, with a note of wonder. "They're all here."
"Yes, all the creatures. Except Man." Box scowled. "They chase me. They want my metal. How they'd love to pry me apart and build a stove from my heart! My legs would make fine knives, fishhooks, spears. But they are blind moles who trip and stumble. I've seen their stiffening bodies on the ice.
Worthless. Ugly. Wind-warped. But now—I have found you. New ones. Fresh ones. Lovely ones.
Suitable models for my masterwork. You will pose for me!"
"If we pose, do we get food?" asked Logan.
"I have no food."
"Then why should we do it?"
"Why? Do you know how long this temple will last? Not twenty-one years, or twenty-one thousand years—but twenty-one thousand thousand years! And you'll be a part of it, the crown jewel in my collection. Ages will roll. Milleniums. And you'll be here—the two of you—eternally frozen in a lovers' embrace."
Logan turned away.
Box became apprehensive; his voice took on a wheedling tone. "What can I give you?"
"Nothing," said Logan. "We need two things, food and a way out. You have no food, and there's no way out."
"Ah, but there is," tempted Box.
"Then why are you still here? Why don't you escape?"
"And leave my white wonderland, leave the
He would open them in a moment, in just another moment after a moment and then he would tell Jess and would open them and in a moment he would and it was so, easy to keep them closed for a moment and the wind had gone and that was strange and there was no cold and he could open them in a moment and there was no problem and he would. He would.
Logan slept.
He opened his eyes to a frieze of crystal beasts dancing in a blue fire. He blinked. The frieze wavered, became solid. Extending to the limit of his vision was a capering host of otters conjured from diamond ice. And more.
Logan sat up to an incredible tableau.
There, a fish of sequined rainbow scales caught in a zircon wave.
There, a tusked walrus with mirror-ice eyes, his body veined with blacks and purples.
There, a flight of crystal birds in a crystal sky.
Planes and projections. An intricate scrimshaw of glassed fretwork, rising in prismed tiers, shot through with light jewels: dandelion yellows, crimson lakes, cerulean blues, flashing and reflecting, illuminated by a barrel-sized lamp of carved bone which sizzled and flickered. And supporting this fragile lacework was an immense column, angling up into the vaulted roof of the ice cavern.
Logan felt bottled in the heart of a teardrop chandelier.
The room reeked of burning seal oil.
Jess lay on the floor beside him. Her eyes stirred She awakened, gasped.
"Overwhelming, isn't it?" said a fluting voice.
A creature stood before them on chromed legs. From the midpoint of his sternum to his hips he was coils and cables. One hand was a cutting tool. His head was half flesh, half metal.
"A machine!" said Jess.
"No! not machine, nor man, but a perfect fusion of the two and better than either. You see before you the consummate artist whose magnificent creativity flows from manmetal. The man conceives in hunger and passion; the metal executes with micrometric exactitude. No human sculptor could match the greatness here displayed."
So this was Box: an insane half-man living in a self-created world of fantasy. Logan wondered just how much humanity remained in him. "We were told you could help us find food."
"Dolts!" shrilled Box. "Barbarians! Are you no more than walking bellies?"
"We're human and we're hungry," snapped Logan. "Don't you eat?"
"I feed the soul, not the body. Art before hunger!"
Jessica's eyes ranged about the glittering chamber. "All of this—it is beautiful," she said softly.
Half of Box smiled. "Ah—but wait for the winds." His voice hushed. "Then my birds sing. My great walrus breathes. My palace chimes and bells. And the deep grottoes whisper my name: Box…Box…
Bahhhhhxxxsss." His voice sobbed into silence.
"Birds, fish, animals…" said Jess, with a note of wonder. "They're all here."
"Yes, all the creatures. Except Man." Box scowled. "They chase me. They want my metal. How they'd love to pry me apart and build a stove from my heart! My legs would make fine knives, fishhooks, spears. But they are blind moles who trip and stumble. I've seen their stiffening bodies on the ice.
Worthless. Ugly. Wind-warped. But now—I have found you. New ones. Fresh ones. Lovely ones.
Suitable models for my masterwork. You will pose for me!"
"If we pose, do we get food?" asked Logan.
"I have no food."
"Then why should we do it?"
"Why? Do you know how long this temple will last? Not twenty-one years, or twenty-one thousand years—but twenty-one thousand thousand years! And you'll be a part of it, the crown jewel in my collection. Ages will roll. Milleniums. And you'll be here—the two of you—eternally frozen in a lovers' embrace."
Logan turned away.
Box became apprehensive; his voice took on a wheedling tone. "What can I give you?"
"Nothing," said Logan. "We need two things, food and a way out. You have no food, and there's no way out."
"Ah, but there is," tempted Box.
"Then why are you still here? Why don't you escape?"
"And leave my white wonderland, leave the
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