Read Online No World of Their Own by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online

voice came from nowhere, cool and somehow not human.
    â€œGeneral tour,” said Chanthavar. “The usual. Here, put a hundred solars in this slot, each of you. The place is expensive, but fun.”
    They relaxed on what seemed a dry, fluffy cloud, and were carried aloft. The guards formed an impassive huddle some distance behind. Doors opened for them. They hung under a perfumed sky of surrealistic stars and moons, looking down on what appeared to be a deserted landscape not of Earth.
    â€œPart illusion, part real,” said Chanthavar. “You can have any experience you can imagine here, for the right price. Look …”
    The cloud drifted through a rain which was blue and red and golden fire, tingling as it licked over their bodies. Great triumphant chords of music welled around them. Through the whirling flames, Langley glimpsed girls of an impossible loveliness, dancing on the air.
    Then they were underwater, or so it seemed, with tropical fish swimming through a green translucence, corals and waving fronds underneath. Then they were in a red-lit cavern like Hell, where the music was a hot pulse in the blood. They shot at darting containers which landed to offer a drink when hit. Then they were in a huge and jolly company of people, singing and laughing and dancing and guzzling. A young female giggled and tugged at Langley’s arm. Briefly, he wavered. Then he said harshly: “Scram!”
    Whirled over a roaring waterfall, sporting through air which was somehow thick enough to swim in, gliding past grottos and glens full of strange lights, and into a gray swirling mist where you could not see a yard ahead … Here, in a dripping damp quiet which seemed to mask enormousness, they paused.
    Chanthavar’s shadowy form gestured, and there was a queer taut note in his muffled voice: “Would you like to play Creator? Let me show you …” A ball of raging flame was in his hands, and from it he molded stars and strewed them through sightless immensity. “Suns, planets, moons, people, civilizations and histories—you can make them here as you please.” Two stars crashed into each other. “You can will yourself to see a world grow—any detail no matter how tiny. A million years in a minute or a minute stretched through a million years; you can smite it with thunder, and watch them cower and worship you.” The sun in Chanthavar’s hands glowed dully through the fog. Tiny sparks which were planets flitted around it. “Let me clear the mist; let there be light.”
    Something moved in the wet smoky air. Langley saw a shadow striding between new-born constellations, a thousand light-years tall. A hand gripped his arm, and dimly he saw the pseudo-face beyond.
    He writhed free, yelling, as the other hand sought his neck. A wire loop snaked out, tangling his ankles. There were two men now, closing in on him. Wildly, he groped backward. His fist connected with a cheek which bled artificial blood.
    â€œChanthavar!”
    A blaster crashed, startlingly loud and brilliant. Langley hurled a giant red sun into one of the faces wavering near him. Twisting free of an arm about his waist, he kneed the vague form and heard a grunt of pain.
    â€œLight!” bellowed Chanthavar. “Get rid of this mist!”
    The fog broke, slowly and raggedly. There was a deep clear blackness, the dark of outer vacuum, with stars swimming in it like fireflies. Then full illumination came on.
    A man sprawled dead near Chanthavar, his stomach torn open by an energy bolt. The guards milled uneasily. Otherwise they were alone. The room was bare, coldly lit.
    For a long moment, he and the agent stared at each other. Blaustein and Matsumoto were gone.
    â€œIs … this … part of the fun?” asked Langley through his teeth.
    â€œNo.” A hunter’s light flickered in Chanthavar’s eyes. He laughed. “Beautiful job! I’d like to have those fellows on my