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Authors: Margaret St. Clair
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The candle burned. There was too much wind. Not until he fenced it in with a protective chimney of ends of wood did it settle to pulsating upward, its heart a pool of liquid green.
For a moment he felt disgusted with himself. The candle was from Hong Kong, cheap, an out-of-date gadget, a toy for children. (How had he got it? He couldn't remember. Perhaps somebody had given it to him.) That a man of science should turn to such a cheap trick for solace was actually shameful. But he kept on looking into the flame.
The air seemed very still. A mist was drifting in. Bennet changed his position cautiously. He felt he had been looking at the pulsing flame a long time. Expectation was growing in him. The pit of his stomach felt tense.
There was a splashing, seemingly a long way out in the water. He couldn't think what might have made it. The visibility was getting steadily poorer. He might have a difficult time finding his way back to his cabin ... What did it matter? What was important now was to hold his mind quiet and steady, and watch the flame.
The fog had grown quite thick when he heard a muffled splash close at hand. It startled him. Had he, perhaps, slipped into a light trance? He got to his feet, peering eagerly, "his fear for his bones forgotten. Could it be ... incredibly, that ... An almost painful thrill ran over his thighs.
The fog deadened sound. Suddenly, quite near him, a figure appeared out of the night. It was dark, glistening wetly, with the face a round blank. It held a spear in one hand. After an instant Bennet decided it was a scuba diver. Disappointment made him sick.
The figure pushed back the faceplate and spoke. "Hello, Mr. Bennet." It was a neighbor of his, Kate Wimbold.
"Hello," he replied. " ... You've been diving at night? When it's so dark? I don't understand how you could see anything."
"There's always some light," she answered vaguely. "The abalone are dying," she continued after a pause.
"Abalone?" Bennet, torn between disappointment and a hope that, after all, Kate Wimbold might be what he had been waiting for, felt that the conversation was getting out of hand.
"Yes, out on the rocks. The water is warm ... I found this on the beach." She held something out to him.
Bennet accepted it. It was a fat silver disk, bearing on one side a woman's helmeted head, on the other an owl. It was faintly warm to the touch. It must be a coin, a Greek coin.
After a moment he gave it back to her. He was oddly eager to get rid of it. The girl stared at him, her face seeming to get bigger and bigger until it filled the whole field of his vision. "Don't you remember the covenants ?" she said.
-
I came back to myself briefly. I had been untied from the redwood log and was lying on some hard surface. I had time to wonder whether this were the particular Bennet who was said to be the source of the cells from which all the Dancers had been grown. Then back to being Bennet again.
-
The cabin was small, fit by a naked lightbulb, but it looked out over the water. There was a constant susurrus of surf.
The man in the green whipcord suit turned from the window and said, "Bennet, you've been faking the tests."
"I don't deny it," Bennet answered from the plastic swivel chair where he was sitting. "You're O'Hare, I suppose, dressed up like a county health department worker. I wonder I didn't recognize you before. We've spent a lot of time together."
"I was careful you shouldn't," O'Hare
For a moment he felt disgusted with himself. The candle was from Hong Kong, cheap, an out-of-date gadget, a toy for children. (How had he got it? He couldn't remember. Perhaps somebody had given it to him.) That a man of science should turn to such a cheap trick for solace was actually shameful. But he kept on looking into the flame.
The air seemed very still. A mist was drifting in. Bennet changed his position cautiously. He felt he had been looking at the pulsing flame a long time. Expectation was growing in him. The pit of his stomach felt tense.
There was a splashing, seemingly a long way out in the water. He couldn't think what might have made it. The visibility was getting steadily poorer. He might have a difficult time finding his way back to his cabin ... What did it matter? What was important now was to hold his mind quiet and steady, and watch the flame.
The fog had grown quite thick when he heard a muffled splash close at hand. It startled him. Had he, perhaps, slipped into a light trance? He got to his feet, peering eagerly, "his fear for his bones forgotten. Could it be ... incredibly, that ... An almost painful thrill ran over his thighs.
The fog deadened sound. Suddenly, quite near him, a figure appeared out of the night. It was dark, glistening wetly, with the face a round blank. It held a spear in one hand. After an instant Bennet decided it was a scuba diver. Disappointment made him sick.
The figure pushed back the faceplate and spoke. "Hello, Mr. Bennet." It was a neighbor of his, Kate Wimbold.
"Hello," he replied. " ... You've been diving at night? When it's so dark? I don't understand how you could see anything."
"There's always some light," she answered vaguely. "The abalone are dying," she continued after a pause.
"Abalone?" Bennet, torn between disappointment and a hope that, after all, Kate Wimbold might be what he had been waiting for, felt that the conversation was getting out of hand.
"Yes, out on the rocks. The water is warm ... I found this on the beach." She held something out to him.
Bennet accepted it. It was a fat silver disk, bearing on one side a woman's helmeted head, on the other an owl. It was faintly warm to the touch. It must be a coin, a Greek coin.
After a moment he gave it back to her. He was oddly eager to get rid of it. The girl stared at him, her face seeming to get bigger and bigger until it filled the whole field of his vision. "Don't you remember the covenants ?" she said.
-
I came back to myself briefly. I had been untied from the redwood log and was lying on some hard surface. I had time to wonder whether this were the particular Bennet who was said to be the source of the cells from which all the Dancers had been grown. Then back to being Bennet again.
-
The cabin was small, fit by a naked lightbulb, but it looked out over the water. There was a constant susurrus of surf.
The man in the green whipcord suit turned from the window and said, "Bennet, you've been faking the tests."
"I don't deny it," Bennet answered from the plastic swivel chair where he was sitting. "You're O'Hare, I suppose, dressed up like a county health department worker. I wonder I didn't recognize you before. We've spent a lot of time together."
"I was careful you shouldn't," O'Hare
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