World's End

Page 146

crouch strengthless at the foot of the boulders, gasping with helpless gratitude and frustration.

"Who cares?" I

shout at my demon. "Who cares about a dead city? Who cares why they left?" My frustration turns to killing despair, confusion; I feel my mind falling apart again. Gods, I really am insane. ...

I bury my face in my hands. It's no use.

"The clues were all there. They'd been there all along, of course," a voice says ironically; speaking in Sandhi, the language of my home. It is a very familiar voice.

I open my eyes. A ghost haloed in blue stands before me, with a face so familiar that for a moment I am

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JOAN D. VINGE

dumbstruck by the sight of it. My father--as he must have looked before I was born. But then I realize that it is not my father ... it is me.

Me--and yet a stranger, years older. A trefoil shines

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like a star among the medals and honors that crust my uniform. Seeing them, I seem to know when and where

I was given each one, even though I've never seen them before. I sit watching as my other self goes on speaking, smoothly, with almost cynical ease--as I have never been able to speak before a crowd. He gazes at me but through me, toward his phantom audience: ". . . though at the time I didn't consider myself lucky to be in the position. . . ." He smiles, but his eyes are hiding secrets.

I--he lifts his hands. There are no scars on his wrists.

My heart constricts. He pauses, waiting for laughter. I

hear the laughter inside my head, and wonder what I

would see behind me if I turned to look. I do not turn to look. "I remember how I told myself at the start that someone would find the answer, if they'd only ask a sibyl the right questions. . . ."

He glances down, grimacing at some private memory, and his face--my face-- begins to fade.

"Wait! Wait!" I reach out, reach through him. "What questions?" My hand meets solid flesh, closes over an arm. I jerk back from the unexpected contact.

"BZ?" a hoarse voice murmurs in Sandhi. "BZ, is that you? Is it really you?" A familiar Kharemoughi face hangs before mine again--familiar, and yet profoundly

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changed.