Men wearing space uniforms, or the
dress of other worlds, women--they strode, wept, mingled with the
monsters to laugh, curse, threaten.
Dane guessed that Lumbrilo sent now against the Terran the harvest of
the medic's own memories. He shut his eyes against this enforced
intrusion upon another's past, but not before he saw Tau's face,
strained, fined to the well-shaped bones beneath the thin flesh, holding
still a twisted smile as he met each memory, accepted the pain it held
for him, and set it aside unshaken.
"This, too, has no power any longer, man who walks in the dark."
Dane opened his eyes. Those crowding wraiths were fading, losing
substance. Lumbrilo crouched, his lips drawn back from his teeth, his
hatred plain to read.
"I am not clay to be molded by your hands, Lumbrilo. And now I say that
the time has come to call an end--"
Tau raised his hands slowly once again, holding them away from his body,
palms pointing earthward. And beneath them, on either side of the
spaceman, two black shadows gathered on the surface of the ground.
"You have fettered yourself with your own bounds.
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