He existed in all the many dimensions of the multiverse. Yet he was bound by the single multiversal dimension of Time almost as much as anyone else. He had cast off chains of space but was tied, as perhaps all denizens of the multiverse would always be, by the steady-paced, imperturbable prowl of Time, which brooked no halt, which condoned no tampering with its movement, whether to slow it or to speed it.
Time, the changer, could not be changed. Space, perhaps, the material environment, could be conquered. Time, never. It held the secret of the First Cause - a secret not known even to the Originators who had built the great, finite multi-verse as a seeding bed - a womb - for their successors. But should the human race survive the birth pangs and succeed the Originators, Asquiol felt that it would not present a key to the secret.
Perhaps, in many generations - each generation measured as a stage in Man's evolution - it would be found. But would the solution to the puzzle be welcomed? Not by his race - but maybe its great-grand-children would be capable of accepting and retaining such knowledge. For once they replaced the Originators they would have the task of creating their successors. And so it would continue, perhaps ad infinitum - to what greater purpose?
He stopped this reverie abruptly. In this respect he was a pragmatist. He could not concern himself with such pointless speculation.
There was a lull in the Game. The coming of Roffrey's ship and its defeat of the aliens had evidently non-plussed them for a while. But Roffrey, so far, had not experienced the real struggle which was between minds, trained minds capable of performing the most savage outrage there could be - destroying the id, the ego, the very qualities that set man above other beasts.
For a moment he wondered about Talfryn, but stopped the train of thoughts since it led to another question troubling him.
Asquiol allowed his concentration to cease for a moment as he enjoyed the rich nourishment that experience of dwelling on all planes of the multiverse gave him. He thought: I am like a child in a womb, save that I know I am in the womb. Yet I am a child with a part missing, I sense it. What is it? What will complete me? It is as if the part would not only complete me, but complete itself at the same time.
As was happening increasingly, he was interrupted by a sharp signal from the communicator.
He leaned forward in his chair, the strange shadows and curious half-seen images dancing about his. As he moved, the area of space between him and the communicator seemed to spray apart, flow and move spasmodically like water disturbed by the intrusion of an alien body. This happened whenever he moved, although he himself was only aware of his passing his arm through many objects which exerted a very faint pressure upon his limbs.
He could not only see the multiverse, he could also feel it, smell it, taste it. Yet this was little help in dealing with the aliens, for he found it almost as difficult as the rest of his race to understand the actual psychology of the non-human attackers.
The communicator came to life.
'Yes?' he said.
Again, Mordan had not turned on his own receiver, so that whereas Asquiol could see him, he need not subject himself to the eye-straining sight of Asquiol's scintillating body.
'A few messages,' Mordan went through them quickly. 'Hospital ship OP8 has disappeared. We heard that the I.T. field was becoming erratic. They were repairing it when they just… faded out of space. Any instructions?'
'I saw that happen. They're safe enough where they are. No instructions. If they're lucky they'll be able to rejoin the fleet if they can adjust their field.'
'Roffrey and Talfryn, the two men who succeeded in withstanding the B.R. effect so successfully, have been subjected to all Professor Selinsky's tests and he is studying the 'results now. In the meantime they are being taught how to play the Game.'
'What else?' Asquiol observed Mordan's worried expression.
"There were two women on Roffrey's ship. One of them was the mad woman - Mary Roffrey. The other calls herself Willow Kovacs. I have already forwarded this information to you, you remember.' 'Yes. Is that all?'
'Miss Kovacs asked me to pass a message on to you. She says that you were personally acquainted on Migaa and later in the Shifter. She would like it if you could spare the time to get in touch with her. The ship is on 050L metres for tight contact.' 'Thank you.'
Asquiol switched out and sat back in his seat. There was in him still some part of the strong emotion he had felt for Willow. But he had had to rid himself of it twice. Once when she had declined to follow him to Roth, once after he met the Originators. His impression of her was, by now, a little vague - so much had happened.
He had had to dispense with many valuable emotions when he assumed control of the fleet. This was out of no spirit of ambition or will to dominate. It was simply that his position demanded maximum control of his mind. Therefore emotions had to be sacrificed where they could not directly contribute to what he was doing. He had become, in so far, as ordinary human relationships were included, a very lonely man. His perception of the multiverse had more than compensated for the breaks in human contact he had been forced to make, but he rather wished that he had not had to make those breaks.
Normally, he never acted on impulse, yet now he found himself turning his communicator dial to the wavelength 050L metres. When it was done he waited. He felt almost nervous.
Willow saw her screen leap into life and she quickly adjusted her own controls with the information indicated above the screen. She acted hurriedly, excitedly, and then the sight she saw froze her for a moment.
After that, her movements were slower as she stared fascinatedly at the screen.
'Asquiol?' she said in a faltering voice.
'Hello, Willow.'
The man still bore the familiar facial characteristics of the Asquiol who had once raged through the galaxy spreading chaos and laughter in his wake.
She remembered the insouciant, moody youth she had loved. But this… this Satan incarnates sitting in its chair like some fallen archangel - this golden sight bore no relation to him as she remembered him.
'Asquiol?'
'I'm deeply sorry,' he said, and smiled at her with a melancholy look for an archangel to wear.
Her face reflected the peculiar dancing effect which the image on the screen produced. She stepped back from it and stood with her shoulders drooping. And now she had only the memory of love.
'I should have taken my chance,' she said.
'There was only one, I'm afraid. If I'd known, I perhaps could have convinced you to come with us. As it was I didn't want to endanger your life.'
'I understand,' she said. Tough for me, eh?'
He didn't reply. Instead he was glancing behind him.
'I'll have to switch out - our opponents are starting another round of the Game. Goodbye, Willow. Perhaps, if we win, you and I can have another talk.'
But she was silent as the golden, brilliant image faded from the screen.
SIXTEEN
O'Hara turned to his companions.
'This is your trial,' he said. 'Get ready.'
There was a faint humming sensation in the huge, circular chamber.
O'Hara had adjusted his screen so that he could now see the alien ships swimming through space towards them. Only a few miles from the fleet they came to a stop and remained, in relation to the fleet, in a fixed position.
Roffrey suddenly found himself thinking of his childhood, his mother, what he had thought of his father and how he had envied his brother. Why should he suddenly decide to…? Hastily he pulled himself out of this reverie, feeling slightly nauseated by a random thought that had begun to creep into his conscious mind. This was akin to what he'd experienced earlier, but not so intense.