He had outgrown the humanity with which he had been endowed and that outgrowing hurt. It left him weak and empty, outside the comfort and the warmth.
He crouched upon the floor and wrapped his arms about him. This little space, he thought, even this tiny room which, crouched, he occupied — even this space did not belong to him nor did he belong to it. There was nowhere for him. He was a tangled nothingness which had been spawned by accident. He had never been meant to be. He was an intruder. An intruder, perhaps, upon this planet only, but the humanity that still clung to him made this planet matter — the only place in all the universe that mattered.
In time, he might shuck off the humanness, but that, if ever, would be millennia from now. And it mattered to him now. Now and the Earth, not forever and the universe.
He felt the sympathy reaching out for him and he knew dimly where it came from and, even in his bitterness and despair, he knew it was a trap and cried out against it.
He struggled feebly, but they still kept reaching out to snare him and he heard the words and thoughts that passed between the two of them and the words that they spoke to him, although he did not understand them.
They reached out and took him and folded him close against them and their alien warmth held him secure and tight and safe.
He sank into the comfort of forgetting and the battered core of his agony seemed to melt away in a world where there was nothing but the Three of them — just he and those two others, bound together for all eternity.
29
A December wind, sharp-toothed and thin, keened across the land, stripping the last of the brown and shrivelled leaves from the lone oak tree that stood halfway up the hill. Atop the hill, where the cemetery stood, the giant pines moaned in the chill of the dying year. Ragged clouds raced across the sky and there was a smell of coming snow riding on the wind. Two trim blue figures stood at the cemetery gates, the pale winter sunlight, shining for a moment through the broken clouds, gleaming off the polished buttons and the rifle barrels. To one side of the gate a small group of sightseers huddled, peering through the iron bars at the whiteness of the chapel.
'Not many here today, Ryan Wilson told Elaine Horton. 'When the weather was good, especially on week-ends, we had quite a crowd.
He shucked the collar of his grey robe close about his neck.
'Not that I approve of it, he said. 'That's Theodore Roberts up there. I don't care what shape he takes, it still is Theodore Roberts.
'Dr Roberts, I take it, said Elaine, 'was well thought of in Willow Grove.
'That he was, said Wilson. 'He was the only one of us who ever gained distinction. The town is proud of him.
'And you resent all this?
'I don't know if you can say resentment. So long as a proper decorum is maintained, I don't think we mind. But at times the crowds take on a holiday aspect and that we do not like.
'Perhaps, said Elaine, 'I should not have come. I thought a long time about it. But the more I thought about it, the more it seemed I must.
'You were his friend, said Wilson gravely. 'You have a right to come. I don't imagine he had too many friends.
The small crowd of huddled people had drifted from the gates and was starting down the hill.
'On a day like this, said Wilson, 'there's not much for them to see. So they don't stay very long. Just the chapel. In the good weather, of course, the chapel doors were open and you could catch a glimpse inside. But even then, there wasn't much to see. To begin with just a patch of darkness, a patch of nothingness, and you couldn't always see it. But now, when the doors are open, you get a sense of shining, of something shining there. At first it didn't shine.
You couldn't see a thing. Just like looking into a hole that hung just above the floor. Everything blotted out. A shield of some sort, I suppose. But now, gradually, the shield, the defences, whatever they may be, have been dropped and you can see it shining there. 'Will they let me in? Elaine asked.
'I think they will, said Wilson. 'I'll send word to the captain. You can't blame Space Administration for clamping down so hard. The responsibility for whatever's up there rests solely with them. They started the project two hundred years ago. What happened here would not have happened if it hadn't been for Project Werewolf.
Elaine shuddered.
'You'll pardon me, said Wilson. 'I should not have said that.
'Why shouldn't you? she asked. 'Unpleasant as it is, that's what it's called by everyone.
'I told you about that day he came into the office, Wilson said. 'He was a nice young man.
'He was a frightened man, said Elaine, 'running from the world. If he had only told me…
'Perhaps then he didn't know…
'He knew he was in trouble. The senator and I would have helped him. Dr Daniels would have helped him.
'He didn't want to involve you. It was not the sort of thing one would involve his friends in. And he wanted to keep your friendship. He was afraid, more than likely, if he told you, that he would lose the friendship.
'I can see, said Elaine, 'how he might have thought so. And I didn't even try to make him tell me. I blame myself for that. But I didn't want to hurt him. I thought he should have a chance of finding the answer for himself.
The crowd came down the hill, went by the two of them and continued down the road.
30
The pyramid stood to the left, and in front of the row of seats. It glowed dully, pulsating slightly, and out from it hung a curtain of light.
'Don't go too close, the captain said. 'You might frighten it.
Elaine did not answer. She stared at the pyramid and the horror and the wonder of it rose in her throat to choke her.
'You can go down two or three more rows of seats, the captain said. 'It might be dangerous if you tried to get too close. We don't really know.
Words forced themselves up and out of her. 'Frighten it? she asked.
'I don't know, the captain said. 'That's the way it acts. As if it might be frightened of us. Or suspicious of us. Or maybe just doesn't want anything to do with us. It wasn't like this until recently. It was blacked out, a piece of emptiness, as if there were nothing there. Creating a world of its own, with all defences up.
'And now he knows that we won't harm him?
'Him?
'Andrew Blake, she said.
'You knew him, miss? Mr Wilson said so.
'I saw him three times, she said.
'About knowing we won't hurt him, the captain said. 'Maybe that is it. Some of the scientists think so. A lot of them have tried to study it — pardon me, Miss Horton — have tried to study him. But they don't get too far. Nothing much to work on.
'They're sure? she asked. 'They're sure it's Andrew Blake?
'Down underneath the pyramid, the captain told her. 'Down at the base of it, on the right-hand side.
'The robe! she said. 'That was the one I gave him!
'Yes. The one that he was wearing. It's down there on the floor. Just the corner of it sticking out.
She took a step down the aisle.
'Not too far, the captain warned. 'Not too close.
She took another step and halted.
This is foolish, she thought. If he is there, he knows. He'd know that it is me and he would not be frightened — he'd know I have for him nothing but my love.
The pyramid pulsated gently.