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Updated: June 13, 2025
Putting it in his pocket, he hurried to an antigrav shaft and floated up to the floor on which Tortha Karf's office was. Tortha Karf was asleep in his chair; Dalla was eating a dinner that had been brought in to her something better than the sandwich and mug of coffee Vall had mentioned to Thalvan Dras.
Ride with me again, sometime." They crossed the landing stage, entered the antigrav shaft, and floated downward; at the end of a hallway, below, Vall opened the door of Tortha Karf's office and ushered her through ahead of him. Tortha Karf, inside the semicircle of his desk, was speaking into a recording phone as they approached. He shut off the machine and waved, a cigarette in his hand.
Gavran Sarn exceeded his Paratime permit, and took one of his pets along. A Venusian nighthound." Tortha Karf's expression did not alter; it merely grew more intense. He used one of the short, semantically ugly terms which serve, in place of profanity, as the emotional release of a race that has forgotten all the taboos and terminologies of supernaturalistic religion and sex-inhibition.
The warlocks began to close ranks, falling back to make a stand under the jutting edge of the roof, where they could protect the orrery. Bork and Ser Perth were among them, bloody but hopelessly determined. One look at Sather Karf's expression was enough to convince Hanson that Malok had cried the truth and that their work could still be undone.
The mandrakes prodded Hanson down from the roc and toward the new building, then left at a wave of the Sather Karf's hand. The old man stared at Hanson intently, but his expression was unreadable. He seemed to have aged a thousand years. Finally he lifted his hand in faint greeting, sighed and dropped slowly to a seat. His face seemed to collapse, with the iron running out of it.
A phone-robot, its slender metal stem topped by a metal globe, slid into the room on its ball-rollers, moving falteringly, like a blind man. It could sense Tortha Karf's electro-encephalic wave-patterns, but it was having trouble locating the source. They all sat motionless, waiting; finally it came over to Tortha Karf's chair and stopped.
The telecast screen in the living room of Tortha Karf's town apartment was still on; in it, a girl with bright red hair danced slowly to soft music against a background of shifting color. The four men who sat in a semicircle facing it sipped their drinks and watched idly. "Ought to be getting some sort of public reaction soon," Tortha Karf said, glancing at his watch.
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