felt anguish, not for himself but for everyone else he would be damning if he failed. 'Won't you just help me with Evoe and leave the earth alone?'
'Even if I were indifferent to my survival, I can't help you by myself. The Rimstalkers have the weapons
that you need to confront the zotl, and they won't give them to you. They are repaying me an old debt, and it is a rare favor from them. I would not waste it in a mere act of altruism. If you won't help me, I can't help you. I'm sorry, Carl.'
Through a spell of sinewed time, Carl struggled with the thought of endangering the earth, until memories of Evoe in the claret light of Midwerld swarmed him. And-with trepidation clanging in him-he decided to gamble the entire human race against Chaos for the love of a woman.
A shriek, a scream, a shout of submission; a music of horror was his reply. But it was muffled in the silken chords of his suspended body, and what he mentally focalized was: 'How do I handle the zotl?' 'Your armor is built around a light lance,' the eld skyle responded with an alacrity spurred by gratitude. 'The lance conducts every range of light, from visible luminescence in all colors through bolts of lightning to gravity waves. And its use will be inbuilt into your brain. You'll be able to fly and maneuver more deftly than needlecraft. And the lance also carries inertial pulses that can pierce and destroy anything. The zotl have no defense against it.'
'How will I get the manure?' Carl asked, the clockwork of his fate clicking with logic. 'I'll need money to buy and warehouse the stuff:'
'You'll have unlimited funds. With the lynk and the light lancer armor, you will receive a third and final artifact, an interfacing magnetic plate=-an imp. It looks identical to a charge card, only it's pure white: Insert it into any bank computer system and you will be credited with large sums of real capital. The imp will also serve as your lynk-monitor. When something malefic of the Werld passes through the lynk to earth, the imp will use a tone to alert you. You must respond at once to prevent the infestation of your planet. Use your light lance to exterminate whatever comes through.'
'And if the authorities catch on to me?'
'You must be discreet. The power in your hands will be a great temptation. You must resist the urge to use your powers for personal gain. That will only further endanger Evoe and the security of your planet. For the ten weeks that the lynk will be inertially converting the payload, you must try to lie low. We will be out of direct contact. You will be on your own. lf you fail, there is nothing I can do to save you--or Evoe.'
'I won't fail,' Carl insisted, though his insides were a vortex of anxiety.
'Good. Then I have one last strand of advice for you. Forget your name. Don't use it.'
'What'll I call myself?'
'Make up an unusual name. Something with wit, perhaps, but something obviously unreal, partaking of the anonymity of the archetypes. Why? If you have any dealings with your fellow humans ,and they believe you are fundamentally no diferent from them, they will try to take your power. They may succeed. After all, your weapons are just artifacts. And that would ruin the whole venture. I advise you to stay unknown, nameless or myth-named. Hide in your armor if necessary. You will be surprised how comfortable light lancer armor is.
'But what'll I tell people who ask for my name?'
'In the twentieth of a cycle that you've lived in the Werld, have you ever pondered your newness and why you are so unlike you used to be?'
'teen.'
'You admire your hairy scalp, the sharper definition of your musculature, your keener mind. But who was that bald, podgy, unaware self you lost--and where did it go?'
The pause expected a reply. 'I was converted by you. You extracted my defects and built me up again.'
'I ate you, absorbed your inertia, the substance of your place in the cosmos. And I excreted you. Your perfection is my waste.
You are toxic to me. You are made of my sludge, animated by my own inertial resonance my pleasure-at the invigorating taste of your old self, its wholeness, its place inside the flow, one hundred and thirty billion years deep in the life of the universe. You are just the shade of that orgasm. The real you has been nutritively dispersed throughout the five-space range of my being. Carl is gone. And the you that will be returning to earth is not, at the core of things, human. Your inertia is unearthly. You belong to the Werld. And the Werld will be much with you. Remain aloof from the humans. Use a name that will bolster your solitude.'
Carl hung mute in the staring blankness. He was nothing. He was just the urge of his senses folded within the mighty power of the eld skyle. He wasn't even human.
`A name will be provided,' the eld skyle said. 'It is best that you not think too deeply now. What I have told you has been imprinted in your brain and will be available as you need it. Skills will, come with the weapons. All you need is within you.'
'You could be a priest.'
'In a moment, I will drop you through a lynk that falls the length of the Werld. It empties into the black depths of Rataros.
Endure the journey and learn. Few humans, Foke, or droppings have, witnessed the mystery of the Rimstalkers. Glad-fortune to you, Carl.'
Carl had no opportunity to wonder then why the eld skyle called him Carl after the spiel about not being Carl, though shortly the question of his identity would
change the world. At that moment, however, he was mindless, jolted by an abrupt plunge.
He was no longer hanging in a blue void but falling, tumbling, flying toward a waterdrop of light. The opening irised closer, and he shot out into the silverhot mountain-shouldering spaces of the Welkyn. His throat unclenched, and the streaming air filled his lungs.
Whales of river-glistening skyles sailed past and then the choked blackness was over him again. The no-world endlessly unwound
Midwerld's violet shadow-eagled clouds flung by and the sudden black again.
