Damien Broderick - Strange Attractors by Original (pdf) (no david read aloud txt) 📕

years in the heart of the star-spanning Trivashti empire, we walked

in the emperor Sesemene’s palace.

‘Why all this in a tomb? He could have lived here.’ Once again

Fainey-Juveh and I were joined in understanding.

‘Yes,’ was all he said then.

A new vision began to grow. O r I felt his presence. Sesemene.

Not dead these centuries of centuries, only sleeping. Awaiting the

coming of those with the science to return him to wakeful life. And

we had the science — not Fainey-Juveh and me, but the worlds to

which we belonged. Sesemene the Eagle, Bubutap, Priest and Lord

of Bubutap, High O rderer of Orbits, Chief and Marshal of

Armies, Trivash Lord of Trivash, King of Lives, Lord Provider,

Vulture of Fomalhaut, King of Kings, Sesemene Emperor . . .

sleeping there. O ut of this unparalleled mausoleum Sesemene

would rise again — suddenly I was afire with this knowledge, this

certainty, for what can be done will be done — look at the cosmos,

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look at all the weird things they do, all the peoples poking prying

trying building daring dream ing daring spreading seething

through the myriad myriad stars. There is only one law — what can

be done will be done — and this great presence in whose shadow we

crept from pillared cavern to pillared cavern filled with the treasures of numberless antique worlds would live again.

Sesemene.

Fainey-Juveh with his adopted beloved daughters oooooed and

aaaaaed at the knowledges his machines like trained dogs sniffed

out for him and brought tail-wagging upon their displays. This

pearly sphere upon a tall baroque stem was not solid but carried in

its interior some intricate mechanism — for what? This unknown

wooden hand implement had originated in the single torrid billion-

year forest of Orkan when the trees were yet young. And this object

floating in golden amniotic fluid within glass was the foetus of a

smaller creature resembling a m an — what? — and why?

Speaking tautly, dogged by the fawning machines, we came at

last to the tomb of tombs.

Unease had arisen in me, I was a child about to commit some

childish crime for which I must then go in fear of discovery. I

wanted to turn back, I wanted to get out of this — let the buried

stay buried. But I could not flee and earn thus the disappointment

of Fainey-Juveh. And another part of me did not want to.

O ur feet had brought us to great sword-blue metal doors with

ornate wheels beside. But we did not need those wheels to open

them. The archaeologist had not yet entered this inmost sanctuary

of the undead, but he and his iron dog servants, in preparation for

the official entry, had barnacled an airlock onto one of the lower

panels, checked it, flooded sterile air beyond, then left it to await

the coming of the first men in tens of thousands of silent years. Why

had he held back? Why not a private glimpse? Was the need of his

strange and generous nature to share the wonder of his discovery

more powerful than the summons of that most magnificent autocrat lying within? O r did he fear to enter alone?

So through the cramped lock we peeled out of our softsuits,

placing them folded, little more than bubble helmets in a row. By

something in our m anner Limini and Pixr who had been regaining

their laughter were quieted. We were in an antechamber full of personal things. Sesemene watched fierce-eyed and multiplied over my shoulders. Indeed there were half a dozen eagle-faced dummies

bearing ceremonial outfits of metal and gems. Two were sets of

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Anthony Peacey

dress arm our for a grandly muscled chest, helmets with springing

double plumes, gauntlets and greaves, and codpieces proportioned

to house the testicles of a bull, over which should lie (the jutting

downcurving languid but arrogant platinum sheath graphically

depicted) a penis of heroic design. Pixr shrieked with laughter,

pointing, was joined by Limini when Fainey-Juveh and Praliya

smiled. Then he hurried us on.

And I stood before —

There slept within