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    //-->The Dancers at the End of Time Book 1An Alien HeatByMichael MoorcockOther books by Michael MoorcockTHE DRAGON IN THE SWORDTHE ETERNAL CHAMPIONTHE SILVER WARRIORSThe Elric SagaELRIC OF MELNIBONÉTHE SAILOR ON THE SEAS OF FATETHE WEIRD OF THE WHITE WOLFTHE VANISHING TOWERTHE BANE OF THE BLACK SWORDSTORMBRINGERThe Chronicles of Castle BrassCOUNT BRASSTHE CHAMPION OF GARATHORMTHE QUEST FOR TANELORNThe Books of CorumTHE KNIGHT OF THE SWORDSTHE QUEEN OF THE SWORDSTHE KING OF THE SWORDSTHE BULL AND THE SPEARTHE OAK AND THE RAMTHE SWORD AND THE STALLIONThe Dancers at the End of TimeAN ALIEN HEATTHE HOLLOW LANDSTHE END OF ALL SONGSLEGENDS FROM THE END OF TIMEA MESSIAH AT THE END OF TIMEFrom Ace HardcoversTHE CITY IN THE AUTUMN STARSAce Books, New YorkThis book was previously published in Great Britain, by Granada Published Ltd., as part of athree-volume edition entitledThe Dancers at the End of Time.THE DANCERS AT THE END OF TIME: AN ALIEN HEATAn Ace Book / published by arrangement with the authorPRINTING HISTORYGranada edition published 1981Ace edition / July 1987All rights reserved.Copyright © 1972 by Michael Moorcock.Cover art by Robert Gould.This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by mimeograph or any other means, withoutpermission. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York,NY 10016.ISBN: 0-441-13660-5Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, 200 Madison Avenue, New York,NY 10016.The name "ACE" and the "A" logo are trademarks belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICAFor Nik Turner, Dave Brock, Bob Calvert, DikMik, Del Dettmar, Terry Ollis, Simon King andLemmy of Hawkwind.ContentsPrologue1 A Conversation with the Iron Orchid2 A Soirée at the Duke of Queens3 A Visitor Who is Less than Entertaining4 Carnelian Conceives a New Affectation5 A Menagerie of Time and Space6 A Pleasing Meeting: The Iron Orchid Devises a Scheme7 To Steal a Space-Traveller8 A Promise from Mrs. Amelia Underwood: A Mystery9 Something of an Idyll: Something of a Tragedy10 The Granting of Her Heart's Desire11 The Quest for Bromley12 The Curious Comings and Goings of Snoozer Vine13 The Road to the Gallows: Old Friends in New Guises14 A Further Conversation with the Iron OrchidThe silver lips of lilies virginal,The full deep bosom of the enchanted rosePlease less than flowers glass-hid from frosts and snowsFor whom an alien heat makes festival.Theodore WratislawHothouse Flowers1896PrologueThe cycle of the Earth (indeed, the universe, if the truth had been known) was nearing its end andthe human race had at last ceased to take itself seriously. Having inherited millennia of scientific andtechnological knowledge it used this knowledge to indulge its richest fantasies to play immenseimaginative games, to relax and create beautiful monstrosities. After all, there was little else left to do. Anearlier age might have been horrified at what it would have judged a waste of resources, an appallingextravagance in the uses to which materials and energies were put. An earlier age would have seen theinhabitants of this world as "decadent" or "amoral," to say the least. But even if these inhabitants were notconscious of the fact that they lived at the end of time some unconscious knowledge informed theirattitudes and made them lose interest in ideals, creeds, philosophies and the conflicts to which such thingsgive rise. They found pleasure in paradox, aesthetics and baroque wit; if they had a philosophy, then itwas a philosophy of taste, of sensuality. Most of the old emotions had atrophied, meant little to them.They had rivalry without jealousy, affection without lust, malice without rage, kindness without pity. Theirschemes — often grandiose and perverse — were pursued without obsession and left uncompletedwithout regret, for death was rare and life might cease only when Earth herself died.Yet this particular story is about an obsession which overtook one of these people, much to his ownastonishment. And because he was overtaken by an obsession that is why we have a story to tell. It isprobably the last story in the annals of the human race and, as it happens, it is not dissimilar to that whichmany believe is the first.What follows, then, is the story of Jherek Carnelian, who did not know the meaning of morality, andMrs. Amelia Underwood, who knew everything about it.1A Conversation with the Iron OrchidDressed in various shades of light brown, the Iron Orchid and her son sat upon a cream-colouredbeach of crushed bone. Some distance off a white sea sparkled and whispered. It was the afternoon.Between the Iron Orchid and her son, Jherek Carnelian, lay the remains of a lunch. Spread on acloth of plain damask were ivory plates containing pale fish, potatoes, meringue, vanilla ice-cream and,glaring rather dramatically, from the centre of it all, a lemon.The Iron Orchid smiled with her amber lips and, reaching for an oyster, asked: "How do you mean,my love, 'virtuous'?" Her perfect hand, powdered the very lightest shade of gold, hovered for a secondover the oyster and then withdrew. She used the hand, instead, to cover a small yawn.Her son stretched on his soft pillows. He, too, felt tired after the exertions of eating, but dutifully hecontinued with the subject. "I'm not thoroughly sure what it means. As you know, most devastating ofminerals, most enchanting of flowers, I have studied the language of the time quite extensively. I mustpossess every tape that still exists. It provides considerable amusement. But I cannot understand everynuance. I found the word in a dictionary and the dictionary told me it meant acting with 'moral rectitude'or in conformity with 'moral laws' — 'good, just, righteous.' Bewildering!"He did take an oyster. He slid it into his mouth. He rolled it down his throat. It had been the IronOrchid who had discovered oysters and he had been delighted when she suggested they meet on thisbeach and eat them. She had made some champagne to go with them, but they had both agreed that theydid not care for it and had cheerfully returned it to its component atoms."However," he continued, "I should like to try it for a bit. It is supposed to involve 'self-denial' " —he forestalled her question — "which means doing nothing pleasurable.""Buteverything,body of velvet, bones of steel, is pleasurable!""True — and there lies our paradox! You see the ancients, mother, divided their sensations intodifferent groupings — categories of sensations, some of which they did not find pleasurable, it seems. Orthey did find them pleasurable and therefore were displeased! Oh, dearest Iron Orchid, I can see you areready to dismiss the whole thing. And I despair, often, of puzzling out the answer. Why was one thingconsidered worth pursuing and another not? But," his handsome lips curved in a smile, "I shall settle theproblem in one way or another, sooner or later." And he closed his heavy lids."Oh, Carnelian!"She laughed softly and affectionately and stretched across the cloth to slip her slender hands into hisloose robe and stroke his warmth and his blood."Oh, my dear! How swift you are! How ripe and rich you are today!"And he drew himself to his feet and he stepped over the cloth and he laid his tall body down uponher and he kissed her slowly.And the sea sighed.When they awoke, still in each other's arms, it was morning, though no night had passed. For theirown pleasure someone had doubtless been engaged in rearranging time. It was not important.Jherek noticed that the sea had turned a deep pink, almost a cerise, and was clashing dreadfullywith the beach, while on the horizon behind him he saw that two palms and a cliff had disappearedaltogether. In their place stood a silver pagoda, about twelve storeys high and glittering in the morningsun.Jherek looked to his left and was pleased to see that his aircar (resembling a steam locomotive ofthe early 20th century, but of about half the size, in gold, ebony and rubies) was still where they had leftit.He looked again at the pagoda, craning his neck, for his mother still relaxed with her head againsthis shoulder. His mother, too, turned to look as a winged figure left the roof of the pagoda and flewcrazily away towards the east, swerving and dipping, circling back, narrowly missing the sharp edge ofthe pagoda's crest, and at last disappearing."Oh," said the Iron Orchid getting to her feet. "It is the Duke of Queens and his wings. Why will heinsist that they are successful?" She waved a vague hand at the departed duke. "Goodbye. Playing one ofhis solitary games, again, I suppose." She looked down at the remains of the lunch and made a face. "Imust clear this away." With a wave of the ring on her left hand she disseminated the lunch and watchedthe dust drift away on the air. "Will you be going there, this evening? To his party?" She moved herslender arm, heavy with brown brocade, and touched her forehead with her fingertips."I think so." He disseminated his own pillows. "I have a great liking for the Duke of Queens."His lips pursed a trifle, Jherek Carnelian pondered the pink sea. "Even if I do not always appreciatehis colour sense."He turned and walked over the crushed bone beach to his aircar. He clambered into the cabin."All aboard, my strong, my sweet, Iron Orchid!"She chuckled and reached up to him.From the footplate he reached down, seized her waist and swung her aboard."Off to Pasadena!"He sounded his whistle."Shuffle off to Buffalo!"Responding to the sonic signal, the little locomotive took magnificently to the air, shunting up thesky, with lovely, lime-coloured steam puffing from its smokestack and from beneath its wheels."Oh, they gave him his augurs at Racine-Virginia," sang Jherek Carnelian, donning a scarlet andcloth-of-gold engineer's cap, "saying steam-up, you're way behind time! It ain't '98, it's old '97. You gotto get on down that old Nantucket line!"The Iron Orchid settled back in her seat of plush and ermine (an exact reproduction, sheunderstood, of the original) and watched her son with amusement as he opened the firedoor andshovelled in the huge black diamonds which he had made specially to go with the train and which, thoughof no particular use in fuelling the aircar, added aesthetic texture to the recreation."Where do youfindall these old songs, Carnelian, my own?""I came across a cache of 'platters,' " he told her, wiping honest sweat from his face with a silk rag.The train swept rapidly over a sea and a range of mountains. "A form of sound-storage of the sameperiod as the original of this aircar. A million years old, at least, though there's some evidence that they,themselves, are reproductions of other originals. Kept in perfect condition by a succession of owners."He slammed the firedoor shut and discarded the platinum shovel, joining her upon the couch andstaring down at the quaintly moulded countryside which Mistress Christia, the Everlasting Concubine, hadbegun to build a while ago and then abandoned.It was not elegant. In fact it was something of a mess. Two-thirds of a hill, in the fashion of the 91stcentury post-Aryan landscapers, supported a snake-tree done after the Saturnian manner but leftuncoloured; part of an 11th century Gothic ruin stood beside a strip of river of the Bengali Empire period.You could see why she had decided not to finish it, but it seemed to Jherek that it was a pity she had notbothered to disseminate it. Someone else would, of course, sooner or later."Carrie Joan," he sang, "she kept her boiler going. Carrie Joan, she filled it full of wine. Carrie Joandidn't stop her rowing. She had to get to Brooklyn by a quarter-past nine!"He turned to the Iron Orchid."Do you like it? The quality of the platters isn't all it could be, but I think I've worked out all thewords now.""Is that what you were doing last year?"She raised her fine eyebrows. "I heard the noises coming from your Hi-Rise." She laughed. "And Ithought it was to do with sex." She frowned. "Or animals." She smiled. "Or both."The locomotive began to spiral down, hooting, towards Jherek's ranch. The ranch had taken theplace of the Hi-Rise. A typical building of the 19th century, done in fibafome and thatch, each corner ofits veranda roof was supported by a wooden Indian, some forty feet high. Each Indian had a magnificentpearl, twelve inches in diameter, in his turban, and a beard of real hair. The Indians were the onlyextravagant detail in the otherwise simple building.The locomotive landed in the corral and Jherek, whose interest in the ancient world had, off and on,sustained itself for nearly two years, held out his hand to help the Iron Orchid disembark. For a momentshe hesitated as she attempted to remember what she must do. Then she grasped his hand and jumped to [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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