Starship Winter (David Conway 03) Read Online Free Page B

communicated this time was of loss – I was filled with a moving sense of bereavement, not for an individual person, but the universal melancholy of that inexplicable and inescapable pre-emptive grief, almost terror, that grips you in the empty early hours when the preoccupying details of daytime are gone and you apprehend the unavoidable fact of your mortality and the fact that you will be dead for all eternity. Beside me, Hannah was weeping quietly.
    And then, suddenly, the aliens reached out, one to Hannah and the other to me, and their ghostly hands seemed to brush our brows. And how to describe the rush of nameless emotion that assailed us then, for I was sure that Hannah was undergoing the same.
    The sense of loss and fear was banished, and I knew – I knew with a certainty beyond all doubt – that life would not end with my death; that existence was ongoing and eternal, that the ills of the physical were but a passing phase that would be transcended when I passed from this life to the next.
    I was filled with a joy beyond description – and then the light ceased and Hannah and I were back in the mundane surrounds of the dome.
    Tears tracked down her pale cheeks and we came together suddenly in an embrace that celebrated what we had just experienced.
    Hannah shook her head. “But how does Matt do it? I mean… it’s more than just art!”
    I laughed. “What did he say, that art was all about broadening human and alien understanding of experience? I’d say he’s pretty well succeeded in doing that.”
    “Me too. I can’t wait to ask him how he managed it.”
    “Knowing Matt”, I said, “I think he’ll want to keep the secret to himself. Like a magician, you know?”
    She tugged my arm. “Shall we try another one?”
    “Try stopping me.”
    For the next hour we moved from stone to stone, as entranced as the rest of the guests. We passed through three very different experiences. One communicated to us the joy of birth; it was as if the essence of the feeling I experienced at the birth of my daughter had been somehow distilled by alien alchemists and poured into my soul.
    The emotion conveyed by the next stone seemed to be the futility of hatred, at least that was how I interpreted it: I was assailed by vengeful feelings, swiftly followed by a notion of the negativity of these feelings.
    The next stone communicated an emotion so alien, so inexplicable – yet always hovering on the very cusp of my apprehension – then it vanished, like the content of a dream upon awaking, as the light ceased and returned us to the dome.
    “David!” Hannah said, thrusting her wrist in front of my eyes. “Look, we’ve been in the dome for more than an hour and a half. And yet… I could have sworn we’ve experienced each stone for no more than five minutes.”
    “Yet another wonder of the things,” I murmured.
    I was about to suggest we take a break and have a drink when I noticed a commotion at the far side of the dome. One of the guests had evidently found the experience too much and collapsed. A couple of first-aiders had hurried to assist, followed by Matt Sommers and the Elan Ambassador. As the guest climbed to his feet, waving away all offers of help, I saw that it was Darius Dortmund. He hurried for the exit to the patio, accompanied by Matt.
    Hannah was frowning to herself, and I wondered if she was thinking the same as me: that perhaps, due to his heightened empathetic ability, Dortmund had found the extraterrestrial displays just too much.
    “How about a drink?” Hannah suggested, taking the words from my mouth.
    We moved to the patio, where the last rays of the sun were playing over the waters of the straights. Dortmund and Matt were at the rail, speaking in lowered tones. The off-worlder was clutching a whisky.
    Maddie, Hawk and Kee were seated at a table in the bar area. Maddie waved us over. “Well, what do you think?”
    “Amazing,” I said, then laughed at the inadequacy of my response. “I