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.
Silvester s eyes cleared. Remembering his own prophecy, he shivered, setting
all his leaves a-rustle.
Is Thelma Harvey going to be a mind-mimic?
But Silvester was speechless.
More likely it s that transvestite, sex-change guy, observed Maccoby
helpfully, or else that out-of-work actress. They re both due out tomorrow.
Damn good idea about using those snoopers for infiltration, though. Good
prophecy, Silvester. But I
think, Reuben, we d best wait to see if Silvester s right about our new
talents before we pick the snoopers up.
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Should I send out a small surveillance team?
That s quite unnecessary, Argus said haughtily. I can easily keep an eye on
them. Leaving ninety-nine to spare.
Shiba might want to try the virus on the God Nuts, cold turkey style,
suggested Maccoby. With no other drugs. He thinks the brain probably provides
its own opiates. After all, they came and bothered us.
Not us, them. He sounded hopeful of some agony dealt to Ariel s enemies.
No-o-o-o, said Silvester, hollowly.
No to brain opiates? No to cold turkey?
We don t want a rogue changer amongst us, Ariel.
In what way, rogue?
Silvester blinked.
I can t say.
You ve got twenty beds now? Ariel asked Maccoby.
Full field hospital, sir. Incidentally, as soon as Thelma Harvey is
discharged she ll be able to interpret for the pongos, won t she? So we can
accept either Jack or Robina, if you still need a minimum of two interpreters.
Jack seems pretty enthusiastic about changing, by all accounts.
We need two, yes. Silvester raised some doubts about the superchimps.
So that s solved by Miss Harvey. I ll slot Jack in, then Robina later. I m
just trying to keep our schedule balanced, if we have to go on using
intravenous and sedatives.
You re doing a fine job, Reuben. I m just sorry you ll have to put off your
own change for so long.
Well, that s security for you. But don t worry. I can wait.
Although his roots were on stony ground, Silvester had drifted into a
semi-trance state.
Robina the Rogue &
he said loudly.
What? cried Ariel. She isn t with us a hundred per cent? Where is she,
anyway?
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Argus went out to stare up at the sky.
With the chimps, he called. She s in the Rotondo, up by the heath. Busy
signing to the gang. Shame I
can t read hands.
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Trouble, trouble, gurgled Silvester.
Yes but what sort
?
I can t quite
You re a useless prophet. Useless!
Silvester opened his eyes.
There s gratitude for you, he sighed. And I just told you what you d do
about the God Nuts.
Okay, sorry. You were very useful. Even though I d have thought of it myself,
in another few minutes.
I d have had to, wouldn t I? Otherwise you couldn t have prophesied it.
The Rotondo rose from the edge of the high heath. A volcano might have dripped
there (though it hadn t):
around slabs and boulders like gobs of cooled lava flowed purple rivers of
heather and sulphurous waves of gorse. Glossy stands of rhododendron circled
this upland, their green dams cupping the sun-toasted air.
Set on a ridge between the hot heath and the coolly-leafed descent, the
Rotondo was a boldly rounded dome supported on eight stout shafts.
Functionally it suggested a hooded salver on legs, for serving a giant turkey
or perhaps a roast roc in stone instead of silver. A circular bench occupied
the paved base;
around this sprawled the superchimps like feasting Romans, devouring a picnic
of bananas, mincemeat tarts, cashew nuts and cold frankfurters. Robina paced
about the circle, signing. Jack Nimmo was nowhere near.
To Argus s distant eyes the party looked like a conspiracy. Four senators were
lounging in hairy robes, planning a coup d état, to be led by that matronly
female Cassius whose hair, on fire, was the torch of their sedition &
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Go to Contents
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Chapter 23
Why, I never was alive before!
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This realization filled Thelma with wonder and admiration as, unabashed, she
inspected her naked limbs.
Though her figure was still reedy, she felt altogether more sprightly, and her
skin was fresh again. She twitched her body experimentally, sending signals
racing to her fingers and toes.
The Japanese doctor clucked deferentially. She ignored him for the moment. He
wasn t quite alive; nor was that other face peering through the observation
window. ( Oh yes, I got a whole room to myself, didn t I? Not just a bed in
the big tent. ) It didn t matter if they saw her naked.
Beyond, in the hospital marquee, she could sense peers of hers who were coming
slowly alive, but who slept on for a little while longer &
Alive! For the past fifty-five years all she had been was a Normality Machine:
a machine for filtering out the extraordinary, so that she never even noticed
it.
That s why people generally forget their dreams, she said to herself.
That s why they can t see a wonder if it slaps them in the face. They re
Normality Machines.
Now she knew exactly what dreams were. They were nothing less than the dump,
the pit and cesspool into which the Normality Machine offloaded all the
wonders that couldn t be seen, all the thoughts that were unthinkable, all the
inaccessible emotions. Every day a net was dragged ahead of you, scooping all
these wonderful, absurd and marvellous things up in advance, then dumping them
down the drain at night.
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Dreams were the emptying of the Normality Nets. You got to watch the cataract
since the machine couldn t arrange everything & then it vanished and got
forgotten.
Some people must have a few holes in their nets, though. This sort of person
saw visions and dreamed while wide awake. But the neighbouring machines would
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