Harper College - Halcyon Yearbook (Palatine, IL)

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knew why she had drugged him, why she had taken him into her mind's memory, why she had come to him. The death he had programmed had been the death of her sun, her world. Her people. They came back to the numbus within the suite in the moonstone vessel. He could not move, but she turned him so he could stare out through the cycle port at the emptiness where her world had been. Only dust remained. And she let him hear one last trailing scream from that world, at the moment of its death, the wail of her race that would never again soar through their skies. Can you hear me? Can you speak? I want you to know why. His mouth was thick and his speech was clumsy, but he heard her and he could speak and he said he understood. She bent to him and took his face in her hands. l was sent away. l was. . . Her hesita- tion was filler with pain and loneliness, . . . imper- fect. She turned away for a moment, then turned back, stronger. There are a few like us in every generation. But no more. The people are gone. lt was a mistake, He said. She could not tell what he had said through the drug, and he repeat- ed it. She looked at him and nodded gently, but was stronger. You said there was very little left of humanity in your race. That is the truest thing you could have said. What l do is what will be done to all of you. Your time is past. You had your chance and turned it against every other race you ever met. And now that your time is done, you think you'll take everyone with you. He could not regret dying, as he knew he would die. She was right. The time for men had come and gone, and what they did now was useless, but more than useless. . . it was senseless. Unlike her people, men did not have the good grace to go off alone and die. They tried, in their deranged way, to drag the universe into the grave with them. Not just the leaching off of preserved memories for the momentary amusement of the jaded and corrupt, but everything men did, now that they owned the universe. lt was better than the human race be aided in its slovenly demise than to be allowed to leave nothing but ashes when it vanished at last. He had killed her race, lying sleeping, waiting to be reborn in flames. So he could not hate her. Nor did she need to know that she brough him the dearest gift he had ever received. lt was the end of summer and he was content knowing he would not have to wait for the chill of winter to fall over his race. l'm happy. he said. She may have known what he meant. He though she knew: her eyes were moist as she bent to him for the final time, and kissed him. There were flames and heat as great as a nova and then there was nothing but ash that floated freely in the numbus. When they came to the suite of the sensu pro- grammer, none of them knew they were looking at the last days of men. Only Keltin, the Designer, seemed to understand, in some deep racial way, and he said nothing. But he smiled in expectation as the moonstone ship sailed away into the enternal night. fu'l L'ul l 7

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UNDER SEA S By Louis Ginsberg The fog at night transfigures the city streets To underwaters of a tropic sea Gas-stations f exotic flowers of neon lights f Hatch on corners luminous mystery A trailer-truck heaves like a bulky whale, Where corner drug-store, like the broken hold Of shipwrecked, suneen galleon, is spilling out Rubies, emerals and shimmering gold. Where sudden commotion scaters fish, a dragon - A hook-and-ladder fire-engine - creeps And fights its way through crowded Main Street trafic To roil up legends from the murky deeps. While currents knead the countless centuries, Fantastic creatures in this watery space - Are they primordial memories swimming up From subliminal subconscious of the race? MISTA TNIGHT BV Louis Ginsberg The muslin mist Floats like gauze To annul Tlze usual laws. Traffic-lights, sign-lights Rent, in tlze haze, Surprises, lzaljllzidden To tlze gaze. Streets and alleys, Towers and hotels Are cobwebbed with Secrets and spells. Neoned gas-stations On corners there Exhale legends To dye the air. Supermarkets Quickly unfold Ali Baba caves Where passers behold Luminous treasures, Aching with gold.