The City And The Stars - Arthur C. Clarke [14]
‘Do you know where we are?’ Alvin asked Alystra when they had completed the tour of the mirrors. Alystra shook her head. ‘Somewhere near the edge of the city, I suppose,’ she answered carelessly. ‘We seem to have gone a long way, but I’ve no idea how far.’
‘We’re in the Tower of Loranne,’ replied Alvin. ‘This is one of the highest points in Diaspar. Come—I’ll show you.’ He caught Alystra’s hand and led her out of the hall. There were no exits visible to the eye, but at various points the pattern on the floor indicated side-corridors. As one approached the mirrors at these points, the reflections seemed to fuse into an archway of light and one could step through into another passage. Alystra lost all conscious track of their twistings and turnings, and at last they emerged into a long, perfectly straight tunnel through which blew a cold and steady wind. It stretched horizontally for hundreds of feet in either direction, and its far ends were tiny circles of light.
‘I don’t like this place,’ Alystra complained. ‘It’s cold.’ She had probably never before experienced real coldness in her life, and Alvin felt somewhat guilty. He should have warned her to bring a cloak—and a good one, for all clothes in Diaspar were purely ornamental and quite useless as a protection.
Since her discomfort was entirely his fault, he handed over his cloak without a word. There was no trace of gallantry in this; the equality of the sexes had been complete for far too long for such conventions to survive. Had matters been the other way round, Alystra would have given Alvin her cloak and he would have as automatically accepted.
It was not unpleasant walking with the wind behind them, and they soon reached the end of the tunnel. A wide-meshed filigree of stone prevented them from going any further, which was just as well, for they stood on the brink of nothingness. The great air-duct opened on the sheer face of the tower, and below them was a vertical drop of at least a thousand feet. They were high upon the outer ramparts of the city, and Diaspar lay spread beneath them as few in their world could ever have seen it.
The view was the obverse of the one that Alvin had obtained from the centre of the Park. He could look down upon the concentric waves of stone and metal as they descended in mile-long sweeps towards the heart of the city. Far away, partly hidden by the intervening towers, he could glimpse the distant fields and trees and the eternally circling river. Further still, the remoter bastions of Diaspar climbed once more towards the sky.
Beside him, Alystra was sharing the view with pleasure but with no surprise. She had seen the city countless times before from other, almost equally well-placed vantage points—and in considerably more comfort.
‘That’s our world—all of it,’ said Alvin. ‘Now I want to show you something else.’ He turned away from the grating and began to walk towards the distant circle of light at the far end of the tunnel. The wind was cold against his lightly-clad body, but he scarcely noticed the discomfort as he walked forward into the air stream.
He had gone only a little way when he realised that Alystra was making no attempt to follow. She stood watching, her borrowed cloak streaming down the wind, one hand half raised to her face. Alvin saw her lips move, but the words did not reach him. He looked back at her first with astonishment, then with an impatience that was not totally devoid of pity. What Jeserac had said was true. She could not follow him. She had realised the meaning of that remote circle of light from which the wind blew for ever into Diaspar. Behind Alystra was the known