shape. It would be spread out then, the attenutation of the body making the local gravity even weaker. The balloon would thus have greater lifting power.
Anana said that he had a good point there. But the dangers from the cataclysmic mutation were too high. They might not survive these. Or, if they did, their balloon might not. And they wouldn’t have time after the shape-change to get more materials.
Kickaha finally agreed with her.
Another prolonged discussion was about the gliders. Anana, after some thought, said that they should make parawings instead. She explained that a parawing was a type of parachute, a semi-glider the flight of which could be controlled somewhat.
“The main trouble is still the materials,” she said. “A balloon of partially cured antelope hide might lift us enough, considering the far weaker gravity. But how would the panels be held together? We don’t have any adhesive, and stitching them together might not, probably will not, work. The hot air would escape through the overlaps. Still …”
McKay, who was standing nearby, shouted. They turned to look in the direction at which he was pointing.
Coming from around a pagoda-shaped mountain, moving slowly towards them, was a gigantic object. Urthona’s palace. It floated along across the plain at a majestic pace at an estimated altitude of two hundred feet.
They waited for it, and after two hours it reached them. They had retreated to one side far enough for them to get a complete view of it from top to bottom. It seemed to be cut out of a single block of smooth stone on material which looked like stone. This changed color about every fifteen minutes, glowing brightly, running the spectrum, finishing it with a rainbow sheen of blue, white, green, and rose-red. Then the cycle started over again.
There were towers, minarets, and bartizans on the walls, thousands of them, and these had windows and doors, square, round, diamond-shaped, hexagonal, octagonal. There were also windows on the flat bottom. Kickaha counted two hundred balconies, then gave up.
Anana said, “I know we can’t reach it. But I’m going to try the Horn anyway.”
The seven notes floated up. As they expected, no shimmering prelude to the opening of a gate appeared on its walls.
Kickaha said, “We should’ve choked the codeword out of Urthona. Or cooked him over a fire.”
“That wouldn’t help us in this situation,” she said.
“Hey!” McKay shouted. “Hey! Look!”
Staring from a window on the bottom floor was a face. A man’s.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE WINDOW WAS round and taller than the man. Even at that distance and though he was moving, they could see that he was not Urthona or Red Ore. It was impossible to tell without reference points how tall the young man was. His hair was brown and pulled tightly back as if it were tied in a pony tail. His features were handsome. He wore a suit of a cut which Kickaha had never seen before, but which Anana would tell him was of a style in fashion among the Lords a long time ago. The jacket glittered as if its threads were pulsing neon tubes. The shirt was ruffled and open at the neck.
Presently the man had passed them, but he reappeared a minute later at another window. Then they saw him racing by the windows. Finally, out of breath, he stopped and put his face to the corner window. After a while, he was out of sight.
“Did you recognize him?” Kickaha said.
“No, but that doesn’t mean anything,” Anana said. “There were many Lords, and even if I’d known him for a little while, I might have forgotten him after all those years.”
“Not mean enough, heh?” Kickaha said. “Well then, if he isn’t one of them, what’s he doing in Urthona’s palace? How’d he get there? And if he’s interested in us, which he was from his actions, why didn’t he change the controls to manual and stop the palace?”
She shrugged. “How would I know?”
“I didn’t really expect you to. Maybe he doesn’t know how to operate the controls. He may be trapped. I mean-he gated into the place and doesn’t know how to get out.”