well then – a painting or a piece of statuary is a thing outside the human life, your life. it is an emotional experience only. it has actually nothing to do with you yourself. you could live very well the rest of your life if you never saw it again, although you would remember it every now and then the ache would come again at the memory of it. but imagine a form of life, a culture, a way of life, a way you yourself could live, so beautiful that it made you ache just like the painting, but a thousandfold more so...

from the top you can make out the wonderful and awesome sight of the plains that lie below, worn-out at the foot of the city. on the horizon tall brick chimneys, round and square, vomit billows of soot into the clouds, while little further down, barely passing over the flat roofs of workshops covered in bituminized felt and sheet-metal, whistling jets of white steam escape from thin aluminum flue-pipes... a great silence descends over the plain as the rumble of the city dies out little by little and the noise from distant factories reaches you but falteringly. sometimes, however, like a horrible complaint, you can hear the dull, raucous whistle of trains from the station as they pass, hidden by an embankment planted with acacias and ash trees... finally, in the distance, in the far distance, a large white road climbs a hill and looses itself in the sky, its summit crowned by a billow of dust, like a cloud stirred up by an invisible horse drawn cart, hidden by the curve of the earth.

...the tower was not a tower; it was a needle. standing on top a high hill, it jabbed a finger heavenward. at the base it measured a good six feet across, tapering to a sharp point a hundred feet or more above the ground. it was of a rather nasty pinkish color and was made of a substance that appeared similar to the substance of which the cube had been constructed. plastic, he thought to himself, although he was fairly sure it was not plastic. when he laid his hand flat against its surface, he could feel a slight vibration, as if the wind out of the west, playing upon it, was causing it to vibrate along its entire length as a freestanding, tapering, most unlikely violin string would vibrate to the bow. it was not generally loud, although at times it became a little louder. despite the fact that more often than not it was a soft music, it had fantastic carrying power.

her voice touched something immeasurably old in him, something that slept deep. it lulled the surface parts of his consciousness to sleep, allowing what was far more ancient to awaken. like the town, with its elaborate pretense of modern active life, the upper layers of his being became dulled, soothed, muffled, and what lay underneath began to stir in its sleep. the big curtain swayed a little to and fro. presently it might lift altogether....

her voice touched something immeasurably old in him, something that slept deep. it lulled the surface parts of his consciousness to sleep, allowing what was far more ancient to awaken. like the town, with its elaborate pretense of modern active life, the upper layers of his being became dulled, soothed, muffled, and what lay underneath began to stir in its sleep. the big curtain swayed a little to and fro. presently it might lift altogether....

...immediately after he caught sight of the lights marking the town, he pressed the ejection button and felt himself flung upward with a greater violence than he had expected. for a moment he was enveloped in darkness; then, as his body spun, he saw the lights of the town again. his fall was slackening and suddenly, as the chute popped open to its full extent, he was jerked sidewise and began swinging in wide arcs. an updraft caught the chute, forcing it back toward the looming peaks and slowing the swinging; but in a moment it slid out of the updraft and was floating smoothly downward.

...peering down, he tried to gauge how close he might be drifting to solid ground, but the darkness made it impossible to judge. he found himself tensing, then consciously willed himself to relax. when he hit, he had to be relaxed. the spatter of brilliance that was the space port was almost dead ahead. a blackness intervened to shield out the spaceport lights and he hit the ground, knees buckling under him...