Yet through it all, the man called Lor strode swiftly, surely. Not once did he hesitate or falter. It was as if the whole, vast, maze-like pattern were etched in acid on his brain.
Then, at long last, they were on a ramp and climbing in slow spirals, ever upward. Ahead, a pale light glowed ... the light of Hyperion's ice-shell-filtered outer day.
Lor led them out a low-roofed cave-mouth ... helped them up the slope of a brushy rise. Bitterly, he flung his arm out: "Look—the city!"
Boone looked, then shuddered; and suddenly Eileen was sobbing.
For they gazed on a holocaust, a ruin, strewn with the smouldering shards of a thousand shattered domes.
"So these are the ways of men!" Now there was wonder in Lor's voice; and sadness. "They have so much to learn!"
"Oh, Lor—!" Eileen choked on her tears.
The mutant turned to face her. "You need not cry, my mother. We—I—shall teach them better." Then, once more smiling: "Think of some living thing—a thing of beauty. Picture it sharp and clear within your mind."
She stared up at him—face puzzled, eyes still brimming. "I—I'll try...."
"Then close your eyes."