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She broke away from him and swept across the ballroom floor. At that moment the first bombs fell.
They came in like meteor swarms; not so many, but far more deadly. They came in on the morning quadrant, that quarter of the globe in darkness from midnight to dawn. They collided head on with the forward side of the earth in its revolution around the sun. They had been traveling a distance of four hundred million miles.
Their excessive speed was matched by the rapidity of the Terran defense computors which traced and intercepted these New Year gifts from the Outer Satellites within the space of micro-seconds. A multitude of fierce new stars prickled in the sky and vanished; they were bombs detected and detonated five hundred miles above their target.
But so narrow was the margin between speed of defense and speed of attack that many got through. They shot through the aurora level, the meteor level, the twilight limit, the stratosphere, and down to earth. The invisible trajectories ended in titanic convulsions.
The first atomic explosion which destroyed Newark shook the Presteign mansion with an unbelievable quake. Floors and walls shuddered and the guests were thrown in heaps along with furniture and decorations. Quake followed quake as the random shower descended around New York. They were deafening, numbing, chilling. The sounds, the shocks, the flares of lurid light on the horizon were so enormous, that reason was stripped from humanity, leaving nothing but flayed animals to shriek, cower, and run. Within the space of five seconds Presteign's New Year party was transformed from elegance into anarchy.
Foyle arose from the floor. He looked at the struggling bodies on the ballroom parquet, saw Jisbella fighting to free herself, took a step toward her and then stopped. He revolved his head, dazedly, feeling it was no part of him. The thunder never ceased. He saw Robin Wednesbury in the reception hail, reeling and battered. He took a step toward her and then stopped again. He knew where he must go.
He accelerated. The thunder and lightning dropped down the spectrum to grinding and flickering. The shuddering quakes turned into greasy undulations. Foyle blurred through the giant house, searching, until at last he found her, standing in the garden, standing tiptoe on a marble bench looking like a marble statue to his accelerated senses . . . the statue of exaltation.
He decelerated. Sensation leaped up the spectrum again and once more he was buffeted by that bigger-than-death size bombardment.
«Lady Olivia,» he called.
«Who is that?»
«The clown.»
«Fourmyle?»
«Yes.»
«And you came searching for me? I'm touched, really touched.»
«You're insane to be standing out here like this. I beg you to let me…”
«No, no, no. It's beautiful. . . Magnificent!»
«Let me jaunte with you to some place that's safe.»
«Mi, you see yourself as a knight in armor? Chivalry to the rescue. It doesn't suit you, my dear. You haven't the flair for it. You'd best go.»
«I'll stay.»
«As a beauty lover?»
«As a lover.»
«You're still tedious, Fourmyle. Come, be inspired. This is Armageddon Flowering Monstrosity. Tell me what you see.»
«There's nothing much,» he answered, looking around and wincing. «There's light all over the horizon. Quick clouds of it. Above, there's a sort of sparkling effect. Like Christmas lights twinkling.»
«Oh, you see so little with your eyes. See what I see! There's a dome in the sky, a rainbow dome. The colors run from deep tang to brilliant burn. That's what I've named the colors I see. What would that dome be?»
«The radar screen,» Foyle muttered.
«Arid then there are vasty shafts of fire thrusting up and swaying, weaving, dancing, sweeping. What are they?»
«Interceptor beams. You're seeing the whole electronic defense system.»
«And I can see the bombs coming down too . . . quick streaks of what you call red. But not your red; mine. Why can I see them?»
«They're heated by air friction, but the inert lead casing doesn't show the color to us.»
«See how much better you're doing as Galileo than Galahad. Oh! There's one coming down in the east. Watch for it! It's coming, coming, coming Now!»
A flare of light on the eastern horizon proved it was not her imagination.
«There's another to the north. Very close. Very. Now!»
A shock tore down from the north.
«And the explosions, Fourmyle . . . They're not just clouds of light. They're fabrics, webs, tapestries of meshing colors. So beautiful. Like exquisite shrouds.»
«Which they are, Lady Olivia.»
«Are you afraid?»
«Yes.»
«Then run away.»
«Ah, you're defiant.»
«I don't know what I am. I'm scared, but I won't run.»
«Then you're brazening it out. Making a show of knightly courage.» The husky voice sounded amused. «Just think, Fourmyle. How long does it take to jaunte? You could be safe in seconds . . . in Mexico, Canada, Alaska. So safe. There must be millions there now. We're probably the last left in the city.»
«Not everybody can jaunte so far and so fast.»
«Then we're the last left who count. Why don't you leave me? Be safe. I'll be killed soon. No one will ever know your pretense turned tail.»
«Bitch!»
«Ah, you're angry. What shocking language. It's the first sign of weakness.
Why don't you exercise your better judgment and carry me off? That would be the second sign.»
«Damn you!»
He stepped close to her, clenching his fists in rage. She touched his cheek with a cool, quiet hand, but once again there was that electric shock.
«No, it's too late, my dear,» she said quietly. «Here comes a whole cluster of red streaks . . . down, down, down . . . directly at us. There'll be no escaping this. Quick, now! Run! Jaunte! Take me with you. Quick! Quick!»
He swept her off the bench. «Bitch! Never!»
He held her, found the soft coral mouth and kissed her; bruised her lips with his, waiting for the final blackout.
The concussion never came.
«Tricked!» he exclaimed. She laughed. He kissed her again and at last forced himself to release her. She gasped for breath, then laughed again, her coral eyes blazing.
«It's over,» she said.
«It hasn't begun yet.»
«What d'you mean?»
«The war between us.»
«Make it a human war,» she said fiercely. «You're the first not to be deceived by my looks. Oh God! The boredom of the chivalrous knights and their milk-warm passion for the fairy tale princess. But I'm not like that inside. I'm not. I'm not. Never. Make it a savage war between us. Don't win me. . . destroy me!»
Suddenly she was Lady Olivia again, the gracious snow maiden. «I'm afraid the bombardment has finished, my dear Fourmyle. The show is over. But what an exciting prelude to the New Year. Good night.»
«Good night?» he echoed incredulously.
«Good night,» she repeated. «Really, my dear Fourmyle, are you so gauche that you never know when you're dismissed? You may go now. Good night.»
He hesitated, searched for words, and at last turned and lurched out of the house. He was trembling with elation and confusion. He walked in a daze, scarcely aware of the confusion and disaster around him. The horizon now was lit with the light of red flames. The shock waves of the assault had stirred the atmosphere so violently that winds still whistled in strange gusts. The tremor of the explosions had shaken the city so hard that brick, cornice, glass, and metal were tumbling and crashing. And this despite the fact that no direct hit had been made on New York.
The streets were empty; the city was deserted. The entire population of New York, of every city, had jaunted in a desperate search for safety to the limit of their ability . . . five miles, fifty miles, five hundred miles. Some had jaunted into the center of a direct hit. Thousands died in jaunte explosions, for the public jaunte stages had never been designed to accommodate the crowding of mass exodus.