Thorns [antikvár]

ONEthe SONG THE NEURONS SANG "Pain is instructive," Duncan Chalk wheezed.On crystal rungs he ascended the east wall of his office. Far on high was the burnished desk, the mlaid communicator box from which he controlled his empire. It would have been nothing for Chalk to sail up the wall on the staff of a gravitron. Yet each morning he imposed this cUmb on himself.A variety of hangers-on accompanied him. Leon-tes d'Amore, of the mobile chimpanzee lips; Bart Aoudad; Tom Nikolaides, notable for shoulders. And others. Yet Chalk, learning the lesson of pain once more, was the focus of the group.Flesh rippled and billowed on him. Within that great bulk were the white underpinnings of bone, yearning for release. Six hundred pounds of meat comprised Duncan Chalk. The vast leathery heart pumped desperately, flooding the massive limbs with life. Chalk cUmbed. The route zigged and backswitched up forty feet of wall to the throne at the top. Along the way blotches of thermoluminescent fungus glowed eagerly, yellow asters tipped with red, sending forth pulsations of warmth and brightness.Outside it was winter. Thin strands of new snow coiled in the streets. The leaden sky was just begining to respond to the morning ionization poured into it by the great pylons of day. Chalk grunted. Chalk climbed.