Joan Vinge - World's End

WORLD'S END [071-142-066-4.6]

By: JOAN D. VINGE

Category: Fiction Science Fiction

Synopsis:

Volume 2 in the Snow Queen Cycle Now at last, Joan D. Vinge, best selling author of The Return of the Jedi Storybook, returns to the universe of her award-winning Snow Queen, with a novel as dazzling, as compelling, as the "future classic" (Arthur C. Clarke). BZ Gundhalinu, police officer of the Hegemony, member of the elite "tech" class of the ruling planet Kharemough, left the planet Tiamat before the Stargate closed, cutting himself off forever from the simple barbarian girl who gave him back his sense of self worth. Moon Dawntreader Summer is now the Summer

Queen, and BZ knows he can never again be her lover. But the strict Kharemoughi codes of honor have made him an outcast, too, and he selects a remote outpost of the Hegemony for his new assignment: Four, a planet where the police work is tough and never-ending, and where he can try to forget. Four boasts great mineral wealth, which attracts all the rogues and ruffians of the universe to the vast, uncharted wilderness known as World's End. Travellers to that region allude to unimaginable horrors, but few actually return to speak of it. World's End has swallowed up countless numbers of prospectors, including BZ's brothers. When BZ's

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obsession with Moon and his concern for his family interfere with the performance of his duties, he is granted leave and he sets out for

World's End. His quest: to rescue his brothers from the wilderness and restore the family's lost honor and lost wealth. But something else is calling him. A sibyl has told him about the ruined city ofSanctuary , on the edge ofFireLake . A mysterious force is at work there, a force that disrupts the fabric of space and time, a force that may yield up the secrets of Old Empire technology. But before BZ can unlock the puzzle, he must face the evil deep inside himself-- and in breathtaking passages of sheer storytelling power, Vinge makes WORLD'S END an extraordinary novel of one man's search for himself--his soul --his love--and his destiny.

Last printing:09/03/02

`>334' JOAN D. VINGE reached the top of national bestseller lists in 1983 with The Return of the Jedi Storybook. Her novel The Snow Queen (1980) won the Hugo Award for Best Science Fiction NOVEL, and established her as a major novelist.

She lives in Chappaqua, Mew York, and maintains close ties to her hometown, San Diego,California.

Cover painting by Leo and Diane Dillon Jacket design by Gregory K. Wilkin 'Bl

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BLUEJAY BOOKS IMG.

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James Frenkel, Publisher

Distributed bySt. Martin 's Press 2/84

Books by Joan D. Vinge

The Outcasts of Heaven's Belt

Fireship

Eyes of Amber and Other Stories (collection)

The Snow Queen

Psion

Worlds's End

Phoenixin the Ashes (collection)

A Bluejay Book

Fforthcoming

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JOAN D. VINGE

BLUEJAY BOOKS INC.

A Bluejay Book, published by arrangement with the

Author.

Jacket art and endpaper art (collector's edition only) by Leo and Diane Dillon

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, or by any information storage or retrieval

system, without the express written permission of the

Publisher, except where permitted by law. For information, contact Bluejay Books Inc., 130

West

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Forty-second Street,New York,New York ; 10036.

Manufactured in theUnited States of America

First Bluejay printing: February 1984

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Vinge, Joan D.

World's end.

I. Title.

PS3572.I53W6 1984 8i3'-54 83-21374

ISBN: 0-5709-312-04468-3

ISBN 0-312-94469-1 (limed.)

for jim,

my dearest friend and severest critic . . .

who made me follow this journey to its end.

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"The mind of man is capable of anything--because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future."

Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness

"Nothing of him that cloth fade

But cloth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange."

William Shakespeare, The Tempest

"Shall I bring the prisoners to your office, Inspector?"

the voice from his desk speaker asked him.

And again, when he didn't answer, "Inspector

Gundhalinu?"

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Gundhalinu turned away from the high window at last, from the view of Foursgate shrouded in mist, the rococo pattern of rain tracks on the glass. He had been looking at the Pantheon; it was just visible from where

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his office lay, its multiple domes of azure and gold ceramic half obscured by newer, more graceful structures.

He took an antique watch from his pocket, glancing absently at the time . . . looking at the watch itself, turning it over andover for the feel of its comfortable familiarity in his hand. He sighed.

The hour was getting late--but not late enough that he could postpone this final duty for another day.

Besides, he had no more days left. The ceremonies at the Pantheon were due to begin today at sunset, and they would drag on through half of tomorrow. Crowds were gathering there already

. . . gathering from all over

Number Four to see him. The thought made him grimace.

These were only the first of too many ceremonies that he would have to wade through, like streams, on the way to where he wanted to go.

He had put off the meaningless honors, the public displays of adoration, for as long as possible, using his wound and his weakness as excuses. But he had spent JOAN D. VINGE

the hard-won privacy of his convalescence working

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obsessively, trying to put what was left of his personal life in order before he became public property forever.

He knew what he would see if he faced himself in a mirror; he had not gone near one since his release from the hospital. But he had endured far worse things than his own reflection too recently to let it bother him, or stop him. There had been no time for weakness, or pain, or doubt . . . there never would be again.

He moved back to his desk. His hand reached for the speaker plate at last; hesitated, as more seconds slipped by. The judgment he was about to pass was only a formality, a decision made weeks ago concerning an act that should have been done years ago. And yet... he needed more time.

He touched the speaker-plate. "Ossidge. I'm still reviewing the evidence. I'll let you know when I'm ready."

"Right, Inspector." There was no discernible emotion in the disembodied voice, even though his sergeant had been waiting for more than an hour down in the detention wing. Ossidge was a phlegmatic lump, stolid and unquestioning. Gundhalinu tried to imagine what Ossidge would make of World's End, or what it would make of him. The irresistible force and the immovable

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object. But then, he couldn't imagine that Ossidge would ever even dream of making that trip; making the

Big Mistake. . . .

He dropped into the seductive softness of his desk chair, letting it re-form around him. Just for a moment.