August 18, 2025 • 10 mins
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Cully by Jack Egan above him, eighty feet of torpid
blackwater hung like a shroud of death. And still he
heard his ragged breathing and something else. Colley concentrated on
that sound and the rhythmic pulsing of his heart. Somehow
he had to retain a hold on his sanity or
his soul. After an hour of careful breathing and exploring
(00:22):
of body sensations, Cully realized he could move. He flexed
an arm a mode of gold sand sifted upward in
dark water. It had a pleasant color in contrast with
the ominous shades of the sea. In a few moments,
he had struggled to a sitting position, delighting in the
curtain of glittering metal grains swirling around him as he moved.
And the other sound a humming in his mind, a
(00:45):
distant burble of tiny voices of other minds, words swirling
in giddy patterns he couldn't understand. Shortly thereafter, Cully discovered
why he still lived. Breathed a suit, a yellow plastic
watertight suit with an orange on black shield on the
left breast pocket and a clear bubble helmet. He felt
(01:07):
weight on his back and examined it. Two air tanks
and their regulator, a radio and the box suit tanks regulator, radio,
blackwater box, sand sea stillness. Colley considered his world. It
was small, it was conceivable, it was incomplete. Where is it?
(01:29):
Where's what? He knew? He had a voice, means of
communication between others of his kind using low frequency heat
waves caused by agitation of air molecules. Why couldn't he
make it work? Words thousands of him at his beck
and call? What were they? What did they mean? He shoff?
He shifted uncomfortably in the tight yellow suit and searching
the near horizon for where is it? A vague calling
(01:53):
came from beyond the black sea curtain. Objectively, because he
could do nothing to stop them. He watched his seat
his feet pick up, move forward, put down, pick up,
move forward, put down. Funny. He had the feeling the
concept that this action held, meaning it was supposed to
cause some reaction, accomplish an act. He wondered at the
(02:14):
regular movement of his legs, one of them hurt. A
heart is a sensation of pain caused by overloading sensory
units in the body. A heart is bad because it
indicates something is wrong. Something certainly was wrong. Something stirred
in Cully's mind. He stopped and sat down on the
sandy sea bottom, gracefully like a ballet dancer. He examined
(02:36):
his foot. There's a tiny hole in the yellow plastic fabric,
and a thin string of red black was oozing out blood.
He knew he was bleeding. He could do nothing about it.
He got up and resumed walking. Where is it? Colly
lifted his head into annoyance at the sharp thought. Go away,
he said, in a low, pleading voice. The sound made
(02:58):
him feel better. He began muttering to himself, water, black, sand, heart, pain,
radio tanks. It didn't sound right. After a few minutes
he was quiet. The many thoughts were calling him. He
must go to the many thoughts. If his foot was bleeding,
then something had happened. If something had happened, then his
(03:19):
foot was bleeding. No. If something had happened, then maybe
other things had happened before that. But how could something
happen in a world of flat gold sand and flaccid sea.
Surely there was something wrong wrong, the state of being
not right. Something had happened that was not right. Cullie
stared at the edges of the unmoving curtain before him.
(03:41):
Where is it? It was a driving, promise filled concept,
no words, just the sense that something wonderful lay just
beyond reach. But this voice was different from the many
thoughts it was directing his body. His mind was along
for the ride. The sameness of the sea and sand
became on bearable. It was too right. Somehow, Cully felt
(04:04):
anger and kicked up eddies of dust. It changed the
sameness a little. He kicked more up until it swirled
around him, a thick gold haze blotting out the terrible
emptiness of the sea. He felt another weight at his side.
He found a holster and a gun. He recognized neither
again he watched. He watched objectively as his hand pulled
(04:27):
the black object out and handled it. His body was
evidently familiar with it, though it was strange to his eyes.
His fingers slipped automatically into the trigger sheath. His legs
were still working under two drives. The many thoughts urging,
and something else buried in him, a longing up and down,
(04:47):
back and forth. Where is it? Anger? Frustration flared in him.
His hand shot out gun it ready. He turned around
slowly through the settling trail of suspended sand. Nothing was
visible again. He was moving. Something made his legs move.
He walked on through the shrouds of death until he
(05:08):
felt a taut singing in his nerves. An irrational fear
sprang out in him, cascading down his spine, and Cully
shuddered ahead. There was some thing. Two motives. Get there
because it, they calls, Get there, because you must. Where
is it? The mind voice was excited, demanding something was
(05:33):
out there besides the sameness. Cully walked on, trailing gold.
The death curtain parted, an undulating garden of blue and gold.
Streamers suddenly drifted toward him on an unfelt current. Cully
was held entranced. They flowed before him, their colors dazzling, hypnotic,
(05:53):
come closer, earthling. The many thoughts spoke inside his head, soothingly,
Here it is Cully's mind, and shouted. Kully's mind was
held hypnotized, but his body moved of its own volition.
He moved again. His mind and the many thoughts spoke fulfillment.
Almost there was one action left that must be completed.
(06:15):
Kullay's arms moved. They detached the small black box from
his belt. He moved on into the midst of the
weaving gold laced plants. Little spicules licked out from their
flexing stalks and jabbed uncensed into Kully's body. To draw
nourishment from the many thoughts came the sense of complete
(06:36):
fulfillment from Kelly's mind. Came further orders. Lie down. It
was a collective concept. Lie still, we are friends. He
could not understand. There were speaking words, words were beyond him.
His head shook in despair. The voices were implanting in
a motion of horror at what his hands were doing.
(06:57):
But he had no control over his body. It was
as if it were not his. The black box was
now lying in the sand among the streaming plants. Cully's
fingers reached out and caressed a small panel. A soundless
click ran through the murkiness. The strangely beautiful gold laced
(07:17):
blue plants began a writhing dance. Their spicules withdrew and jabbed,
withdrew and jabbed. A rending, silent scream tore the quiet waters. No,
they cried. It was a negative command mixed in with
the terrible screaming. Turn it off, stop it, stop it.
Kully tried to say, but there were no words. He
(07:39):
tried to cover his ears within the helmet, but the
cries went on. Emotions roiled the water, pain, hurt, reproach.
Cully sobbed. Something was wrong here, something was killing the plants,
the beautiful blue things. The plants were withering, dying. He
looked up at them, stupefied, not understanding. Tea streaming down
(08:01):
his face. And what did they want from him? What
had he done? Where is it? A different direction materialized,
a new concept of desire. Cully's body turned and crawled
away from the wonderful, dying garden, oblivious to the pleadings
floating now weakly in the torpid water. He scuffed, He
scuffed up little motes of golden sand, leaving a low
(08:24):
lying scud along the bottom, Back to the little black
box in the garden. The plants, the box all were
forgotten by now. Cully crawled on, not knowing why. A
rise appeared. Surprise caught Kully unaware, a change in the sameness.
Where is it again? The voice was insistent, His desire
(08:46):
was close ahead. He did not look back at the
black churning on the sea bottom. His legs worked, his chest,
heaved words swirled in his mind. He topped the rise
below him. In the center of a shallow golden bowl,
floated a long, shiny cylinder. Even from here he knew
what it was huge. He knew other things about it,
(09:09):
how heavy it was, how it was that it carried
others of his kind. He had been in it before,
and they were waiting for him. He lurched, on, Captain,
here comes Cully. The midshipman shouted from the airlock. Look
what they've done to him. The old man's gray eyes
took in the spectacle without visible emotion. He watched the pathetic, bleeding,
(09:31):
yellow plastic sack crawl up to the ship and look up.
His hands reached down and lifted Cully up into the lock.
They took his suit off and stared with loathing at
what had once been a man. A white scar zigzagged
across his forehead. The captain bent close in range of
(09:54):
the dim blue eyes. It was a brave thing you did, Cully.
The whole system will be grateful. Venus could never be
colonized as long as those cannibals were there to eat
men and drive men mad. Cully fingered the scar on
his forehead and looked unseen into the old man's compassionate eyes.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cully. We all are. But there
(10:16):
was no other way, prefrontal lobotomy, destruction of your speech center.
It was the only way you could get past the
telepaths and destroy them. I'm sorry, Cully. The race of
man shall long honor your name. Cully smiled at the
old man, the words churning in his brain, but he
did not understand. Where is it? The emptiness was still there,
(10:43):
and of Cully by Jack Egan
Cully by Jack Egan above him, eighty feet of torpid
blackwater hung like a shroud of death. And still he
heard his ragged breathing and something else. Colley concentrated on
that sound and the rhythmic pulsing of his heart. Somehow
he had to retain a hold on his sanity or
his soul. After an hour of careful breathing and exploring
(00:22):
of body sensations, Cully realized he could move. He flexed
an arm a mode of gold sand sifted upward in
dark water. It had a pleasant color in contrast with
the ominous shades of the sea. In a few moments,
he had struggled to a sitting position, delighting in the
curtain of glittering metal grains swirling around him as he moved.
And the other sound a humming in his mind, a
(00:45):
distant burble of tiny voices of other minds, words swirling
in giddy patterns he couldn't understand. Shortly thereafter, Cully discovered
why he still lived. Breathed a suit, a yellow plastic
watertight suit with an orange on black shield on the
left breast pocket and a clear bubble helmet. He felt
(01:07):
weight on his back and examined it. Two air tanks
and their regulator, a radio and the box suit tanks regulator, radio,
blackwater box, sand sea stillness. Colley considered his world. It
was small, it was conceivable, it was incomplete. Where is it?
(01:29):
Where's what? He knew? He had a voice, means of
communication between others of his kind using low frequency heat
waves caused by agitation of air molecules. Why couldn't he
make it work? Words thousands of him at his beck
and call? What were they? What did they mean? He shoff?
He shifted uncomfortably in the tight yellow suit and searching
the near horizon for where is it? A vague calling
(01:53):
came from beyond the black sea curtain. Objectively, because he
could do nothing to stop them. He watched his seat
his feet pick up, move forward, put down, pick up,
move forward, put down. Funny. He had the feeling the
concept that this action held, meaning it was supposed to
cause some reaction, accomplish an act. He wondered at the
(02:14):
regular movement of his legs, one of them hurt. A
heart is a sensation of pain caused by overloading sensory
units in the body. A heart is bad because it
indicates something is wrong. Something certainly was wrong. Something stirred
in Cully's mind. He stopped and sat down on the
sandy sea bottom, gracefully like a ballet dancer. He examined
(02:36):
his foot. There's a tiny hole in the yellow plastic fabric,
and a thin string of red black was oozing out blood.
He knew he was bleeding. He could do nothing about it.
He got up and resumed walking. Where is it? Colly
lifted his head into annoyance at the sharp thought. Go away,
he said, in a low, pleading voice. The sound made
(02:58):
him feel better. He began muttering to himself, water, black, sand, heart, pain,
radio tanks. It didn't sound right. After a few minutes
he was quiet. The many thoughts were calling him. He
must go to the many thoughts. If his foot was bleeding,
then something had happened. If something had happened, then his
(03:19):
foot was bleeding. No. If something had happened, then maybe
other things had happened before that. But how could something
happen in a world of flat gold sand and flaccid sea.
Surely there was something wrong wrong, the state of being
not right. Something had happened that was not right. Cullie
stared at the edges of the unmoving curtain before him.
(03:41):
Where is it? It was a driving, promise filled concept,
no words, just the sense that something wonderful lay just
beyond reach. But this voice was different from the many
thoughts it was directing his body. His mind was along
for the ride. The sameness of the sea and sand
became on bearable. It was too right. Somehow, Cully felt
(04:04):
anger and kicked up eddies of dust. It changed the
sameness a little. He kicked more up until it swirled
around him, a thick gold haze blotting out the terrible
emptiness of the sea. He felt another weight at his side.
He found a holster and a gun. He recognized neither
again he watched. He watched objectively as his hand pulled
(04:27):
the black object out and handled it. His body was
evidently familiar with it, though it was strange to his eyes.
His fingers slipped automatically into the trigger sheath. His legs
were still working under two drives. The many thoughts urging,
and something else buried in him, a longing up and down,
(04:47):
back and forth. Where is it? Anger? Frustration flared in him.
His hand shot out gun it ready. He turned around
slowly through the settling trail of suspended sand. Nothing was
visible again. He was moving. Something made his legs move.
He walked on through the shrouds of death until he
(05:08):
felt a taut singing in his nerves. An irrational fear
sprang out in him, cascading down his spine, and Cully
shuddered ahead. There was some thing. Two motives. Get there
because it, they calls, Get there, because you must. Where
is it? The mind voice was excited, demanding something was
(05:33):
out there besides the sameness. Cully walked on, trailing gold.
The death curtain parted, an undulating garden of blue and gold.
Streamers suddenly drifted toward him on an unfelt current. Cully
was held entranced. They flowed before him, their colors dazzling, hypnotic,
(05:53):
come closer, earthling. The many thoughts spoke inside his head, soothingly,
Here it is Cully's mind, and shouted. Kully's mind was
held hypnotized, but his body moved of its own volition.
He moved again. His mind and the many thoughts spoke fulfillment.
Almost there was one action left that must be completed.
(06:15):
Kullay's arms moved. They detached the small black box from
his belt. He moved on into the midst of the
weaving gold laced plants. Little spicules licked out from their
flexing stalks and jabbed uncensed into Kully's body. To draw
nourishment from the many thoughts came the sense of complete
(06:36):
fulfillment from Kelly's mind. Came further orders. Lie down. It
was a collective concept. Lie still, we are friends. He
could not understand. There were speaking words, words were beyond him.
His head shook in despair. The voices were implanting in
a motion of horror at what his hands were doing.
(06:57):
But he had no control over his body. It was
as if it were not his. The black box was
now lying in the sand among the streaming plants. Cully's
fingers reached out and caressed a small panel. A soundless
click ran through the murkiness. The strangely beautiful gold laced
(07:17):
blue plants began a writhing dance. Their spicules withdrew and jabbed,
withdrew and jabbed. A rending, silent scream tore the quiet waters. No,
they cried. It was a negative command mixed in with
the terrible screaming. Turn it off, stop it, stop it.
Kully tried to say, but there were no words. He
(07:39):
tried to cover his ears within the helmet, but the
cries went on. Emotions roiled the water, pain, hurt, reproach.
Cully sobbed. Something was wrong here, something was killing the plants,
the beautiful blue things. The plants were withering, dying. He
looked up at them, stupefied, not understanding. Tea streaming down
(08:01):
his face. And what did they want from him? What
had he done? Where is it? A different direction materialized,
a new concept of desire. Cully's body turned and crawled
away from the wonderful, dying garden, oblivious to the pleadings
floating now weakly in the torpid water. He scuffed, He
scuffed up little motes of golden sand, leaving a low
(08:24):
lying scud along the bottom, Back to the little black
box in the garden. The plants, the box all were
forgotten by now. Cully crawled on, not knowing why. A
rise appeared. Surprise caught Kully unaware, a change in the sameness.
Where is it again? The voice was insistent, His desire
(08:46):
was close ahead. He did not look back at the
black churning on the sea bottom. His legs worked, his chest,
heaved words swirled in his mind. He topped the rise
below him. In the center of a shallow golden bowl,
floated a long, shiny cylinder. Even from here he knew
what it was huge. He knew other things about it,
(09:09):
how heavy it was, how it was that it carried
others of his kind. He had been in it before,
and they were waiting for him. He lurched, on, Captain,
here comes Cully. The midshipman shouted from the airlock. Look
what they've done to him. The old man's gray eyes
took in the spectacle without visible emotion. He watched the pathetic, bleeding,
(09:31):
yellow plastic sack crawl up to the ship and look up.
His hands reached down and lifted Cully up into the lock.
They took his suit off and stared with loathing at
what had once been a man. A white scar zigzagged
across his forehead. The captain bent close in range of
(09:54):
the dim blue eyes. It was a brave thing you did, Cully.
The whole system will be grateful. Venus could never be
colonized as long as those cannibals were there to eat
men and drive men mad. Cully fingered the scar on
his forehead and looked unseen into the old man's compassionate eyes.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cully. We all are. But there
(10:16):
was no other way, prefrontal lobotomy, destruction of your speech center.
It was the only way you could get past the
telepaths and destroy them. I'm sorry, Cully. The race of
man shall long honor your name. Cully smiled at the
old man, the words churning in his brain, but he
did not understand. Where is it? The emptiness was still there,
(10:43):
and of Cully by Jack Egan
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