It was all of this: The beat and the heat and the neat repeat of the notes which poured from the congohelium-metal never made for music, matter and anti-matter locked in a fine magnetic grid to ward off the outermost perils of space. Now a piece of it was deep in the body of Old Earth, counting out strange cadences. The churn and the burn and the hot return of music riding the living rock, accompanying itself in an air-carried echo. The surge and the urge of an erotic dirge which moaned, groaned through the heavy stone.
( Cordwainer Smith )
[ The Best of Cordwainer Smith ]
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