The Generator That morning in his bare, cell-like room Morix, Heresiarch of Argolis, had had his first seizure. A fit of coughing that left him grey and gasping for breath. He realized the significance of the attack. He had even been half expecting it. Now it had come he would face death quietly and with dignity, like a true Argolin knight. But first there were duties still to perform. Too weak to stand, he summoned the medical guides to bring a hover litter. The two orderlies laid him on the litter and bore him to the boardroom where they sat him in his chair. At his command they pressed a button on the desk console. A blank area of the boardroom wall slid back to reveal a view of the Argolin landscape. Not the landscape as it was today-cold, jewelled, glittering, lit by the refracted colours of a million rainbows. But the landscape of Argolis as it had been before the Foamasi War. The land was green and lush, with rolling hills and dense woods where once Argolin knights had hunted. Flowers grew in profusion.
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