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diff --git a/23149.txt b/23149.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4568b2c --- /dev/null +++ b/23149.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1103 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Control Tower, by Will Mohler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: In the Control Tower + +Author: Will Mohler + +Release Date: October 22, 2007 [EBook #23149] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE CONTROL TOWER *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jeannie Howse and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + * * * * * + + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + | Transcriber's Note: | + | | + | Inconsistent hyphenation in the original document has | + | been preserved. | + | | + | Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. For | + | a complete list, please see the end of this document. | + | | + | This etext was produced from Galaxy Science Fiction, | + | December 1963. Extensive research did not uncover any | + | evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication | + | was renewed. | + | | + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + + * * * * * + + +[Illustration] + + + + +IN THE CONTROL TOWER + +by WILL MOHLER + +Illustrated by GIUNTA + + =Shadows haunted the dying alleys. + Madness stalked the wide streets. + And what lay at the city's heart?= + + + + +I + + +Dewforth had almost most lost the habit of looking from windows. The +train which took him to the city every morning passed through a +country in the terminal stages of a long war of self-destruction. +Whatever had been burned, botched, poisoned or exhausted in that +struggle had been filled along the right-of-way, among drifts of soot +and ground-mists of sulphurous smoke and chemical flatulence, to form +a long tedious mural--a parody of cloud-borne Asiatic hills, +precipitous and always so close to the tracks that their tops could +not be seen. + +This was almost merciful, considering what had been done to the sky. +When the train did not sneak between hills of slag, cinders, rubbish, +garbage, dross and the bloody brown carrion of broken machinery, it +shot like a bolt in the groove of an arbolest between unbroken +barriers of advertising or through deep concrete troughs and roaring +tunnels full of grimy light and grubby air. + +There was one inconsistancy in this scheme of things: Just as the +train emerged from a deep valley of slag-hills and swung into a long +curve, passengers on the left side had a panoramic view of the city--a +frozen scene of battle between geometrical monsters, made remote and +obscure by the dust of a thousand thousand merely human struggles, too +small to be visible from the crusty windows of the train by the merely +human eye. They had about one second in which to absorb this vision of +corporate purpose. Then they were plunging into a final stretch of +tunnel to the center of the city itself, where no surface was ever +more than fifteen paces away and where there were no horizons at all. + +Dewforth was excited by this view even though it reached him in a +fragmentary and subliminal way. Day after day he told himself that he +would have all his faculties at the ready before the train swung into +the curve. But morning after morning he was still emerging from the +stale fumes of the preceding night's beer, or he allowed himself to be +hypnotized by the sound of the wheels or fascinated by the jiggling of +another passenger's earlobe at that critical moment. The train had +always entered the clangorous colon of the city before this resolve +could crystallize in his mind, and he was left with an impression +which lay somewhere in the scale of reality between the after-image of +a light bulb and the morning memory of a fever-dream. He could never +have described the scene except in loose generalities about buildings +of contrasting height and unemphatic color. + + * * * * * + +The single memorable feature of the panorama, looming above the rest, +was not even a building. It eluded all familiar categories. It was, +like the other components of the picture, rectangular; but it was a +displaced rectangle. A shining thread of morning sky could be seen +beneath it. It was only logical to suppose that it stood on legs of +some kind--a complicated process of girders. The upper part appeared +to be made of corrugated metal, but, as with the matter of the legs, +it was impossible to separate what was actually seen and what was +merely inferred. The only other structures Dewforth had seen which +resembled it at all were water towers and shipyard cranes, but these +had been mere toys compared with the thing that hovered over the +center of the city. + +Its purpose could not be guessed, but what disturbed Dewforth more was +the fact that he could not be sure that it existed. He was a precision +draftsman, more or less resigned to deteriorating eyesight, and his +usual abstracted state of mind during that segment of his day had also +to be considered. He hoped that someone else would mention the +structure. Once--only once--a man sitting on the opposite seat had +made a comment which could have applied to it. "It turned," he said, +just as the tunnel swallowed the train. + +Dewforth would have liked to ask the other passenger what he had +meant. Had he seen the same thing? Had he seen anything at all? And +what had he meant by "turned"? + +But he had not asked. The other had been not merely forbidding, not +merely repugnant, but alternately forbidding and repugnant--in +daylight, an impeccable burgher sitting tall and righteous under a +tall hat; in tunnels, a hunchbacked gargoyle picking its nose in the +fickle darkness. + +If Dewforth had been the only passenger on the train, or indeed the +last man in the world, he could not have been more alone with his +wonder. You did not ask whimsical questions of strangers nowadays. You +did not ask many questions of friends. All uncertainties incubated in +private darkness; they lived and grew and even put forth new +appendages. + +Not a building. Not a water tank. Not a crane. Perhaps it was only an +illusion. + +Illusion or not, it wanted a name so that it might be at least +catalogued in his own mind. Therefore, on a morning since forgotten +and for reasons never closely examined, he decided to call it The +Control Tower. + + + + +II + + +There was an unholy Friday restlessness upon Dewforth. To make matters +worse, it was the last Friday in March. Logically, perhaps, this +should not have made any difference because Dewforth worked in one of +a number of identical windowless rooms in a building from which all +natural rhythms had been rigorously excluded. From skylights high in +the ceilings of the drafting rooms came a light which had been +pasteurized and was timeless. It could have been artificial. + +His work provided no refuge for his thought. It was demanding, but +only mechanically so. Strictly speaking, he did not know what he was +doing. No one did, apparently. He did not have the satisfaction of +knowing that what he did was real. He filled large sheets of plastic +with tracings of intricate, interconnected schematic hieroglyphs. But +he knew that in another place a template would be laid over his work. +An irregular portion like a piece of a jigsaw puzzle would be cut out +of it and the rest, perhaps more than half of his work, would be +destroyed. + +It was even possible that all of it was destroyed. + +Dewforth worked for a firm which made components. Of what, no one +said, no one asked. _Components, Inc._, the firm was called. He knew +that the finished products were small, heavy and very complicated. +Their names were mute combinations of letters and numbers, joined by +hyphens or separated by virgules. Some said that these components +performed no functions. Others said that they worked, but their +operations corresponded to no known human need. It was known that some +of the finished products themselves were destroyed. Some maintained +that they were dissolved in vats of hydrofluoric acid. Others argued +that they were encased in cement, then taken out to sea in speedboats +on moonless nights and jettisoned. The favorite rumor was that the +entire firm was a decoy to bewilder agents of foreign powers and +pre-empt their espionage efforts. There was neither proof of this nor +evidence to the contrary. + +The penalty for circulating this last rumor was immediate dismissal +with prejudice. + +In another place, another time, Dewforth might have spread the burden +of his mood by confiding in other workers, but not under the +circumstances so painstakingly arranged by _Components, Inc._ in the +interest of what was called _The Inter-loathing Index_, or I.I. It was +an axiom of modern industry that a high I.I. meant high productivity +and also tighter security. The latter was as much the measure of the +importance of an industry as what it made or how much. That there was +design in the egg-box compartmentation of workspaces, for example, was +obvious enough. Less overt were the lengths to which Personnel had +gone to discourage the exchange of information, or confidences, among +employees. + +Under the guise of aptitude testing, the psychologists had been able +to select and organize teams consisting entirely of mutually +incompatible individuals. So well had they succeeded that most workers +could barely stand the sight of one another, and so were driven back +upon themselves and their work. Only by practicing an almost egg-like +self-containment could a draftsman or other worker hope to get through +the day without open conflict and disaster. + +Latent antipathies among workers were further intensified by means of +the Annual Proficiency Competitions. At the conclusion of these tests +all employees save two were given Proficiency Stars. Of the remaining +two, one was invariably a person who had shown signs of becoming too +popular among his fellows. He was given a Leadership Star, and because +an affable man was usually less rather than more efficient than the +rest, this made of him a lonely little air-bubble in a sea of +resentment. + +The second of the two workers was always discharged. Thus a dash of +anxiety was added to the proceedings. + + * * * * * + +The visible manifestations of high I.I. were hectic color, a +characteristic ferocity of eye and throbbing jaw-hinges. Often the +jaw-hinges of an entire team would be pulsating at once, sometimes +even in unison. This spectacle emanated an overwhelming feeling of +earnestness and purpose. Executives were fond of pointing out this +phenomenon to visiting dignitaries. "Observe their jaw-hinges," they +would say. + +Another factor which isolated employees from one another was the +peculiarly virulent form of halitosis which afflicted all workers +without exception. The company cafeteria was the source of this +malady. + +Thus, if Dewforth had been the only employee in that vast complex of +buildings, or in the world, he could not have been restlessness. Add +to this the fact that it had been his misfortune to win the Leadership +Star in the Proficiency Competitions only three days earlier. He did +not have to trace the bitter stream of his mood any farther back than +that to find the bile-source. + +The object of the contest had been to draw a single line 28-5/8 inches +long and 1/15,000 of an inch thick, a feat which is starkly simple in +conception but only theoretically feasible. The draftsmen had spent +hours preparing the surfaces of paper, straining ink through filters, +honing drawing pens with emery and polishing them with rouge, drawing +practice lines and scrutinizing them with powerful bench microscopes. +They did Balinese finger exercises, Chinese body coordination +exercises, Hindu breathing exercises and Tibetan spiritual +calisthenics to dispel their incipient shakes. When the great moment +came, a solemn little group of executives entered the drafting room +and stood about in attitudes of grave ceremonial courtesy. + +The draftsmen then drew their lines. + +When it was over, the judges examined and graded the lines and the +scores were announced by Mr. Shrank, the foreman. The better scores +prompted little flutters of restrained applause from the executives. +This moist and muted sound had reminded Dewforth of a hippopotamus +venting its wind under water, and in a moment of thoughtless +exhilaration he had even thought of sharing this bizarre notion with +his wife. He never did so, as it happened. + + * * * * * + +Why had he ever told his wife about that wretched Leadership Star? Her +laughter persisted through his dreams, or through his dream. He only +had one. In this dream she was always a massive machine which ingested +songbirds between steel rollers and stamped them into pipe-flange +gaskets at a rate of one hundred and twenty per minute. + +And the prize-winning line he had drawn--it revealed its true nature +in the perspective of days. There was no mistaking what it was. It was +The Abyss. It could widen and it could engulf. How much light would a +Leadership Star cast in that bottomless inkiness? + +Acute restless had the effect of sending Dewforth frequently to the +lavatory, not so much for physiological reasons as because there was +no other place to go and he had to go somewhere when the white walls +of the drafting room threatened to crush him. He went as often as he +thought he could without attracting the attention of Mr. Shrank or +eliciting ponderous jocosities from the other workers. After several +visits, however, he did begin to question himself. What drew him to +that bleak refuge again and again? He was not aware of bladder +irritation. He had no infantile obsession about such facilities. Was +he driven by an aggregation of petty forces, each too small to make +sense by itself? Or was there one reason hiding behind a cloud of +small rationalizations? There was a difference in the air in the +lavatory, and in the sound--the undifferentiated background sound +which came from nowhere. Nowhere? + +It came through a window. + +He had been staring at a window--probably the only one in the +building--and it had failed to register on his mind at the time +because he had not expected it to be there. It was not part of the +habitual pattern. He had seen a window. He had, moreover, looked +through a window. What had he seen? He thought about this, and at the +same time he thought about being sick--administratively sick. He +succeeded in working up a palpable fever and a windy yawning beneath +the diaphragm. Before taking any action he would have to confirm what +he had seen through the window of the lavatory. + +On his last trip to the lavatory he climbed up onto the slippery +washbasin and looked through the high window. His position there would +be impossible to explain, of course, if anyone should come in. He was +past caring about that. The unpasteurized air made him a little drunk +and the sound--the immense distant sighing groan like a giant's +whisper--filled his brain. It made him want to expand to meet it +somehow. + +Only one immense skeleton foot was visible, but there was no question +about exactly what it was. + +No conventional structure would curve upward in that way. There was no +point of reference by which to determine how far away it was, and the +air was blue with haze, giving everything an appearance of remoteness +and of unreality. He had never seen the city from that angle before, +but if what he saw was what he thought it was, how could it have been +so close without his knowing about it before this time? It was a thing +which belonged to vast distances--spatial distances and other kinds of +distance as well. Now it was close, or he was closer to it than he had +ever imagined he would be in his life. + +It was accessible. + +Dewforth left at half past three when the somnolence of afternoon was +heaviest on the heads of the other draftsmen. He did not speak to Mr. +Shrank about it. He did not clear with Miss Plock in the dispensary, +nor with Mr. Fert in Personnel, nor with Miss Yurt in Wage +Readjustment, nor with Miss Bort in Sick Leave Subdivision, nor with +Miss Vibe in Special Problems, nor with Mr. Pfister in Sick Claims, +nor with Miss Grope in Employee Grievances, nor with Miss Rupnick in +Company Grievances, nor with Miss Guggward in Allowance Reductions, +nor with Mr. Droon in Privilege Curtailment, nor with Miss Tremulo in +Psychological Counseling, nor with Dr. Schreck in Spiritual Aid +Subdiv. + +He did not even trouble to see Miss Nosemilker who kept the time book. + +He just left. + + + + +III + + +"Nobody goes up there," said the hulking oyster-eyed man in the burlap +overcoat. + +The bum's eyes cleared long enough for him to peer into Dewforth's +eyes in order to see if his madness was worth sharing, then they +filmed over again as he decided that it was not. + +Dewforth crowded past him and walked on. He was making real progress. +He had at last found someone who acknowledged that there was something +up there above eye-level. The others--old lost children, figures of +scab and grime--had been unaware of anything but inner cavities of +craving and fear above the sidewalk firmament of trodden gum disks, +sputum stars and the ends of twice-smoked cigarettes. + +He could not have lost sight of the Control Tower. He had never +realized what streets were. Before that time he had known a single +well policed block between the station and his place of work. He still +thought of streets as more or less open strips along which people +moved, north or south, east or west, purposefully from Point A to +Point B with perhaps one right-angle turn, two at the most, pausing +only to tip hats or look into shop windows. Now it developed that +streets were sewers, battlegrounds, lairs, abattoirs, cesspools, +lazarettes, midways of deformity and brawling markets where nightmares +and spirochetes were sold. + +The city had not less than three dimensions. He had not been fully +prepared for the implications of this, either. Existence in three +dimensions does not necessarily mean three-dimensional vision. The sky +was not visible through the maze of girders, stairways and catwalks +overhead. Dewforth tried to orient himself by the direction of +shadows, but this was misleading. It was the heart of the shadow +district, and the play of shadows was the order of things. The rules +were the rules of phantoms. Flesh lived there in subjection. Long +miscegenation with shadow had made phantoms of them all and endowed +all shadows with the menace of the real. Everything was equivocal as +hell. + +Dewforth wandered in a cavern without walls. He saw bulky overcoats +with defeated hats or defeated heads; long-legged dwarfs in black +leather jackets; willowy chorus-boys with platinum ringlets, waiting +in their niches for the gift of violence; scuttling trolls with +horse-blanket jackets and alpine hats; deposed patriarchs under the +small shelter of black derbies, hiding from persecution behind the +Spanish moss of consolidated beards; headless things and thingless +heads, importuning, threatening, watching or just standing there, +those that were able. + +In his search for a way out of the darkness, he was obliged to turn +back time and again. If gangs of shadows fought with knives at the end +of a street which had at first looked promising, what business had +shadows cursing or screaming or bleeding? If the madman who enjoined +the mob to fight in the service of nothingness was only a mouse +dancing on a summit of garbage, why did they cheer? At the end of +still another street, a mass rape may not have been in progress; the +participants may not have waited sullenly in a long line; a +macrocephalic gnome in a plaid suit may not actually have moved up and +down the line selling tickets at a reduced rate and explaining that +the outrage had been in progress since the preceding Christmas Eve: +but why was the unreality so consistant? + +And if no one was in fact being ravaged, why did everyone look as +though they had been? + + * * * * * + +All these spectacles tested Dewforth's courage, but they dimmed his +resolve not at all. At last he found a deserted street. He followed +it and he was rewarded with encouraging signs. There was more birdlime +underfoot, and the inhuman yammering of the streets was replaced with +echoing silence, and that silence was invaded by the sound--the voice +of the colossus, remote and terrible. + +Dewforth asked directions again, this time of a pear-shaped figure +which may or may not have had legs and which sat in the mouth of an +iron cave and smoked what appeared to be a twist of hemp. "Where...." +Dewforth began. + +"Nobody goes up there," the hemp-smoker answered without looking up at +him. + +"Where do they come down, then," asked Dewforth, trying a new approach +but with little hope. There was a long pause. The pear-shaped man +didn't have arms either, Dewforth noticed. Hands, but no arms. + +"Well now, some got it, some ain't," he said. + +"How's that?" asked Dewforth. The pear blew out a cloud of smoke, +sulphurous, with viscous strings through it. "I knowed a guy caught it +from a drinking glass once." + +This dialogue might have gone on much longer if Dewforth had not just +then noticed that his noninformer was sitting on the bottom step of a +long, dark stairway which led up and up into a jungle of lacy girders +and shadows above them. + +He did not bother kicking the pear-shaped man. He stepped over him and +ran up the stairs two at a time. His footsteps rang on the iron stairs +and carried through the structure. It sounded like the bells of a +sunken cathedral ringing in the tide. + +On the second level there was more light and more air. It was colder. +There were loiterers on the second level too, but these were far from +menacing. They clung to things and pressed themselves against things, +and they stared with unfocused eyes at something which had been there +before but was not there now. These men seemed to be wearing greasy +fezzes and dark, baggy long underwear with buttons and vestigial +lapels. As he approached them, Dewforth saw that the fezzes were +actually felt hats with the brims atrophied or rotted away, and the +funereal long-johns were the weatherbeaten remains of those suits +which are designed for Young Men On The Way Up. As though by tacit +agreement of long standing, these men did not look directly at +Dewforth as he passed, nor he at them. + +There was no difficulty about finding a stairway to the next level, +but there was a rusty chain across the entrance. + +Dewforth's foot caught in this chain as he stepped over it, and it +shattered like a chain of stale pretzels. There were no more people +beyond the second level--none that could be seen. + +He soon lost count of levels. Stairs became narrower and more heavily +encrusted with birdlime and rust as he ascended. In some places there +were long sweeping ramps which led to blind sacs or reached out +unsupported into space, and he was forced to retrace his steps. At no +time did he look down, even when it was possible. There were usually +high barriers along the platforms and ramps. These were covered with +layers of old advertising posters which peeled and were torn by the +wind, revealing still more ancient posters underneath. They seemed to +have grown there by themselves like lichen. It seemed entirely +reasonable to Dewforth that the writing on the older posters +underneath was runic or demotic and the faces were ochre-stained +skulls, but his impulse was to hurry past and not study them too +closely. + + * * * * * + +At last he found a long steep ladder running up the outside of one of +the legs of the Control Tower. Only huge slowly circling birds and +low-flying clouds came between him and the underside of the control +house at the top of the structure. Before beginning the climb he +admonished himself not to look down and not to ponder what he was +doing. In order to keep climbing, however, he had to keep admonishing +himself, thereby only reminding himself to look down and to ponder, to +the detriment of his equilibrium and confidence. Was it vertigo, or +did the ladder or the Tower itself sway in the singing wind? Who was +to say that the earth itself did not heave like fermenting mash? Was +any object inherently more solid than any other object? What was +"stability"? + +When he looked down at the city he could not pick out the building in +which he had worked. There was nothing in any feature of the +landscape. Nothing. If his position, clinging to a girder high above +the city, made no sense, it did not make less sense than the position +of a man, or a Dewforth, sitting in a blind cell among thousands of +other blind cells down there, drawing tiny lines. Nothing bound him to +the drafting room nor even to the Dewforth of the drafting room--not +so much as a spider web or a shaft of light. The light pointed to +itself. The wind got under his shirt and chilled his navel, a +poignant reminder of disconnectedness. + +An eagle glided close and screamed at him. It was like the laughter of +his wife. He resumed his climb, looking down no more. + +The last few yards of the climb were the worst. Some bolts holding the +ladder in place were shapeless little masses of rust. The eleventh +rung from the top broke under his weight, and for the last ten steps +he had to lighten his body by means of a technique of autosuggestion +and will-projection which he invented on the spot, demonstrating what +could be done under pressure of extreme necessity. He could see above +his head a tiny balcony not more than a yard square, at which the +ladder terminated. The floor of this balcony appeared to be made of +long, weatherbeaten cigars which reason told him were badly corroded +iron bars. Reason also told him that there would be a door there. + +He could not see a door through the skeleton floor of the balcony, but +the idea that there would not be a door there was, under the +circumstances, insupportable. There would be a door, he told himself +as he made his way upwards by means of levitation and the most +tentative of steps. It would probably have an inhospitable sign on +it--NO TRESPASSING, AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY, DANGER or perhaps HIGH +VOLTAGE. It might prove to be locked. If so, he would pound on it +until some one opened it, he decided. + +There was even an outside possibility that no one would be inside. He +had never considered that possibility before that time. He decided +that it was not time to consider it now. + +When Dewforth heaved himself up onto the small projecting platform he +felt the ladder give under his feet. It was not just another rung. He +saw the entire ladder go curling away into the emptiness like a huge +broken spring. Then he lay on the platform face down with his eyes +closed, fingers clutching the sill of the door, for a long time. + +New sounds invaded his personal darkness as he lay there. He heard +bells, buzzers, klaxons, whistles and slamming relays. There were +voices from loudspeakers--imperious and hopeless, angry and feeble, +impassioned and monotonous, arrogant and anguished--in a synthetic +language made up of odd phonemes long since discarded from a thousand +other languages. When he looked up he saw no door but only a rectangle +of darkness with erratic flashes of colored light. + +Having no choice, he entered on his hands and knees. + + + + +IV + + +Dewforth wandered in a labyrinth of control panels which reached +almost to the ceiling, but did not entirely shut out the light. This +light was like skimmed milk diffused in shadow. He reasoned that it +came from windows, but when he tried to remember whether the control +cab had windows he could not be sure. He had no visual image of +windows seen from the outside, but he had supposed that such an +edifice would hardly be blind. Somewhere beyond this maze of control +panels, he also reasoned, there must be an area like the bridge of an +enormous ship where the clamor of the bells, buzzers, klaxons and +whistles and the silent warnings and importunings of dials, gauges, +colored lights, ticker-tapes which spewed from metal mouths, the +palsied styles which scribbled on creeping scrolls, were somehow +collated and made meaningful, where the yammering loudspeakers could +be answered, and where the operators could look out and down and see +what they were doing. + +Where were the operators? + +The noise was deafening. Unlike the noise of machinery in a factory it +was not homogeneous. Each sound was intended to attract attention and +to evoke a certain response, but what response and from whom? Long +levers projecting from the steel deck wagged back and forth +spastically like the legs of monstrous insects struggling on their +backs. Several times Dewforth was temporarily blinded by an explosion +of blue light as a fuse blew or something short-circuited among the +rows of knife-switches and rheostats on the panels. One would never +really get used to the sporadic sound or to the lights. There was no +knowable pattern about them--about what they did or said. When he +closed his eyes and tried to compose himself the words _Out of +Control_ flashed red against the back of his eyelids, but he told +himself that this was foolish. How was one to adjudge a situation to +be Out of Control when one did not know what constituted control, over +what, or by whom? Furthermore, he rebuked himself, if the +panels--never mind how many or how forbidding--with their lights, +bells, buzzers, switches, relays, dials, gauges, styles, tapes, +pointers, rheostats and buttons had any meaning, and in fact if the +Tower itself had any meaning at all, that meaning was _Control_. How +arrogant it had been of him to imagine, even briefly, that because +he--a green intruder in that high place--had not immediately +comprehended what it was all about, the situation must be out of +control. _Absurd!_ + + * * * * * + +There were hundreds--perhaps thousands--of little labels attached to +the control panels, presumably indicating the functions of the +buttons, switches and other controls. Dewforth leaned close and +studied these, but found only mute combinations of letters and +numbers, joined by hyphens or separated by virgules.... They made him +feel somewhat more fragile, more round-shouldered and colder, but he +resisted despair. It was getting a little darker, though. The +skimmed-milk light above him was taking on a bluish tint. He had no +way of knowing how long he had wandered among the control panels. His +time-sense had always been dependent upon clocks and bells--and upon +the arrivals and departures of trains. + +It was a sound which finally led Dewforth out of the maze of control +panels. + +It was not a louder sound, not more emphatic, imperative or clear than +the others; it was formless, feeble and ineffably pathetic. It was +its utter incongruity which reached Dewforth through the robotic +clamor, and which touched him ... a mewing, as of a kitten trapped in +a closet. + +It came, as he discovered, from The Operator. + +He was quite alone among his levers, wheels, switches, buttons, +cranks, gauges, lights, bells, buzzers, horns, ticker-tapes, creeping +scrolls, barking loudspeakers and cryptic dials. Dewforth saw him +sharply silhouetted against a long window through which bluish-gray +light poured but through which nothing could be clearly seen from +where he stood. The Operator sat on a high, one-legged stool. His head +was drawn into his shoulders, which were crumpled things of birdlike +bones. His head was bald on top but the fringe was long and wild. He +had big simian ears set at right angles to his head and the light +shone through them, not pink but yellowish. There was an aureole of +fine hairs about them which gave them the appearance of angel's wings. +With enlarged hands at the ends of almost fleshless arms he clutched +at the knobs of rheostats and the cranks of transformers, hesitantly, +spasmodically, and without ever quite reaching anything. Each time he +withdrew his hands quickly as though he had been on the point of +touching something very hot. His arms might have been elongated by a +lifetime of such aborted movement. + +Just as Dewforth began to wonder how his sudden appearance there would +affect the old man, feeble and distraught as he already was, the +Operator whirled on his stool and stared at Dewforth with eyes so +round, so huge and so terrified that the rest of his face was not +noticeable at all. + +He shouted something that sounded like "_Huzzah!_" but almost +certainly was not, then stiffened, then fell to the steel deck with no +more fuss than a bag of corn-husks would have made, and died. + + * * * * * + +One would think that a windowed control cab or wheelhouse atop the +loftiest structure in a city, or in an entire landscape, would afford +a man an Olympian view of the world below, and of its people and their +activities. + +Dewforth must have believed this at one time, but he found that it was +not so. The entire lower portion of the windows was covered with thin +pages of typescript, mostly yellowed, dusty and curled at the +edges--orders, instructions, directives, memoranda, all _Urgent_, _For +Immediate Action_, _Important_, _Priority_, _On No Account_, or _At +All Costs_. + +The texts of these orders, instructions, directives or memoranda +consisted of mute combinations of letters and numbers, joined by +hyphens or separated by virgules. + +Through the upper portion of the windows Dewforth could just make out +the horizon and a narrow strip of darkening sky, which were silent and +which demanded nothing of him. Amid the continuing clamor of all the +signal devices, he tried to recapture the last utterance of the +Operator--the former Operator. + +"_Huzzah!_" was out of the question. "_Who's there?_" or "_Who's +that?_" were more likely, but, as he thought of it, weren't "_Whose +what?_", "_What's where?_", "_Where's what?_" or even "_Who's where?_" +just as likely? + +Of these possible last words, "_Who's where?_" echoed most +persistently in his memory. + +Dewforth might have torn away the pages of meaningless orders and +looked down upon lights as darkness fell, but he did not. + +Opaque as they were in form and content alike, there was something +reassuringly familiar in the lines of inane symbols. And they were all +that stood between him and the approaching tidal wave of night, and +beyond the night, the winter with its storms. + + --WILL MOHLER + + * * * * * + + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + | Typographical errors corrected in text: | + | | + | Page 139: "more efficient that the rest" replaced with | + | "more efficient than the rest" | + | Page 141: whispper replaced with whisper | + | Page 141: disance replaced with distance | + | Page 143: "the participants many not have waited" | + | replaced with | + | "the participants may not have waited" | + | Page 143: spectacle replaced with spectacles | + | Page 147: homogenous replaced with homogeneous | + | Page 149: "Where's what" replaced with "Where's what?" | + | | + +-----------------------------------------------------------+ + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of In the Control Tower, by Will Mohler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IN THE CONTROL TOWER *** + +***** This file should be named 23149.txt or 23149.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/1/4/23149/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Jeannie Howse and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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