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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:32:52 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:32:52 -0700 |
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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/26782-h.zip b/26782-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..40a4584 --- /dev/null +++ b/26782-h.zip diff --git a/26782-h/26782-h.htm b/26782-h/26782-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fa01bbc --- /dev/null +++ b/26782-h/26782-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3758 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of It Could Be Anything, by Keith Laumer + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + h1,hr {clear: both;} + h2 {text-align: left; font-size: large;} + hr {width: 45%; margin: 1em auto; visibility: hidden;} + .tb {visibility: visible;} + body {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .center,h1,.p1,.p2 {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps; text-transform: lowercase;} + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin: 0 1em 1em 0; padding: 0; text-align: left; width: 220px;} + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin: 1em 0 1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 358px;} + .figr1 {float: right; clear: right; margin: 1em 0 -1em 1em; padding: 0; width: 173px;} + .trn {border: solid 1px; margin: 1em 15%; padding: 1em; text-align: justify;} + img {border: none; display: block;} + p.cap:first-letter {float: left; margin-right: .05em; padding-top: .05em; font-size: 300%; line-height: .8em; clear: none;} + .dcap {text-transform: uppercase;} + .bk1 {background: url("images/004.png") top left no-repeat; width: 362px; height: 550px; margin: 0 auto 2em;} + .bk2 {background-color: #FFFFFF; color: #000000; width: 200px; padding: .25em; border: solid 1px;} + .bk2 p {text-align: left; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;} + .p1 {line-height: 1.5; margin: 2em 0;} + .p2 {margin-top: 2em;} +// --> +/* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of It Could Be Anything, by John Keith Laumer + +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: It Could Be Anything + +Author: John Keith Laumer + +Illustrator: Virgil Finlay + +Release Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #26782] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT COULD BE ANYTHING *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h2>By KEITH LAUMER</h2> + +<h1><big>it could be<br /> +ANYTHING</big></h1> + +<div class="p1"><i><b><big>Keith Laumer, well-known for his tales of adventure<br /> +and action, shows us a different side of his talent<br /> +in this original, exciting and thought-provoking<br /> +exploration of the meaning of meaning.</big></b></i></div> + +<div class="figleft"><small><b>Illustrated by FINLAY</b></small><br /><br /> +<img src="images/001.png" width="220" height="250" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"She'll</span> be pulling out in a +minute, Brett," Mr. Phillips +said. He tucked his railroader's +watch back in his vest pocket. +"You better get aboard—if you're +still set on going."</p> + +<p>"It was reading all them books +done it," Aunt Haicey said. +"Thick books, and no pictures in +them. I knew it'd make trouble." +She plucked at the faded hand-embroidered +shawl over her thin +shoulders, a tiny bird-like woman +with bright anxious eyes.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry about me," Brett +said. "I'll be back."</p> + +<p>"The place'll be yours when +I'm gone," Aunt Haicey said. +"Lord knows it won't be long."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you change your +mind and stay on, boy?" Mr. +Phillips said, blinking up at the +young man. "If I talk to Mr. +J.D., I think he can find a job for +you at the plant."</p> + +<p>"So many young people leave +Casperton," Aunt Haicey said. +"They never come back."</p> + +<p>Mr. Phillips clicked his teeth. +"They write, at first," he said. +"Then they gradually lose touch."</p> + +<p>"All your people are here, +Brett," Aunt Haicey said. "Haven't +you been happy here?"</p> + +<p>"Why can't you young folks be +content with Casperton?" Mr. +Phillips said. "There's everything +you need here."</p> + +<p>"It's that Pretty-Lee done it," +Aunt Haicey said. "If it wasn't +for that girl—"</p> + +<p>A clatter ran down the line of +cars. Brett kissed Aunt Haicey's +dry cheek, shook Mr. Phillips' +hand, and swung aboard. His +suitcase was on one of the seats. +He put it up above in the rack, +and sat down, turned to wave +back at the two old people.</p> + +<p>It was a summer morning. +Brett leaned back and watched +the country slide by. It was nice +country, Brett thought; mostly +in corn, some cattle, and away in +the distance the hazy blue hills. +Now he would see what was on +the other side of them: the cities, +the mountains, and the ocean. Up +until now all he knew about anything +outside of Casperton was +what he'd read or seen pictures +of. As far as he was concerned, +chopping wood and milking cows +back in Casperton, they might as +well not have existed. They were +just words and pictures printed +on paper. But he didn't want to +just read about them. He wanted +to see for himself.</p> + +<hr /> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/002.png" width="358" height="550" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Pretty-Lee</span> hadn't come to +see him off. She was probably +still mad about yesterday. She +had been sitting at the counter +at the Club Rexall, drinking a +soda and reading a movie magazine +with a big picture of an impossibly +pretty face on the cover—the +kind you never see just +walking down the street. He had +taken the next stool and ordered +a coke.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you read something +good, instead of that pap?" +he asked her.</p> + +<p>"Something good? You mean +something dry, I guess. And +don't call it ... that word. It +doesn't sound polite."</p> + +<p>"What does it say? That somebody +named Doll Starr is fed up +with glamor and longs for a simple +home in the country and lots +of kids? Then why doesn't she +move to Casperton?"</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't understand," +said Pretty-Lee.</p> + +<p>He took the magazine, leafed +through it. "Look at this: all +about people who give parties +that cost thousands of dollars, +and fly all over the world having +affairs with each other and committing +suicide and getting divorced. +It's like reading about +Martians."</p> + +<p>"I still like to read about the +stars. There's nothing wrong +with it."</p> + +<p>"Reading all that junk just +makes you dissatisfied. You want +to do your hair up crazy like the +pictures in the magazines and +wear weird-looking clothes—"</p> + +<p>Pretty-Lee bent her straw double. +She stood up and took her +shopping bag. "I'm very glad to +know you think my clothes are +weird—"</p> + +<p>"You're taking everything I +say personally. Look." He showed +her a full-color advertisement on +the back cover of the magazine. +"Look at this. Here's a man supposed +to be cooking steaks on +some kind of back-yard grill. He +looks like a movie star; he's +dressed up like he was going to +get married; there's not a wrinkle +anywhere. There's not a spot +on that apron. There isn't even a +grease spot on the frying pan. +The lawn is as smooth as a billiard +table. There's his son; he +looks just like his pop, except +that he's not grey at the temples. +Did you ever really see a man +that handsome, or hair that was +just silver over the ears and the +rest glossy black? The daughter +looks like a movie starlet, and +her mom is exactly the same, except +that she has that grey +streak in front to match her husband. +You can see the car in the +drive; the treads of the tires +must have just been scrubbed; +they're not even dusty. There's +not a pebble out of place; all the +flowers are in full bloom; no +dead ones. No leaves on the +lawn; no dry twigs showing on +the trees. That other house in the +background looks like a palace, +and the man with the rake, looking +over the fence: he looks like +this one's twin brother, and he's +out raking leaves in brand new +clothes—"</p> + +<p>Pretty-Lee grabbed her magazine. +"You just seem to hate +everything that's nicer than this +messy town—"</p> + +<p>"I don't think it's nicer. I like +you; your hair isn't always perfectly +smooth, and you've got a +mended place on your dress, and +you feel human, you smell human—"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Pretty-Lee turned and +flounced out of the drug store.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> shifted in the dusty +plush seat and looked +around. There were a few other +people in the car. An old man +was reading a newspaper; two +old ladies whispered together. +There was a woman of about +thirty with a mean-looking kid; +and some others. They didn't +look like magazine pictures, any +of them. He tried to picture them +doing the things you read in +newspapers: the old ladies putting +poison in somebody's tea; +the old man giving orders to +start a war. He thought about +babies in houses in cities, and +airplanes flying over, and bombs +falling down: huge explosive +bombs. Blam! Buildings fall in, +pieces of glass and stone fly +through the air. The babies are +blown up along with everything +else—</p> + +<p>But the kind of people he knew +couldn't do anything like that. +They liked to loaf and eat and +talk and drink beer and buy a +new tractor or refrigerator and +go fishing. And if they ever got +mad and hit somebody—afterwards +they were embarrassed +and wanted to shake hands....</p> + +<p>The train slowed, came to a +shuddery stop. Through the window +he saw a cardboardy-looking +building with the words <span class="smcap">BAXTER'S +JUNCTION</span> painted across it. +There were a few faded posters +on a bulletin board. An old man +was sitting on a bench, waiting. +The two old ladies got off and a +boy in blue jeans got on. The +train started up. Brett folded his +jacket and tucked it under his +head and tried to doze off....</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Brett awoke, yawned, sat up. +The train was slowing. He remembered +you couldn't use the +toilets while the train was +stopped. He got up and went to +the end of the car. The door was +jammed. He got it open and went +inside and closed the door behind +him. The train was going slower, +clack-clack ... clack-clack ... +clack; clack ... cuh-lack ...</p> + +<p>He washed his hands, then +pulled at the door. It was stuck. +He pulled harder. The handle +was too small; it was hard to get +hold of. The train came to a halt. +Brett braced himself and +strained against the door. It +didn't budge.</p> + +<p>He looked out the grimy window. +The sun was getting lower. +It was about three-thirty, he +guessed. He couldn't see anything +but some dry-looking fields.</p> + +<p>Outside in the corridor there +were footsteps. He started to call, +but then didn't. It would be too +embarrassing, pounding on the +door and yelling, "Let me out! +I'm stuck in the toilet ..."</p> + +<p>He tried to rattle the door. It +didn't rattle. Somebody was +dragging something heavy past +the door. Mail bags, maybe. He'd +better yell. But dammit, the door +couldn't be all that hard to open. +He studied the latch. All he had +to do was turn it. He got a good +grip and twisted. Nothing.</p> + +<p>He heard the mail bag bump-bump, +and then another one. To +heck with it; he'd yell. He'd wait +until he heard the footsteps pass +the door again and then he'd +make some noise.</p> + +<p>Brett waited. It was quiet now. +He rapped on the door anyway. +No answer. Maybe there was nobody +left in the car. In a minute +the train would start up and he'd +be stuck here until the next stop. +He banged on the door. "Hey! +The door is stuck!"</p> + +<p>It sounded foolish. He listened. +It was very quiet. He pounded +again. The car creaked once. He +put his ear to the door. He +couldn't hear anything. He +turned back to the window. There +was no one in sight. He put his +cheek flat against it, looked along +the car. He saw only dry fields.</p> + +<p>He turned around and gave +the door a good kick. If he damaged +it, it was too bad; the railroad +shouldn't have defective +locks on the doors. If they tried +to make him pay for it, he'd tell +them they were lucky he didn't +sue the railroad ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> braced himself against the +opposite wall, drew his foot +back, and kicked hard at the +lock. Something broke. He pulled +the door open.</p> + +<p>He was looking out the open +door and through the window +beyond. There was no platform, +just the same dry fields he could +see on the other side. He came +out and went along to his seat. +The car was empty now.</p> + +<p>He looked out the window. +Why had the train stopped here? +Maybe there was some kind of +trouble with the engine. It had +been sitting here for ten minutes +or so now. Brett got up and went +along to the door, stepped down +onto the iron step. Leaning out, +he could see the train stretching +along ahead, one car, two cars—</p> + +<p>There was no engine.</p> + +<p>Maybe he was turned around. +He looked the other way. There +were three cars. No engine there +either. He must be on some kind +of siding ...</p> + +<p>Brett stepped back inside, and +pushed through into the next +car. It was empty. He walked +along the length of it, into the +next car. It was empty too. He +went back through the two cars +and his own car and on, all the +way to the end of the train. All +the cars were empty. He stood on +the platform at the end of the +last car, and looked back along +the rails. They ran straight, +through the dry fields, right to +the horizon. He stepped down to +the ground, went along the cindery +bed to the front of the train, +stepping on the ends of the wooden +ties. The coupling stood open. +The tall, dusty coach stood silently +on its iron wheels, waiting. +Ahead the tracks went on—</p> + +<p>And stopped.</p> + +<p>He walked along the ties, following +the iron rails, shiny on +top, and brown with rust on the +sides. A hundred feet from the +train they ended. The cinders +went on another ten feet and petered +out. Beyond, the fields +closed in. Brett looked up at the +sun. It was lower now in the +west, its light getting yellow and +late-afternoonish. He turned and +looked back at the train. The cars +stood high and prim, empty, silent. +He walked back, climbed +in, got his bag down from the +rack, pulled on his jacket. He +jumped down to the cinders, followed +them to where they ended. +He hesitated a moment, then +pushed between the knee-high +stalks. Eastward across the field +he could see what looked like a +smudge on the far horizon.</p> + +<p>He walked until dark, then +made himself a nest in the dead +stalks, and went to sleep.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> lay on his back, looking up +at pink dawn clouds. Around +him, dry stalks rustled in a faint +stir of air. He felt crumbly earth +under his fingers. He sat up, +reached out and broke off a stalk. +It crumbled into fragile chips. +He wondered what it was. It wasn't +any crop he'd ever seen before.</p> + +<p>He stood, looked around. The +field went on and on, dead flat. +A locust came whirring toward +him, plumped to earth at his feet. +He picked it up. Long elbowed +legs groped at his fingers aimlessly. +He tossed the insect in the +air. It fluttered away. To the east +the smudge was clearer now; it +seemed to be a grey wall, far +away. A city? He picked up his +bag and started on.</p> + +<p>He was getting hungry. He +hadn't eaten since the previous +morning. He was thirsty too. +The city couldn't be more than +three hours' walk. He tramped +along, the dry plants crackling +under his feet, little puffs of dust +rising from the dry ground. He +thought about the rails, running +across the empty fields, ending ...</p> + +<p>He had heard the locomotive +groaning up ahead as the train +slowed. And there had been feet +in the corridor. Where had they +gone?</p> + +<p>He thought of the train, Casperton, +Aunt Haicey, Mr. Phillips. +They seemed very far away, +something remembered from +long ago. Up above the sun was +hot. That was real. The rest +seemed unimportant. Ahead there +was a city. He would walk until +he came to it. He tried to think of +other things: television, crowds +of people, money: the tattered +paper and the worn silver—</p> + +<p>Only the sun and the dusty +plain and the dead plants were +real now. He could see them, feel +them. And the suitcase. It was +heavy; he shifted hands, kept going.</p> + +<p>There was something white on +the ground ahead, a small shiny +surface protruding from the +earth. Brett dropped the suitcase, +went down on one knee, dug +into the dry soil, pulled out a +china teacup, the handle missing. +Caked dirt crumbled away under +his thumb, leaving the surface +clean. He looked at the bottom of +the cup. It was unmarked. Why +just one teacup, he wondered, +here in the middle of nowhere? +He dropped it, took up his suitcase, +and went on.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">After</span> that he watched the +ground more closely. He +found a shoe; it was badly weathered, +but the sole was good. It +was a high-topped work shoe, +size 10½-C. Who had dropped it +here? He thought of other lone +shoes he had seen, lying at the +roadside or in alleys. How did +they get there...?</p> + +<p>Half an hour later he detoured +around the rusted front fender of +an old-fashioned car. He looked +around for the rest of the car but +saw nothing. The wall was closer +now; perhaps five miles more.</p> + +<p>A scrap of white paper fluttered +across the field in a stir of +air. He saw another, more, blowing +along in the fitful gusts. He +ran a few steps, caught one, +smoothed it out.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">BUY NOW—PAY LATER!</span></p> + +<p>He picked up another.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">PREPARE TO MEET GOD</span></p> + +<p>A third said:</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">WIN WITH WILLKIE</span></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The wall loomed above him, +smooth and grey. Dust was +caked on his skin and clothes, +and as he walked he brushed at +himself absently. The suitcase +dragged at his arm, thumped +against his shin. He was very +hungry and thirsty. He sniffed +the air, instinctively searching +for the odors of food. He had +been following the wall for a long +time, searching for an opening. +It curved away from him, rising +vertically from the level earth. +Its surface was porous, unadorned, +too smooth to climb. It +was, Brett estimated, twenty feet +high. If there were anything to +make a ladder from—</p> + +<p>Ahead he saw a wide gate, +flanked by grey columns. He +came up to it, put the suitcase +down, and wiped at his forehead +with his handkerchief. Through +the opening in the wall a paved +street was visible, and the facades +of buildings. Those on the +street before him were low, not +more than one or two stories, but +behind them taller towers reared +up. There were no people in +sight; no sounds stirred the hot +noon-time air. Brett picked up +his bag and passed through the +gate.</p> + +<p>For the next hour he walked +empty pavements, listening to +the echoes of his footsteps +against brownstone fronts, empty +shop windows, curtained glass +doors, and here and there a vacant +lot, weed-grown and desolate. +He paused at cross streets, +looked down long vacant ways. +Now and then a distant sound +came to him: the lonely honk of +a horn, a faintly tolling bell, a +clatter of hooves.</p> + +<p>He came to a narrow alley that +cut like a dark canyon between +blank walls. He stood at its +mouth, listening to a distant +murmur, like a crowd at a funeral. +He turned down the narrow +way.</p> + +<p>It went straight for a few +yards, then twisted. As he followed +its turnings the crowd +noise gradually grew louder. He +could make out individual voices +now, an occasional word above +the hubbub. He started to hurry, +eager to find someone to talk to.</p> + +<p>Abruptly the voices—hundreds +of voices, he thought—rose +in a roar, a long-drawn +Yaaayyyyy...! Brett thought +of a stadium crowd as the home +team trotted onto the field. He +could hear a band now, a shrilling +of brass, the clatter and +thump of percussion instruments. +Now he could see the +mouth of the alley ahead, a sunny +street hung with bunting, the +backs of people, and over their +heads the rhythmic bobbing of a +passing procession, tall shakos +and guidons in almost-even +rows. Two tall poles with a +streamer between them swung +into view. He caught a glimpse +of tall red letters:</p> + +<p class="center">... For Our Side!</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">He</span> moved closer, edged up behind +the grey-backed crowd. +A phalanx of yellow-tuniced men +approached, walking stiffly, fez +tassels swinging. A small boy +darted out into the street, loped +along at their side. The music +screeched and wheezed. Brett +tapped the man before him.</p> + +<p>"What's it all about...?"</p> + +<p>He couldn't hear his own +voice. The man ignored him. +Brett moved along behind the +crowd, looking for a vantage +point or a thinning in the ranks. +There seemed to be fewer people +ahead. He came to the end of the +crowd, moved on a few yards, +stood at the curb. The yellow-jackets +had passed now, and a +group of round-thighed girls in +satin blouses and black boots +and white fur caps glided into +view, silent, expressionless. As +they reached a point fifty feet +from Brett, they broke abruptly +into a strutting prance, knees +high, hips flirting, tossing shining +batons high, catching them, +twirling them, and up again ...</p> + +<p>Brett craned his neck, looking +for TV cameras. The crowd lining +the opposite side of the street +stood in solid ranks, drably clad, +eyes following the procession, +mouths working. A fat man in a +rumpled suit and a panama hat +squeezed to the front, stood picking +his teeth. Somehow, he +seemed out of place among the +others. Behind the spectators, +the store fronts looked normal, +dowdy brick and mismatched +glass and oxidizing aluminum, +dusty windows and cluttered displays +of cardboard, a faded sign +that read <span class="smcap">TODAY ONLY—PRICES +SLASHED</span>. To Brett's left the sidewalk +stretched, empty. To his +right the crowd was packed close, +the shout rising and falling. Now +a rank of blue-suited policemen +followed the majorettes, swinging +along silently. Behind them, +over them, a piece of paper blew +along the street. Brett turned to +the man on his right.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me. Can you tell me +the name of this town?"</p> + +<p>The man ignored him. Brett +tapped the man's shoulder. "Hey! +What town is this?"</p> + +<p>The man took off his hat, +whirled it overhead, then threw +it up. It sailed away over the +crowd, lost. Brett wondered +briefly how people who threw +their hats ever recovered them. +But then, nobody he knew would +throw his hat ...</p> + +<p>"You mind telling me the name +of this place?" Brett said, as he +took the man's arm, pulled. The +man rotated toward Brett, leaning +heavily against him. Brett +stepped back. The man fell, lay +stiffly, his arms moving, his eyes +and mouth open.</p> + +<p>"Ahhhhh," he said. "Whum-whum-whum. +Awww, jawww ..."</p> + +<p>Brett stooped quickly. "I'm +sorry," he cried. He looked +around. "Help! This man ..."</p> + +<p>Nobody was watching. The +next man, a few feet away, stood +close against his neighbor, hatless, +his jaw moving.</p> + +<p>"This man's sick," said Brett, +tugging at the man's arm. "He +fell."</p> + +<p>The man's eyes moved reluctantly +to Brett. "None of my +business," he muttered.</p> + +<p>"Won't anybody give me a +hand?"</p> + +<p>"Probably a drunk."</p> + +<p>Behind Brett a voice called in +a penetrating whisper: "Quick! +You! Get into the alley...!"</p> + +<p>He turned. A gaunt man of +about thirty with sparse reddish +hair, perspiration glistening on +his upper lip, stood at the mouth +of a narrow way like the one +Brett had come through. He wore +a grimy pale yellow shirt with a +wide-flaring collar, limp and +sweat-stained, dark green knee-breeches, +soft leather boots, +scuffed and dirty, with limp tops +that drooped over his ankles. He +gestured, drew back into the +alley. "In here."</p> + +<p>Brett went toward him. "This +man ..."</p> + +<p>"Come on, you fool!" The man +took Brett's arm, pulled him +deeper into the dark passage. +Brett resisted. "Wait a minute. +That fellow ..." He tried to +point.</p> + +<p>"Don't you know yet?" The +red-head spoke with a strange +accent. "Golems ... You got to +get out of sight before the—"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> man froze, flattened himself +against the wall. Automatically +Brett moved to a place +beside him. The man's head was +twisted toward the alley mouth. +The tendons in his weathered +neck stood out. He had a three-day +stubble of beard. Brett could +smell him, standing this close. +He edged away. "What—"</p> + +<p>"Don't make a sound! Don't +move, you idiot!" His voice was +a thin hiss.</p> + +<p>Brett followed the other's eyes +toward the sunny street. The +fallen man lay on the pavement, +moving feebly, eyes open. Something +moved up to him, a translucent +brownish shape, like muddy +water. It hovered for a moment, +then dropped on the man +like a breaking wave, flowed +around him. The body shifted, +rotating stiffly, then tilted upright. +The sun struck through +the fluid shape that flowed down +now, amber highlights twinkling, +to form itself into the crested +wave, flow away.</p> + +<p>"What the hell...!"</p> + +<p>"Come on!" The red-head +turned, trotted silently toward +the shadowy bend under the high +grey walls. He looked back, beckoned +impatiently, passed out of +sight around the turn—</p> + +<p>Brett came up behind him, +saw a wide avenue, tall trees +with chartreuse springtime +leaves, a wrought-iron fence, and +beyond it, rolling green lawns. +There were no people in sight.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute! What is this +place?!"</p> + +<p>His companion turned red-rimmed +eyes on Brett. "How long +have you been here?" he asked. +"How did you get in?"</p> + +<p>"I came through a gate. Just +about an hour ago."</p> + +<p>"I knew you were a man as +soon as I saw you talking to the +golem," said the red-head. "I've +been here two months; maybe +more. We've got to get out of +sight. You want food? There's a +place ..." He jerked his thumb. +"Come on. Time to talk later."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> followed him. They +turned down a side street, +pushed through the door of a +dingy cafe. It banged behind +them. There were tables, stools +at a bar, a dusty juke box. They +took seats at a table. The red-head +groped under the table, +pulled off a shoe, hammered it +against the wall. He cocked his +head, listening. The silence was +absolute. He hammered again. +There was a clash of crockery +from beyond the kitchen door. +"Now don't say anything," the +red-head said. He eyed the door +behind the counter expectantly. +It flew open. A girl with red +cheeks and untidy hair, dressed +in a green waitress' uniform appeared, +swept up to the table, +pad and pencil in hand.</p> + +<p>"Coffee and a ham sandwich," +said the red-head. Brett said +nothing. The girl glanced at him +briefly, jotted hastily, whisked +away.</p> + +<p>"I saw them here the first +day," the red-head said. "It was +a piece of luck. I saw how the +Gels started it up. They were big +ones—not like the tidiers-up. As +soon as they were finished, I +came in and tried the same thing. +It worked. I used the golem's +lines—"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what you're +talking about," Brett said. "I'm +going to ask that girl—"</p> + +<p>"Don't say anything to her; it +might spoil everything. The +whole sequence might collapse; +or it might call the Gels. I'm not +sure. You can have the food when +it comes back with it."</p> + +<p>"Why do you say 'when "it" +comes back'?"</p> + +<p>"Ah." He looked at Brett +strangely. "I'll show you."</p> + +<p>Brett could smell food now. +His mouth watered. He hadn't +eaten for twenty-four hours.</p> + +<p>"Care, that's the thing," the +red-head said. "Move quiet, and +stay out of sight, and you can +live like a County Duke. Food's +the hardest, but here—"</p> + +<p>The red-cheeked girl reappeared, +a tray balanced on one +arm, a heavy cup and saucer in +the other hand. She clattered +them down on the table.</p> + +<p>"Took you long enough," the +red-head said. The girl sniffed, +opened her mouth to speak—and +the red-head darted out a stiff +finger, jabbed her under the ribs. +She stood, mouth open, frozen.</p> + +<p>Brett half rose. "He's crazy, +miss," he said. "Please accept—"</p> + +<p>"Don't waste your breath." +Brett's host was looking at him +triumphantly. "Why do I call it +'it'?" He stood up, reached out +and undid the top buttons of the +green uniform. The waitress +stood, leaning slightly forward, +unmoving. The blouse fell open, +exposing round white breasts—unadorned, +blind.</p> + +<p>"A doll," said the red-head. "A +puppet; a golem."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> stared at her, the damp +curls at her temple, the tip +of her tongue behind her teeth, +the tiny red veins in her round +cheeks, and the white skin curving ...</p> + +<p>"That's a quick way to tell +'em," said the red-head. "The +teat is smooth." He rebuttoned +the uniform, then jabbed again at +the girl's ribs. She straightened, +patted her hair.</p> + +<p>"No doubt a gentleman like +you is used to better," she said +carelessly. She went away.</p> + +<p>"I'm Awalawon Dhuva," the +red-head said.</p> + +<p>"My name's Brett Hale." Brett +took a bite of the sandwich.</p> + +<p>"Those clothes," Dhuva said. +"And you have a strange way of +talking. What county are you +from?"</p> + +<p>"Jefferson."</p> + +<p>"Never heard of it. I'm from +Wavly. What brought you here?"</p> + +<p>"I was on a train. The tracks +came to an end out in the middle +of nowhere. I walked ... and +here I am. What is this place?"</p> + +<p>"Don't know." Dhuva shook +his head. "I knew they were lying +about the Fire River, though. +Never did believe all that stuff. +Religious hokum, to keep the +masses quiet. Don't know what +to believe now. Take the roof. +They say a hundred kharfads +up; but how do we know? Maybe +it's a thousand—or only ten. By +Grat, I'd like to go up in a balloon, +see for myself."</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about?" +Brett said. "Go where in a balloon? +See what?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've seen one at the Tourney. +Big hot-air bag, with a +basket under it. Tied down with +a rope. But if you cut the rope...! +But you can bet the priests +will never let that happen, no, +sir." Dhuva looked at Brett speculatively. +"What about your +county: Fession, or whatever +you called it. How high do they +tell you it is there?"</p> + +<p>"You mean the sky? Well, the +air ends after a few miles and +space just goes on—millions of +miles—"</p> + +<p>Dhuva slapped the table and +laughed. "The people in Fesseron +must be some yokels! Just goes +on up; now who'd swallow that +tale?" He chuckled.</p> + +<p>"Only a child thinks the sky is +some kind of tent," said Brett. +"Haven't you ever heard of the +Solar System, the other planets?"</p> + +<p>"What are those?"</p> + +<p>"Other worlds. They all circle +around the sun, like the Earth."</p> + +<p>"Other worlds, eh? Sailing +around up under the roof? Funny; +I never saw them." Dhuva +snickered. "Wake up, Brett. Forget +all those stories. Just believe +what you see."</p> + +<p>"What about that brown +thing?"</p> + +<p>"The Gels? They run this +place. Look out for them, Brett. +Stay alert. Don't let them see +you."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"What</span> do they do?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know—and I don't +want to find out. This is a great +place—I like it here. I have all I +want to eat, plenty of nice rooms +for sleeping. There's the parades +and the scenes. It's a good life—as +long as you keep out of +sight."</p> + +<p>"How do you get out of here?" +Brett asked, finishing his coffee.</p> + +<p>"Don't know how to get out; +over the wall, I suppose. I don't +plan to leave though. I left home +in a hurry. The Duke—never +mind. I'm not going back."</p> + +<p>"Are all the people here ... +golems?" Brett said. "Aren't +there any more real people?"</p> + +<p>"You're the first I've seen. I +spotted you as soon as I saw you. +A live man moves different than +a golem. You see golems doing +things like knitting their brows, +starting back in alarm, looking +askance, and standing arms +akimbo. And they have things +like pursed lips and knowing +glances and mirthless laughter. +You know: all the things you +read about, that real people never +do. But now that you're here, +I've got somebody to talk to. I +did get lonesome, I admit. I'll +show you where I stay and we'll +fix you up with a bed."</p> + +<p>"I won't be around that long."</p> + +<p>"What can you get outside that +you can't get here? There's everything +you need here in the +city. We can have a great time."</p> + +<p>"You sound like my Aunt Haicey," +Brett said. "She said I had +everything I needed back in +Casperton. How does she know +what I need? How do you know? +How do I know myself? I can +tell you I need more than food +and a place to sleep—"</p> + +<p>"What more?"</p> + +<p>"Everything. Things to think +about and something worth doing. +Why, even in the movies—"</p> + +<p>"What's a movie?"</p> + +<p>"You know, a play, on film. A +moving picture."</p> + +<p>"A picture that moves?"</p> + +<p>"That's right."</p> + +<p>"This is something the priests +told you about?" Dhuva seemed +to be holding in his mirth.</p> + +<p>"Everybody's seen movies."</p> + +<p>Dhuva burst out laughing. +"Those priests," he said. "They're +the same everywhere, I see. +The stories they tell, and people +believe them. What else?"</p> + +<p>"Priests have nothing to do +with it."</p> + +<p>Dhuva composed his features. +"What do they tell you about +Grat, and the Wheel?"</p> + +<p>"Grat? What's that?"</p> + +<p>"The Over-Being. The Four-eyed +One." Dhuva made a sign, +caught himself. "Just habit," he +said. "I don't believe that rubbish. +Never did."</p> + +<p>"I suppose you're talking +about God," Brett said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know about God. Tell +me about it."</p> + +<p>"He's the creator of the world. +He's ... well, superhuman. He +knows everything that happens, +and when you die, if you've led a +good life, you meet God in +Heaven."</p> + +<p>"Where's that?"</p> + +<p>"It's ..." Brett waved a hand +vaguely, "up above."</p> + +<p>"But you said there was just +emptiness up above," Dhuva recalled. +"And some other worlds +whirling around, like islands +adrift in the sea."</p> + +<p>"Well—"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," Dhuva held up +his hands. "Our priests are liars +too. All that balderdash about +the Wheel and the River of Fire. +It's just as bad as your Hivvel or +whatever you called it. And our +Grat and your Mud, or Gog: +they're the same—" Dhuva's +head went up. "What's that?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't hear anything."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Dhuva</span> got to his feet, turned +to the door. Brett rose. A +towering brown shape, glassy +and transparent, hung in the +door, its surface rippling. Dhuva +whirled, leaped past Brett, dived +for the rear door. Brett stood +frozen. The shape flowed—swift +as quicksilver—caught Dhuva in +mid-stride, engulfed him. For an +instant Brett saw the thin figure, +legs kicking, upended within the +muddy form of the Gel. Then the +turbid wave swept across to the +door, sloshed it aside, disappeared. +Dhuva was gone.</p> + +<p>Brett stood rooted, staring at +the doorway. A bar of sunlight +fell across the dusty floor. A +brown mouse ran along the baseboard. +It was very quiet. Brett +went to the door through which +the Gel had disappeared, hesitated +a moment, then thrust it +open.</p> + +<p>He was looking down into a +great dark pit, acres in extent, +its sides riddled with holes, the +amputated ends of water and +sewage lines and power cables +dangling. Far below light glistened +from the surface of a black +pool. A few feet away the waitress +stood unmoving in the dark +on a narrow strip of linoleum. At +her feet the chasm yawned. The +edge of the floor was ragged, as +though it had been gnawed away +by rats. There was no sign of +Dhuva.</p> + +<p>Brett stepped back into the +dining room, let the door swing +shut. He took a deep breath, +picked up a paper napkin from a +table and wiped his forehead, +dropped the napkin on the floor +and went out into the street, his +suitcase forgotten now. At the +corner he turned, walked along +past silent shop windows crowded +with home permanents, sun +glasses, fingernail polish, suntan +lotion, paper cartons, streamers, +plastic toys, vari-colored garments +of synthetic fiber, home +remedies, beauty aids, popular +music, greeting cards ...</p> + +<p>At the next corner he stopped, +looking down the silent streets. +Nothing moved. Brett went to a +window in a grey concrete wall, +pulled himself up to peer through +the dusty pane, saw a room filled +with tailor's forms, garment +racks, a bicycle, bundled back issues +of magazines without covers.</p> + +<p>He went along to a door. It was +solid, painted shut. The next +door looked easier. He wrenched +at the tarnished brass nob, +then stepped back and kicked the +door. With a hollow sound the +door fell inward, taking with it +the jamb. Brett stood staring at +the gaping opening. A fragment +of masonry dropped with a dry +clink. Brett stepped through the +breach in the grey facade. The +black pool at the bottom of the +pit winked a flicker of light back +at him in the deep gloom.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Around</span> him, the high walls +of the block of buildings +loomed in silhouette; the squares +of the windows were ranks of +luminous blue against the dark. +Dust motes danced in shafts of +sunlight. Far above, the roof was +dimly visible, a spidery tangle of +trusswork. And below was the +abyss.</p> + +<p>At Brett's feet the stump of a +heavy brass rail projected an +inch from the floor. It was long +enough, Brett thought, to give +firm anchor to a rope. Somewhere +below, Dhuva—a stranger who +had befriended him—lay in the +grip of the Gels. He would do +what he could—but he needed +equipment—and help. First he +would find a store with rope, +guns, knives. He would—</p> + +<p>The broken edge of masonry +where the door had been caught +his eye. The shell of the wall, exposed +where the door frame had +torn away, was wafer-thin. Brett +reached up, broke off a piece. +The outer face—the side that +showed on the street—was +smooth, solid-looking. The back +was porous, nibbled. Brett +stepped outside, examined the +wall. He kicked at the grey surface. +A great piece of wall, six +feet high, broke into fragments, +fell on the sidewalk with a crash, +driving out a puff of dust. Another +section fell. One piece of it +skidded away, clattered down +into the depths. Brett heard a +distant splash. He looked at the +great jagged opening in the wall—like +a jigsaw picture with a +piece missing. He turned and +started off at a trot, his mouth +dry, his pulse thumping painfully +in his chest.</p> + +<p>Two blocks from the hollow +building, Brett slowed to a walk, +his footsteps echoing in the +empty street. He looked into each +store window as he passed. There +were artificial legs, bottles of colored +water, immense dolls, wigs, +glass eyes—but no rope. Brett +tried to think. What kind of store +would handle rope? A marine +supply company, maybe. But +where would he find one?</p> + +<p>Perhaps it would be easiest to +look in a telephone book. Ahead +he saw a sign lettered <span class="smcap">HOTEL</span>. +Brett went up to the revolving +door, pushed inside. He was in a +dim, marble-panelled lobby, with +double doors leading into a +beige-carpeted bar on his right, +the brass-painted cage of an elevator +directly before him, flanked +by tall urns of sand and an ascending +staircase. On the left +was a dark mahogany-finished +reception desk. Behind the desk +a man stood silently, waiting. +Brett felt a wild surge of relief.</p> + +<p>"Those things, those Gels!" he +called, starting across the room. +"My friend—"</p> + +<p>He broke off. The clerk stood, +staring over Brett's shoulder, +holding a pen poised over a book. +Brett reached out, took the pen. +The man's finger curled stiffly +around nothing. A golem.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> turned away, went into +the bar. Vacant stools were +ranged before a dark mirror. At +the tables empty glasses stood +before empty chairs. Brett started +as he heard the revolving door +thump-thump. Suddenly soft +light bathed the lobby behind +him. Somewhere a piano tinkled +<i>More Than You Know</i>. With a +distant clatter of closing doors +the elevator came to life.</p> + +<p>Brett hugged a shadowed corner, +saw a fat man in a limp +seersucker suit cross to the reception +desk. He had a red face, +a bald scalp blotched with large +brown freckles. The clerk inclined +his head blandly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, sir, a nice double +with bath ..." Brett heard the +unctuous voice of the clerk as he +offered the pen. The fat man took +it, scrawled something in the +register. "... at fourteen dollars," +the clerk murmured. He +smiled, dinged the bell. A boy in +tight green tunic and trousers +and a pillbox cap with a chin +strap pushed through a door beside +the desk, took the key, led +the way to the elevator. The fat +man entered. Through the openwork +of the shaft Brett watched +as the elevator car rose, greasy +cables trembling and swaying. +He started back across the lobby—and +stopped dead.</p> + +<p>A wet brown shape had appeared +in the entrance. It flowed +across the rug to the bellhop. +Face blank, the golem turned +back to its door. Above, Brett +heard the elevator stop. Doors +clashed. The clerk stood poised +behind the desk. The Gel hovered, +then flowed away. The +piano was silent now. The lights +burned, a soft glow, then winked +out. Brett thought about the fat +man. He had seen him before ...</p> + +<p>He went up the stairs. In the +second floor corridor Brett felt +his way along in near-darkness, +guided by the dim light coming +through transoms. He tried a +door. It opened. He stepped into +a large bedroom with a double +bed, an easy chair, a chest of +drawers. He crossed the room, +looked out across an alley. Twenty +feet away white curtains hung +at windows in a brick wall. There +was nothing behind the windows.</p> + +<p>There were sounds in the corridor. +Brett dropped to the floor +behind the bed.</p> + +<p>"All right, you two," a drunken +voice bellowed. "And may all +your troubles be little ones." +There was laughter, squeals, a +dry clash of beads flung against +the door. A key grated. The door +swung wide. Lights blazed in the +hall, silhouetting the figures of +a man in black jacket and trousers, +a woman in a white bridal +dress and veil, flowers in her +hand.</p> + +<p>"Take care, Mel!"</p> + +<p>"... do anything I wouldn't +do!"</p> + +<p>"... kiss the bride, now!"</p> + +<p>The couple backed into the +room, pushed the door shut, stood +against it. Brett crouched behind +the bed, not breathing, waiting. +The couple stood at the door, in +the dark, heads down ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> stood, rounded the foot +of the bed, approached the +two unmoving figures. The girl +looked young, sleek, perfect-featured, +with soft dark hair. Her +eyes were half-open; Brett +caught a glint of light reflected +from the eyeball. The man was +bronzed, broad-shouldered, his +hair wavy and blond. His lips +were parted, showing even white +teeth. The two stood, not breathing, +sightless eyes fixed on nothing.</p> + +<p>Brett took the bouquet from +the woman's hand. The flowers +seemed real—except that they +had no perfume. He dropped +them on the floor, pulled at the +male golem to clear the door. +The figure pivoted, toppled, hit +with a heavy thump. Brett raised +the woman in his arms and +propped her against the bed. +Back at the door he listened. All +was quiet now. He started to +open the door, then hesitated. He +went back to the bed, undid the +tiny pearl buttons down the front +of the bridal gown, pulled it open. +The breasts were rounded, +smooth, an unbroken creamy +white ...</p> + +<p>In the hall, he started toward +the stair. A tall Gel rippled into +view ahead, its shape flowing +and wavering, now billowing out, +then rising up. The shifting form +undulated toward Brett. He made +a move to run, then remembered +Dhuva, stood motionless. The +Gel wobbled past him, slumped +suddenly, flowed under a door. +Brett let out a breath. Never +mind the fat man. There were +too many Gels here. He started +back along the corridor.</p> + +<p>Soft music came from double +doors which stood open on a +landing. Brett went to them, +risked a look inside. Graceful +couples moved sedately on a polished +floor, diners sat at tables, +black-clad waiters moving among +them. At the far side of the room, +near a dusty rubber plant, sat +the fat man, studying a menu. +As Brett watched he shook out a +napkin, ran it around inside his +collar, then mopped his face.</p> + +<p>Never disturb a scene, Dhuva +had said. But perhaps he could +blend with it. Brett brushed at +his suit, straightened his tie, +stepped into the room. A waiter +approached, eyed him dubiously. +Brett got out his wallet, took +out a five-dollar bill.</p> + +<p>"A quiet table in the corner," +he said. He glanced back. There +were no Gels in sight. He followed +the waiter to a table near +the fat man.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Seated</span>, he looked around. +He wanted to talk to the fat +man, but he couldn't afford to +attract attention. He would +watch, and wait his chance.</p> + +<p>At the nearby tables men with +well-pressed suits, clean collars, +and carefully shaved faces murmured +to sleekly gowned women +who fingered wine glasses, smiled +archly. He caught fragments of +conversation:</p> + +<p>"My dear, have you heard ..."</p> + +<p>"... in the low eighties ..."</p> + +<p>"... quite impossible. One +must ..."</p> + +<p>"... for this time of year."</p> + +<p>The waiter returned with a +shallow bowl of milky soup. +Brett looked at the array of +spoons, forks, knives, glanced +sideways at the diners at the +next table. It was important to +follow the correct ritual. He put +his napkin in his lap, careful to +shake out all the folds. He looked +at the spoons again, picked a +large one, glanced at the waiter. +So far so good ...</p> + +<p>"Wine, sir?"</p> + +<p>Brett indicated the neighboring +couple. "The same as they're +having." The waiter turned +away, returned holding a wine +bottle, label toward Brett. He +looked at it, nodded. The waiter +busied himself with the cork, removing +it with many flourishes, +setting a glass before Brett, +pouring half an inch of wine. He +waited expectantly.</p> + +<p>Brett picked up the glass, +tasted it. It tasted like wine. He +nodded. The waiter poured. Brett +wondered what would have happened +if he had made a face and +spurned it. But it would be too +risky to try. No one ever did it.</p> + +<p>Couples danced, resumed their +seats; others rose and took the +floor. A string ensemble in a distant +corner played restrained +tunes that seemed to speak of the +gentle faded melancholy of decorous +tea dances on long-forgotten +afternoons. Brett glanced toward +the fat man. He was eating +soup noisily, his napkin tied under +his chin.</p> + +<p>The waiter was back with a +plate. "Lovely day, sir," he said.</p> + +<p>"Great," Brett agreed.</p> + +<p>The waiter placed a covered +platter on the table, removed the +cover, stood with carving knife +and fork poised.</p> + +<p>"A bit of the crispy, sir?"</p> + +<p>Brett nodded. He eyed the +waiter surreptitiously. He looked +real. Some golems seemed realer +than others; or perhaps it merely +depended on the parts they +were playing. The man who had +fallen at the parade had been +only a sort of extra, a crowd +member. The waiter, on the +other hand, was able to converse. +Perhaps it would be possible to +learn something from him ...</p> + +<p>"What's ... uh ... how do +you spell the name of this town?" +Brett asked.</p> + +<p>"I was never much of a one +for spelling, sir," the waiter said.</p> + +<p>"Try it."</p> + +<p>"Gravy, sir?"</p> + +<p>"Sure. Try to spell the name."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I'd better call the +headwaiter, sir," the golem said +stiffly.</p> + +<p>From the corner of an eye +Brett caught a flicker of motion. +He whirled, saw nothing. Had it +been a Gel?</p> + +<p>"Never mind," he said. The +waiter served potatoes, peas, refilled +the wine glass, moved off +silently. The question had been a +little too unorthodox, Brett decided. +Perhaps if he led up to +the subject more obliquely ...</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">When</span> the waiter returned +Brett said, "Nice day."</p> + +<p>"Very nice, sir."</p> + +<p>"Better than yesterday."</p> + +<p>"Yes indeed, sir."</p> + +<p>"I wonder what tomorrow'll be +like."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps we'll have a bit of +rain, sir."</p> + +<p>Brett nodded toward the dance +floor. "Nice orchestra."</p> + +<p>"They're very popular, sir."</p> + +<p>"From here in town?"</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't know as to that, +sir."</p> + +<p>"Lived here long yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir." The waiter's expression +showed disapproval. +"Would there be anything else, +sir?"</p> + +<p>"I'm a newcomer here," Brett +said. "I wonder if you could tell +me—"</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, sir." The waiter +was gone. Brett poked at the +mashed potatoes. Quizzing golems +was hopeless. He would +have to find out for himself. He +turned to look at the fat man. +As Brett watched he took a large +handkerchief from a pocket, +blew his nose loudly. No one +turned to look. The orchestra +played softly. The couples danced. +Now was as good a time as any ...</p> + +<p>Brett rose, crossed to the other's +table. The man looked up.</p> + +<p>"Mind if I sit down?" Brett +said. "I'd like to talk to you."</p> + +<p>The fat man blinked, motioned +to a chair. Brett sat down, leaned +across the table. "Maybe I'm +wrong," he said quietly, "but I +think you're real."</p> + +<p>The fat man blinked again. +"What's that?" he snapped. He +had a high petulant voice.</p> + +<p>"You're not like the rest of +them. I think I can talk to you. +I think you're another outsider."</p> + +<p>The fat man looked down at +his rumpled suit. "I ... ah ... was +caught a little short today. +Didn't have time to change. I'm +a busy man. And what business +is it of yours?" He clamped his +jaw shut, eyed Brett warily.</p> + +<p>"I'm a stranger here," Brett +said. "I want to find out what's +going on in this place—"</p> + +<p>"Buy an amusement guide. +Lists all the shows—"</p> + +<p>"I don't mean that. I mean +these dummies all over the place, +and the Gels—"</p> + +<p>"What dummies? Jells? Jello? +You don't like Jello?"</p> + +<p>"I love Jello. I don't—"</p> + +<p>"Just ask the waiter. He'll +bring you your Jello. Any flavor +you like. Now if you'll excuse +me ..."</p> + +<p>"I'm talking about the brown +things; they look like muddy water. +They come around if you interfere +with a scene."</p> + +<p>The fat man looked nervous. +"Please. Go away."</p> + +<p>"If I make a disturbance, the +Gels will come. Is that what +you're afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"Now, now. Be calm. No need +for you to get excited."</p> + +<p>"I won't make a scene," Brett +said. "Just talk to me. How long +have you been here?"</p> + +<p>"I dislike scenes. I dislike them +intensely."</p> + +<p>"When did you come here?"</p> + +<p>"Just ten minutes ago. I just +sat down. I haven't had my dinner +yet. Please, young man. Go +back to your table." The fat man +watched Brett warily. Sweat +glistened on his bald head.</p> + +<p>"I mean this town. How long +have you been here? Where did +you come from?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I was born here. Where +did I come from? What sort of +question is that? Just consider +that the stork brought me."</p> + +<p>"You were born here?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"What's the name of the +town?"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"Are</span> you trying to make a fool +of me?" The fat man was +getting angry. His voice was +rising.</p> + +<p>"Shhh," Brett cautioned. +"You'll attract the Gels."</p> + +<p>"Blast the Jilts, whatever that +is!" the fat man snapped. "Now, +get along with you. I'll call the +manager."</p> + +<p>"Don't you know?" Brett said, +staring at the fat man. "They're +all dummies; golems, they're +called. They're not real."</p> + +<p>"Who're not real?"</p> + +<p>"All these imitation people at +the tables and on the dance floor. +Surely you realize—"</p> + +<p>"I realize you're in need of +medical attention." The fat man +pushed back his chair and got to +his feet. "You keep the table," he +said. "I'll dine elsewhere."</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Brett got up, seized +the fat man's arm.</p> + +<p>"Take your hands off me—" +The fat man went toward the +door. Brett followed. At the cashier's +desk Brett turned suddenly, +saw a fluid brown shape flicker—</p> + +<p>"Look!" He pulled at the fat +man's arm—</p> + +<p>"Look at what?" The Gel was +gone.</p> + +<p>"It was there: a Gel."</p> + +<p>The fat man flung down a bill, +hurried away. Brett fumbled out +a ten, waited for change. "Wait!" +he called. He heard the fat man's +feet receding down the stairs.</p> + +<p>"Hurry," he said to the cashier. +The woman sat glassy-eyed, +staring at nothing. The music +died. The lights flickered, went +off. In the gloom Brett saw a +fluid shape rise up—</p> + +<p>He ran, pounding down the +stairs. The fat man was just +rounding the corner. Brett +opened his mouth to call—and +went rigid, as a translucent +shape of mud shot from the door, +rose up to tower before him. +Brett stood, mouth half open, +eyes staring, leaning forward +with hands outflung. The Gel +loomed, its surface flickering—waiting. +Brett caught an acrid +odor of geraniums.</p> + +<p>A minute passed. Brett's cheek +itched. He fought a desire to +blink, to swallow—to turn and +run. The high sun beat down on +the silent street, the still window +displays.</p> + +<p>Then the Gel broke form, +slumped, flashed away. Brett tottered +back against the wall, let +his breath out in a harsh sigh.</p> + +<p>Across the street he saw a +window with a display of camping +equipment, portable stoves, +boots, rifles. He crossed the +street, tried the door. It was +locked. He looked up and down +the street. There was no one in +sight. He kicked in the glass beside +the latch, reached through +and turned the knob. Inside he +looked over the shelves, selected +a heavy coil of nylon rope, a +sheath knife, a canteen. He examined +a Winchester repeating +rifle with a telescopic sight, then +put it back and strapped on a .22 +revolver. He emptied two boxes +of long rifle cartridges into his +pocket, then loaded the pistol. +He coiled the rope over his shoulder +and went back out into the +empty street.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> fat man was standing in +front of a shop in the next +block, picking at a blemish on +his chin and eyeing the window +display. He looked up with a +frown, started away as Brett +came up.</p> + +<p>"Wait a minute," Brett called. +"Didn't you see the Gel? the one +that cornered me back there?"</p> + +<p>The fat man looked back suspiciously, +kept going.</p> + +<p>"Wait!" Brett caught his arm. +"I know you're real. I've seen +you belch and sweat and scratch. +You're the only one I can call on—and +I need help. My friend is +trapped—"</p> + +<p>The fat man pulled away, his +face flushed an even deeper red. +"I'm warning you, you maniac: +get away from me...!"</p> + +<p>Brett stepped close, rammed +the fat man hard in the ribs. He +sank to his knees, gasping. The +panama hat rolled away. Brett +grabbed his arm, steadied him.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," he said. "I had to be +sure. You're real, all right. +We've got to rescue my friend, +Dhuva—"</p> + +<p>The fat man leaned against +the glass, rolling terrified eyes, +rubbing his stomach. "I'll call +the police!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"What police?" Brett waved +an arm. "Look. Not a car in sight. +Did you ever see the street that +empty before?"</p> + +<p>"Wednesday afternoon," the +fat man gasped.</p> + +<p>"Come with me. I want to show +you. It's all hollow. There's nothing +behind these walls—"</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't somebody come +along?" the fat man moaned.</p> + +<p>"The masonry is only a quarter-inch +thick," Brett said. +"Come on; I'll show you."</p> + +<p>"I don't like it," said the fat +man. His face was pale and +moist. "You're mad. What's +wrong? It's so quiet ..."</p> + +<p>"We've got to try to save him. +The Gel took him down into this +pit—"</p> + +<p>"Let me go," the man whined. +"I'm afraid. Can't you just let +me lead my life in peace?"</p> + +<p>"Don't you understand? The +Gel took a man. They may be +after you next."</p> + +<p>"There's no one after me! I'm +a business man ... a respectable +citizen. I mind my own business, +give to charity, go to +church. All I want is to be left +alone!"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> dropped his hands +from the fat man's arms, +stood looking at him: the blotched +face, pale now, the damp forehead, +the quivering jowls. The fat +man stooped for his hat, slapped +it against his leg, clamped it on +his head.</p> + +<p>"I think I understand now," +said Brett. "This is your place, +this imitation city. Everything's +faked to fit your needs—like in +the hotel. Wherever you go, the +scene unrolls in front of you. +You never see the Gels, never +discover the secret of the golems—because +you conform. You +never do the unexpected."</p> + +<p>"That's right. I'm law-abiding. +I'm respectable. I don't pry. +I don't nose into other people's +business. Why should I? Just let +me alone ..."</p> + +<p>"Sure," Brett said. "Even if I +dragged you down there and +showed you, you wouldn't believe +it. But you're not in the scene +now. I've taken you out of it—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the fat man turned +and ran a few yards, then looked +back to see whether Brett was +pursuing him. He shook a round +fist.</p> + +<p>"I've seen your kind before," +he shouted. "Troublemakers."</p> + +<p>Brett took a step toward him. +The fat man yelped and ran another +fifty feet, his coat tails +bobbing. He looked back, stopped, +a fat figure alone in the empty +sunny street.</p> + +<p>"You haven't seen the last of +me!" he shouted. "We know how +to deal with your kind." He +tugged at his vest, went off along +the sidewalk. Brett watched him +go, then started back toward the +hollow building.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The jagged fragments of masonry +Brett had knocked from +the wall lay as he had left them. +He stepped through the opening, +peered down into the murky pit, +trying to judge its depth. A hundred +feet at least. Perhaps a +hundred and fifty.</p> + +<p>He unslung the rope from his +shoulder, tied one end to the +brass stump, threw the coil down +the precipitous side. It fell away +into darkness, hung swaying. It +was impossible to tell whether +the end reached any solid footing +below. He couldn't waste any +more time looking for help. He +would have to try it alone.</p> + +<p>There was a scrape of shoe +leather on the pavement outside. +He turned, stepped out into the +white sunlight. The fat man +rounded the corner, recoiled as +he saw Brett. He flung out a +pudgy forefinger, his protruding +eyes wide in his blotchy red face.</p> + +<p>"There he is! I told you he +came this way!" Two uniformed +policemen came into view. One +eyed the gun at Brett's side, put +a hand on his own.</p> + +<p>"Better take that off, sir."</p> + +<p>"Look!" Brett said to the fat +man. He stooped, picked up a +crust of masonry. "Look at this—just +a shell—"</p> + +<p>"He's blasted a hole right in +that building, officer!" the fat +man shrilled. "He's dangerous."</p> + +<p>The cop ignored the gaping +hole in the wall. "You'll have to +come along with me, sir. This +gentleman registered a complaint ..."</p> + +<p>Brett stood staring into the +cop's eyes. They were pale blue +eyes, looking steadily back at him +from a bland face. Could the cop +be real? Or would he be able to +push him over, as he had other +golems?</p> + +<p>"The fellow's not right in the +head," the fat man was saying +to the cop. "You should have +heard his crazy talk. A troublemaker. +His kind have got to be +locked up!"</p> + +<p>The cop nodded. "Can't have +anyone causing trouble."</p> + +<p>"Only a young fellow," said +the fat man. He mopped at his +forehead with a large handkerchief. +"Tragic. But I'm sure that +you men know how to handle +him."</p> + +<p>"Better give me the gun, sir." +The cop held out a hand. Brett +moved suddenly, rammed stiff +fingers into the cop's ribs. He +stiffened, toppled, lay rigid, staring +up at nothing.</p> + +<p>"You ... you killed him," the +fat man gasped, backing. The +second cop tugged at his gun. +Brett leaped at him, sent him +down with a blow to the ribs. He +turned to face the fat man.</p> + +<p>"I didn't kill them! I just +turned them off. They're not real, +they're just golems."</p> + +<p>"A killer! And right in the +city, in broad daylight."</p> + +<p>"You've got to help me!" Brett +cried. "This whole scene: don't +you see? It has the air of something +improvised in a hurry, to +deal with the unexpected factor; +that's me. The Gels know something's +wrong, but they can't +quite figure out what. When you +called the cops the Gels obliged—"</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Startlingly</span> the fat man +burst into tears. He fell to +his knees.</p> + +<p>"Don't kill me ... oh, don't +kill me ..."</p> + +<p>"Nobody's going to kill you, +you fool!" Brett snapped. "Look! +I want to show you!" He seized +the fat man's lapel, dragged him +to his feet and across the sidewalk, +through the opening. The +fat man stopped dead, stumbled +back—</p> + +<p>"What's this? What kind of +place is this?" He scrambled for +the opening.</p> + +<p>"It's what I've been trying to +tell you. This city you live in—it's +a hollow shell. There's nothing +inside. None of it's real. +Only you ... and me. There was +another man: Dhuva. I was in a +cafe with him. A Gel came. He +tried to run. It caught him. Now +he's ... down there."</p> + +<p>"I'm not alone," the fat man +babbled. "I have my friends, my +clubs, my business associates. +I'm insured. Lately I've been +thinking a lot about Jesus—"</p> + +<p>He broke off, whirled, and +jumped for the doorway. Brett +leaped after him, caught his coat. +It ripped. The fat man stumbled +over one of the cop-golems, went +to hands and knees. Brett stood +over him.</p> + +<p>"Get up, damn it!" he snapped. +"I need help and you're going to +help me!" He hauled the fat man +to his feet. "All you have to do is +stand by the rope. Dhuva may be +unconscious when I find him. +You'll have to help me haul him +up. If anybody comes along, any +Gels, I mean—give me a signal. +A whistle ... like this—" Brett +demonstrated. "And if I get in +trouble, do what you can. Here ..." +Brett started to offer the +fat man the gun, then handed +him the hunting knife. "If anybody +interferes, this may not do +any good, but it's something. I'm +going down now."</p> + +<p>The fat man watched as Brett +gripped the rope, let himself over +the edge. Brett looked up at the +glistening face, the damp strands +of hair across the freckled scalp. +Brett had no assurance that the +man would stay at his post, but +he had done what he could.</p> + +<p>"Remember," said Brett. "It's +a real man they've got, like you +and me ... not a golem. We +owe it to him." The fat man's +hands trembled. He watched +Brett, licked his lips. Brett started +down.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The descent was easy. The +rough face of the excavation +gave footholds. The end of a decaying +timber projected; below +it was the stump of a crumbling +concrete pipe two feet in diameter. +Brett was ten feet below the +rim of floor now. Above, the +broad figure of the fat man was +visible in silhouette against the +jagged opening in the wall.</p> + +<p>Now the cliff shelved back; +the rope hung free. Brett eased +past the cut end of a rusted water +pipe, went down hand over +hand. If there were nothing at +the bottom to give him footing, +it would be a long climb back ...</p> + +<p>Twenty feet below he could +see the still black water, pockmarked +with expanding rings +where bits of debris dislodged +by his passage peppered the surface.</p> + +<p>There was a rhythmic vibration +in the rope. Brett felt it +through his hands, a fine sawing +sensation ...</p> + +<p>He was falling, gripping the +limp rope ...</p> + +<p>He slammed on his back in +three feet of oily water. The coils +of rope collapsed around him +with a sustained splashing. He +got to his feet, groped for the +end of the rope. The glossy nylon +strands had been cleanly cut.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">For</span> half an hour Brett waded +in waist-deep water along a +wall of damp clay that rose sheer +above him. Far above, bars of +dim sunlight crossed the upper +reaches of the cavern. He had +seen no sign of Dhuva ... or the +Gels.</p> + +<p>He encountered a sodden timber +that projected above the surface +of the pool, clung to it to +rest. Bits of flotsam—a plastic +pistol, bridge tallies, a golf bag—floated +in the black water. A +tunnel extended through the clay +wall ahead; beyond, Brett could +see a second great cavern rising. +He pictured the city, silent and +empty above, and the honey-combed +earth beneath. He moved +on.</p> + +<p>An hour later Brett had traversed +the second cavern. Now +he clung to an outthrust spur of +granite directly beneath the +point at which Dhuva had disappeared. +Far above he could see +the green-clad waitress standing +stiffly on her ledge. He was tired. +Walking in water, his feet floundering +in soft mud, was exhausting. +He was no closer to escape, +or to finding Dhuva, than he had +been when the fat man cut the +rope. He had been a fool to leave +the man alone, with a knife ... +but he had had no choice.</p> + +<p>He would have to find another +way out. Endlessly wading at +the bottom of the pit was useless. +He would have to climb. One +spot was as good as another. He +stepped back and scanned the +wall of clay looming over him. +Twenty feet up, water dripped +from the broken end of a four-inch +water main. Brett uncoiled +the rope from his shoulder, tied +a loop in the end, whirled it and +cast upward. It missed, fell back +with a splash. He gathered it in, +tried again. On the third try it +caught. He tested it, then started +up. His hands were slippery with +mud and water. He twined the +rope around his legs, inched +higher. The slender cable was +smooth as glass. He slipped back +two feet, then inched upward, +slipped again, painfully climbed, +slipped, climbed.</p> + +<p>After the first ten feet he +found toe-holds in the muddy +wall. He worked his way up, his +hands aching and raw. A projecting +tangle of power cable +gave a secure purchase for a foot. +He rested. Nearby, an opening +two feet in diameter gaped in +the clay: a tunnel. It might be +possible to swing sideways +across the face of the clay and +reach the opening. It was worth +a try. His stiff, clay-slimed +hands would pull him no higher.</p> + +<p>He gripped the rope, kicked off +sideways, hooked a foot in the +tunnel mouth, half jumped, half +fell into the mouth of the tunnel. +He clung to the rope, shook it +loose from the pipe above, coiled +it and looped it over his shoulder. +On hands and knees he +started into the narrow passage.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">The</span> tunnel curved left, then +right, dipped, then angled up. +Brett crawled steadily, the +smooth stiff clay yielding and +cold against his hands and sodden +knees. Another smaller tunnel +joined from the left. Another +angled in from above. The tunnel +widened to three feet, then four. +Brett got to his feet, walked in a +crouch. Here and there, barely +visible in the near-darkness, objects +lay imbedded in the mud: a +silver-plated spoon, its handle +bent; the rusted engine of an +electric train; a portable radio, +green with corrosion from burst +batteries.</p> + +<p>At a distance, Brett estimated, +of a hundred yards from the pit, +the tunnel opened into a vast +cave, green-lit from tiny discs of +frosted glass set in the ceiling +far above. A row of discolored +concrete piles, the foundations +of the building above, protruded +against the near wall, their surfaces +nibbled and pitted. Between +Brett and the concrete columns +the floor was littered with +pale sticks and stones, gleaming +dully in the gloom.</p> + +<p>Brett started across the floor. +One of the sticks snapped underfoot. +He kicked a melon-sized +stone. It rolled lightly, came to +rest with hollow eyes staring toward +him. A human skull.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The floor of the cave covered +an area the size of a city block. +It was blanketed with human +bones, with here and there a +small cat skeleton or the fanged +snout-bones of a dog. There was +a constant rustling of rats that +played among the rib cages, sat +atop crania, scuttled behind +shin-bones. Brett picked his way, +stepping over imitation pearl +necklaces, zircon rings, plastic +buttons, hearing aids, lipsticks, +compacts, corset stays, prosthetic +devices, rubber heels, wrist +watches, lapel watches, pocket +watches with corroded brass +chains.</p> + +<p>Ahead Brett saw a patch of +color: a blur of pale yellow. He +hurried, stumbling over bone +heaps, crunching eyeglasses underfoot. +He reached the still figure +where it lay slackly, face +down. Gingerly he squatted, +turned it on its back. It was +Dhuva.</p> + +<p>Brett slapped the cold wrists, +rubbed the clammy hands. Dhuva +stirred, moaned weakly. Brett +pulled him to a sitting position. +"Wake up!" he whispered. +"Wake up!"</p> + +<p>Dhuva's eyelids fluttered. He +blinked dully at Brett.</p> + +<p>"The Gels may turn up any +minute," Brett hissed. "We have +to get away from here. Can you +walk?"</p> + +<p>"I saw it," said Dhuva faintly. +"But it moved so fast ..."</p> + +<p>"You're safe here for the moment," +Brett said. "There are +none of them around. But they +may be back. We've got to find a +way out!"</p> + +<p>Dhuva started up, staring +around. "Where am I?" he said +hoarsely. Brett seized his arm, +steadied him on his feet.</p> + +<p>"We're in a hollowed-out +cave," he said. "The whole city is +undermined with them. They're +connected by tunnels. We have to +find one leading back to the surface."</p> + +<p>Dhuva gazed around at the +acres of bones. "It left me here +for dead."</p> + +<p>"Or to die," said Brett.</p> + +<p>"Look at them," Dhuva +breathed. "Hundreds ... thousands ..."</p> + +<p>"The whole population, it looks +like. The Gels must have whisked +them down here one by one."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"For interfering with the +scenes. But that doesn't matter +now. What matters is getting +out. Come on. I see tunnels on +the other side."</p> + +<p>They crossed the broad floor, +around them the white bones, the +rustle of rats. They reached the +far side of the cave, picked a +six-foot tunnel which trended +upward, a trickle of water seeping +out of the dark mouth. They +started up the slope.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"We</span> have to have a weapon +against the Gels," said +Brett.</p> + +<div class="figr1"> +<img src="images/003-1.png" width="173" height="397" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<div class="figright"> +<img src="images/003-2.png" width="358" height="153" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>"Why? I don't want to fight +them." Dhuva's voice was thin, +frightened. "I want to get away +from here ... even back to Wavly. +I'd rather face the Duke."</p> + +<p>"This was a real town, once," +said Brett. "The Gels have taken +it over, hollowed out the buildings, +mined the earth under it, +killed off the people, and put imitation +people in their place. And +nobody ever knew. I met a man +who's lived here all his life. He +doesn't know. But we know ... +and we have to do something +about it."</p> + +<p>"It's not our business. I've had +enough. I want to get away."</p> + +<p>"The Gels must stay down below, +somewhere in that maze of +tunnels. For some reason they +try to keep up appearances ... +but only for the people who belong +here. They play out scenes +for the fat man, wherever he +goes. And he never goes anywhere +he isn't expected to."</p> + +<p>"We'll get over the wall somehow," +said Dhuva. "We may +starve, crossing the dry fields, +but that's better than this."</p> + +<p>They emerged from the tunnel +into a coal bin, crossed to a sagging +door, found themselves in a +boiler room. Stairs led up to sunlight. +In the street, in the shadow +of tall buildings, a boxy sedan +was parked at the curb. Brett +went to it, tried the door. It +opened. Keys dangled from the +ignition switch. He slid into the +dusty seat. Behind him there was +a hoarse scream. Brett looked +up. Through the streaked windshield +he saw a mighty Gel rear +up before Dhuva, who crouched +back against the blackened brick +front of the building.</p> + +<p>"Don't move, Dhuva!" Brett +shouted. Dhuva stood frozen, +flattened against the wall. The +Gel towered, its surface rippling.</p> + +<p>Brett eased from the seat. He +stood on the pavement, fifteen +feet from the Gel. The rank Gel +odor came in waves from the +creature. Beyond it he could see +Dhuva's white terrified face.</p> + +<p>Silently Brett turned the latch +of the old-fashioned auto hood, +raised it. The copper fuel line +curved down from the firewall to +a glass sediment cup. The +knurled retaining screw turned +easily; the cup dropped into +Brett's hand. Gasoline ran down +in an amber stream. Brett pulled +off his damp coat, wadded it, +jammed it under the flow. Over +his shoulder he saw Dhuva, still +rigid—and the Gel, hovering, uncertain.</p> + +<p>The coat was saturated with +gasoline now. Brett fumbled a +match box from his pocket. Wet. +He threw the sodden container +aside. The battery caught his +eye, clamped in a rusted frame +under the hood. He jerked the +pistol from its holster, used it to +short the terminals. Tiny blue +sparks jumped. He jammed the +coat near, rasped the gun against +the soft lead poles. With a +whoosh! the coat caught; yellow +flames leaped, soot-rimmed. Brett +snatched at a sleeve, whirled the +coat high. The great Gel, attracted +by the sudden motion, +rushed at him. He flung the +blazing garment over the monster, +leaped aside.</p> + +<p>The creature went mad. It +slumped, lashed itself against +the pavement. The burning coat +was thrown clear. The Gel threw +itself across the pavement, into +the gutter, sending a splatter of +filthy water over Brett. From the +corner of his eye, Brett saw +Dhuva seize the burning coat, +hurl it into the pooled gasoline +in the gutter. Fire leaped twenty +feet high; in its center the great +Gel bucked and writhed. The ancient +car shuddered as the frantic +monster struck it. Black +smoke boiled up; an unbelievable +stench came to Brett's nostrils. +He backed, coughing. Flames +roared around the front of the +car. Paint blistered and burned. +A tire burst. In a final frenzy, +the Gel whipped clear, lay, a +great blackened shape of melting +rubber, twitching, then still.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">"They've</span> tunneled under everything," +Brett said. "They've +cut through power lines and +water lines, concrete, steel, earth; +they've left the shell, shored up +with spidery-looking trusswork. +Somehow they've kept water and +power flowing to wherever they +needed it—"</p> + +<p>"I don't care about your theories," +Dhuva said; "I only want +to get away."</p> + +<p>"It's bound to work, Dhuva. I +need your help."</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Then I'll have to try alone." +He turned away.</p> + +<p>"Wait," Dhuva called. He +came up to Brett. "I owe you a +life; you saved mine. I can't let +you down now. But if this doesn't +work ... or if you can't find +what you want—"</p> + +<p>"Then we'll go."</p> + +<p>Together they turned down a +side street, walking rapidly. At +the next corner Brett pointed.</p> + +<p>"There's one!" They crossed +to the service station at a run. +Brett tried the door. Locked. He +kicked at it, splintered the wood +around the lock. He glanced +around inside. "No good," he +called. "Try the next building. +I'll check the one behind."</p> + +<p>He crossed the wide drive, battered +in a door, looked in at a +floor covered with wood shavings. +It ended ten feet from the +door. Brett went to the edge, +looked down. Diagonally, forty +feet away, the underground fifty-thousand-gallon +storage tank +which supplied the gasoline +pumps of the station perched, +isolated, on a column of striated +clay, ribbed with chitinous Gel +buttresses. The truncated feed +lines ended six feet from the +tank. From Brett's position, it +was impossible to say whether +the ends were plugged.</p> + +<p>Across the dark cavern a +square of light appeared. Dhuva +stood in a doorway looking toward +Brett.</p> + +<p>"Over here, Dhuva!" Brett uncoiled +his rope, arranged a slip-noose. +He measured the distance +with his eye, tossed the loop. It +slapped the top of the tank, +caught on a massive fitting. He +smashed the glass from a window, +tied the end of the rope to +the center post. Dhuva arrived, +watched as Brett went to the +edge, hooked his legs over the +rope, and started across to the +tank.</p> + +<p>It was an easy crossing. +Brett's feet clanged against the +tank. He straddled the six-foot +cylinder, worked his way to the +end, then clambered down to the +two two-inch feed lines. He tested +their resilience, then lay flat, +eased out on them. There were +plugs of hard waxy material in +the cut ends of the pipes. Brett +poked at them with the pistol. +Chunks loosened and fell. He +worked for fifteen minutes before +the first trickle came. Two +minutes later, two thick streams +of gasoline were pouring down +into the darkness.</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> and Dhuva piled sticks, +scraps of paper, shavings, +and lumps of coal around a core +of gasoline-soaked rags. Directly +above the heaped tinder a taut +rope stretched from the window +post to a child's wagon, the steel +bed of which contained a second +heap of combustibles. The wagon +hung half over the ragged edge +of the floor.</p> + +<p>"It should take about fifteen +minutes for the fire to burn +through the rope," Brett said. +"Then the wagon will fall and +dump the hot coals in the gasoline. +By then it will have spread +all over the surface and flowed +down side tunnels into other +parts of the cavern system."</p> + +<p>"But it may not get them all."</p> + +<p>"It will get some of them. It's +the best we can do right now. +You get the fire going in the +wagon; I'll start this one up."</p> + +<p>Dhuva sniffed the air. "That +fluid," he said. "We know it in +Wavly as phlogistoneum. The +wealthy use it for cooking."</p> + +<p>"We'll use it to cook Gels." +Brett struck a match. The fire +leaped up, smoking. Dhuva +watched, struck his match awkwardly, +started his blaze. They +stood for a moment watching. +The nylon curled and blackened, +melting in the heat.</p> + +<p>"We'd better get moving," +Brett said. "It doesn't look as +though it will last fifteen minutes."</p> + +<p>They stepped out into the +street. Behind them wisps of +smoke curled from the door. Dhuva +seized Brett's arm. "Look!"</p> + +<p>Half a block away the fat man +in the panama hat strode toward +them at the head of a group of +men in grey flannel. "That's +him!" the fat man shouted, "the +one I told you about. I knew the +scoundrel would be back!" He +slowed, eyeing Brett and Dhuva +warily.</p> + +<p>"You'd better get away from +here, fast!" Brett called. +"There'll be an explosion in a few +minutes—"</p> + +<p>"Smoke!" the fat man yelped. +"Fire! They've set fire to the +city! There it is! pouring out of +the window ... and the door!" +He started forward. Brett +yanked the pistol from the holster, +thumbed back the hammer.</p> + +<p>"Stop right there!" he barked. +"For your own good I'm telling +you to run. I don't care about +that crowd of golems you've collected, +but I'd hate to see a real +human get hurt—even a cowardly +one like you."</p> + +<p>"These are honest citizens," +the fat man gasped, standing, +staring at the gun. "You won't +get away with this. We all know +you. You'll be dealt with ..."</p> + +<p>"We're going now. And you're +going too."</p> + +<p>"You can't kill us all," the fat +man said. He licked his lips. "We +won't let you destroy our city."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">As</span> the fat man turned to exhort +his followers Brett +fired, once twice, three times. +Three golems fell on their faces. +The fat man whirled.</p> + +<p>"Devil!" he shrieked. "A killer +is abroad!" He charged, mouth +open. Brett ducked aside, tripped +the fat man. He fell heavily, +slamming his face against the +pavement. The golems surged +forward. Brett and Dhuva +slammed punches to the sternum, +took clumsy blows on the +shoulder, back, chest. Golems +fell. Brett ducked a wild swing, +toppled his attacker, turned to +see Dhuva deal with the last of +the dummies. The fat man sat in +the street, dabbing at his bleeding +nose, the panama still in +place.</p> + +<p>"Get up," Brett commanded. +"There's no time left."</p> + +<p>"You've killed them. Killed +them all ..." The fat man got +to his feet, then turned suddenly +and plunged for the door from +which a cloud of smoke poured. +Brett hauled him back. He and +Dhuva started off, dragging the +struggling man between them. +They had gone a block when +their prisoner, with a sudden +frantic jerk, freed himself, set +off at a run for the fire.</p> + +<p>"Let him go!" Dhuva cried. +"It's too late to go back!"</p> + +<p>The fat man leaped fallen +golems, wrestled with the door, +disappeared into the smoke. +Brett and Dhuva sprinted for +the corner. As they rounded it a +tremendous blast shook the +street. The pavement before +them quivered, opened in a wide +crack. A ten-foot section dropped +from view. They skirted the gaping +hole, dashed for safety as the +facades along the street cracked, +fell in clouds of dust. The street +trembled under a second explosion. +Cracks opened, dust rising +in puffs from the long wavering +lines. Masonry collapsed around +them. They put their heads down +and ran.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Winded, Brett and Dhuva +walked through the empty +streets of the city. Behind them, +smoke blackened the sky. Embers +floated down around them. +The odor of burning Gel was carried +on the wind. The late sun +shone on the blank pavement. A +lone golem in a tasseled fez, left +over from the morning's parade, +leaned stiffly against a lamp +post, eyes blank. Empty cars sat +in driveways. TV antennae stood +forlornly against the sunset.</p> + +<p>"That place looks lived-in," +said Brett, indicating an open +apartment window with a curtain +billowing above a potted geranium. +"I'll take a look."</p> + +<p>He came back shaking his +head. "They were all in the TV +room. They looked so natural at +first; I mean, they didn't look +up or anything when I walked +in. I turned the set off. The electricity +is still working anyway. +Wonder how long it will last?"</p> + +<p>They turned down a residential +street. Underfoot the pavement +trembled at a distant blast. +They skirted a crack, kept going. +Occasional golems stood in +awkward poses or lay across +sidewalks. One, clad in black, +tilted awkwardly in a gothic entry +of fretted stone work. "I +guess there won't be any church +this Sunday," said Brett.</p> + +<p>He halted before a brown +brick apartment house. An untended +hose welled on a patch of +sickly lawn. Brett went to the +door, stood listening, then went +in. Across the room the still figure +of a woman sat in a rocker. +A curl stirred on her smooth +forehead. A flicker of expression +seemed to cross the lined face. +Brett started forward. "Don't be +afraid. You can come with us—"</p> + +<p>He stopped. A flapping window-shade +cast restless shadows +on the still golem features on +which dust was already settling. +Brett turned away, shaking his +head.</p> + +<p>"All of them," he said. "It's as +though they were snipped out of +paper. When the Gels died their +dummies died with them."</p> + +<p>"Why?" said Dhuva. "What +does it all mean?"</p> + +<p>"Mean?" said Brett. He shook +his head, started off again along +the street. "It doesn't mean anything. +It's just the way things +are."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Brett</span> sat in a deserted Cadillac, +tuning the radio.</p> + +<p>"... anybody hear me?" said +a plaintive voice from the speaker. +"This is Ab Gullorian, at the +Twin Spires. Looks like I'm the +only one left alive. Can anybody +hear me?"</p> + +<p>Brett tuned. "... been asking +the wrong questions ... +looking for the Final Fact. Now +these are strange matters, brothers. +But if a flower blooms, what +man shall ask why? What lore +do we seek in a symphony...?"</p> + +<p>He twisted the knob again. +"... Kansas City. Not more +than half a dozen of us. And the +dead! Piled all over the place. +But it's a funny thing: Doc Potter +started to do an autopsy—"</p> + +<p>Brett turned the knob. "... +CQ, CQ, CQ. This is Hollip +Quate, calling CQ, CQ. There's +been a disaster here at Port +Wanderlust. We need—"</p> + +<p>"Take Jesus into your hearts," +another station urged.</p> + +<p>"... to base," the radio said +faintly, with much crackling. +"Lunar Observatory to base. +Come in, Lunar Control. This is +Commander McVee of the Lunar +Detachment, sole survivor—"</p> + +<p>"... hello, Hollip Quate? +Hollip Quate? This is Kansas +City calling. Say, where did you +say you were calling from...?"</p> + +<p>"It looks as though both of us +had a lot of mistaken ideas about +the world outside," said Brett. +"Most of these stations sound as +though they might as well be +coming from Mars."</p> + +<p>"I don't understand where the +voices come from," Dhuva said. +"But all the places they name +are strange to me ... except +the Twin Spires."</p> + +<p>"I've heard of Kansas City," +Brett said, "but none of the other +ones."</p> + +<p>The ground trembled. A low +rumble rolled. "Another one," +Brett said. He switched off the +radio, tried the starter. It +groaned, turned over. The engine +caught, sputtered, then ran +smoothly.</p> + +<p>"Get in, Dhuva. We might as +well ride. Which way do we go +to get out of this place?"</p> + +<p>"The wall lies in that direction," +said Dhuva. "But I don't +know about a gate."</p> + +<p>"We'll worry about that when +we get to it," said Brett. "This +whole place is going to collapse +before long. We really started +something. I suppose other underground +storage tanks caught—and +gas lines, too."</p> + +<p>A building ahead cracked, fell +in a heap of pulverized plaster. +The car bucked as a blast sent a +ripple down the street. A manhole +cover popped up, clattered a +few feet, dropped from sight. +Brett swerved, gunned the car. +It leaped over rubble, roared +along the littered pavement. +Brett looked in the rear-view mirror. +A block behind them the +street ended. Smoke and dust +rose from the immense pit.</p> + +<p>"We just missed it that time!" +he called. "How far to the wall?"</p> + +<p>"Not far! Turn here ..."</p> + +<p>Brett rounded the corner with +a shrieking of tires. Ahead the +grey wall rose up, blank, featureless.</p> + +<p>"This is a dead end!" Brett +shouted.</p> + +<p>"We'd better get out and run +for it—"</p> + +<p>"No time! I'm going to ram +the wall! Maybe I can knock a +hole in it."</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="cap"><span class="dcap">Dhuva</span> crouched; teeth gritted, +Brett held the accelerator +to the floor, roared straight +toward the wall. The heavy car +shot across the last few yards, +struck—</p> + +<p>And burst through a curtain +of canvas into a field of dry +stalks.</p> + +<p>Brett steered the car in a wide +curve to halt and look back. A +blackened panama hat floated +down, settled among the stalks. +Smoke poured up in a dense +cloud from behind the canvas +wall. A fetid stench pervaded the +air.</p> + +<p>"That finishes that, I guess," +Brett said.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Look there."</p> + +<p>Brett turned. Far across the +dry field columns of smoke rose +from the ground.</p> + +<p>"The whole thing's undermined," +Brett said. "How far +does it go?"</p> + +<p>"No telling. But we'd better be +off. Perhaps we can get beyond +the edge of it. Not that it matters. +We're all that's left ..."</p> + +<p>"You sound like the fat man," +Brett said. "But why should we +be so surprised to find out the +truth? After all, we never saw +it before. All we knew—or +thought we knew—was what +they told us. The moon, the other +side of the world, a distant +city ... or even the next town. +How do we really know what's +there ... unless we go and see +for ourselves? Does a goldfish in +his bowl know what the ocean is +like?"</p> + +<p>"Where did they come from, +those Gels? How much of the +world have they undermined? +What about Wavly? Is it a golem +country too? The Duke ... +and all the people I knew?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know, Dhuva. I've +been wondering about the people +in Casperton. Like Doc +Welch. I used to see him in the +street with his little black bag. +I always thought it was full of +pills and scalpels; but maybe it +really had zebra's tails and +toad's eyes in it. Maybe he's really +a magician on his way to cast +spells against demons. Maybe +the people I used to see hurrying +to catch the bus every morning +weren't really going to the office. +Maybe they go down into +caves and chip away at the foundations +of things. Maybe they go +up on rooftops and put on rainbow-colored +robes and fly away. +I used to pass by a bank in Casperton: +a big grey stone building +with little curtains over the bottom +half of the windows. I never +go in there. I don't have anything +to do in a bank. I've always +thought it was full of bankers, +banking ... Now I don't know. +It could be anything ..."</p> + +<p>"That's why I'm afraid," Dhuva +said. "It could be anything."</p> + +<p>"Things aren't really any different +than they were," said +Brett, "... except that now we +know." He turned the big car out +across the field toward Casperton.</p> + +<p>"I don't know what we'll find +when we get back. Aunt Haicey, +Pretty-Lee ... But there's only +one way to find out."</p> + +<p>The moon rose as the car +bumped westward, raising a trail +of dust against the luminous sky +of evening.</p> + +<p class="p2"><b>THE END</b></p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="bk1"><div class="bk2"><p>"The body shifted, +rotating stiffly, +then tilted upright.</p> +<p>"The sun struck through the +amber shape that +flowed down to +form itself into the +crested wave."</p> +<p>see IT COULD BE ANYTHING</p></div></div> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="trn"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b> +This etext was produced from <i>Amazing Stories</i> January 1963. +Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. +copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and +typographical errors have been corrected without note.</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's It Could Be Anything, by John Keith Laumer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT COULD BE ANYTHING *** + +***** This file should be named 26782-h.htm or 26782-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/8/26782/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell 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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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: It Could Be Anything + +Author: John Keith Laumer + +Illustrator: Virgil Finlay + +Release Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #26782] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT COULD BE ANYTHING *** + + + + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + +By KEITH LAUMER + + it could be + ANYTHING + + _Keith Laumer, well-known for his tales of adventure + and action, shows us a different side of his talent + in this original, exciting and thought-provoking + exploration of the meaning of meaning._ + +Illustrated by FINLAY + +[Illustration] + + +"She'll be pulling out in a minute, Brett," Mr. Phillips said. He tucked +his railroader's watch back in his vest pocket. "You better get +aboard--if you're still set on going." + +"It was reading all them books done it," Aunt Haicey said. "Thick books, +and no pictures in them. I knew it'd make trouble." She plucked at the +faded hand-embroidered shawl over her thin shoulders, a tiny bird-like +woman with bright anxious eyes. + +"Don't worry about me," Brett said. "I'll be back." + +[Illustration] + +"The place'll be yours when I'm gone," Aunt Haicey said. "Lord knows it +won't be long." + +"Why don't you change your mind and stay on, boy?" Mr. Phillips said, +blinking up at the young man. "If I talk to Mr. J.D., I think he can +find a job for you at the plant." + +"So many young people leave Casperton," Aunt Haicey said. "They never +come back." + +Mr. Phillips clicked his teeth. "They write, at first," he said. "Then +they gradually lose touch." + +"All your people are here, Brett," Aunt Haicey said. "Haven't you been +happy here?" + +"Why can't you young folks be content with Casperton?" Mr. Phillips +said. "There's everything you need here." + +"It's that Pretty-Lee done it," Aunt Haicey said. "If it wasn't for that +girl--" + +A clatter ran down the line of cars. Brett kissed Aunt Haicey's dry +cheek, shook Mr. Phillips' hand, and swung aboard. His suitcase was on +one of the seats. He put it up above in the rack, and sat down, turned +to wave back at the two old people. + +It was a summer morning. Brett leaned back and watched the country slide +by. It was nice country, Brett thought; mostly in corn, some cattle, and +away in the distance the hazy blue hills. Now he would see what was on +the other side of them: the cities, the mountains, and the ocean. Up +until now all he knew about anything outside of Casperton was what he'd +read or seen pictures of. As far as he was concerned, chopping wood and +milking cows back in Casperton, they might as well not have existed. +They were just words and pictures printed on paper. But he didn't want +to just read about them. He wanted to see for himself. + + * * * + +Pretty-Lee hadn't come to see him off. She was probably still mad about +yesterday. She had been sitting at the counter at the Club Rexall, +drinking a soda and reading a movie magazine with a big picture of an +impossibly pretty face on the cover--the kind you never see just walking +down the street. He had taken the next stool and ordered a coke. + +"Why don't you read something good, instead of that pap?" he asked her. + +"Something good? You mean something dry, I guess. And don't call it ... +that word. It doesn't sound polite." + +"What does it say? That somebody named Doll Starr is fed up with glamor +and longs for a simple home in the country and lots of kids? Then why +doesn't she move to Casperton?" + +"You wouldn't understand," said Pretty-Lee. + +He took the magazine, leafed through it. "Look at this: all about +people who give parties that cost thousands of dollars, and fly all over +the world having affairs with each other and committing suicide and +getting divorced. It's like reading about Martians." + +"I still like to read about the stars. There's nothing wrong with it." + +"Reading all that junk just makes you dissatisfied. You want to do your +hair up crazy like the pictures in the magazines and wear weird-looking +clothes--" + +Pretty-Lee bent her straw double. She stood up and took her shopping +bag. "I'm very glad to know you think my clothes are weird--" + +"You're taking everything I say personally. Look." He showed her a +full-color advertisement on the back cover of the magazine. "Look at +this. Here's a man supposed to be cooking steaks on some kind of +back-yard grill. He looks like a movie star; he's dressed up like he was +going to get married; there's not a wrinkle anywhere. There's not a spot +on that apron. There isn't even a grease spot on the frying pan. The +lawn is as smooth as a billiard table. There's his son; he looks just +like his pop, except that he's not grey at the temples. Did you ever +really see a man that handsome, or hair that was just silver over the +ears and the rest glossy black? The daughter looks like a movie starlet, +and her mom is exactly the same, except that she has that grey streak in +front to match her husband. You can see the car in the drive; the treads +of the tires must have just been scrubbed; they're not even dusty. +There's not a pebble out of place; all the flowers are in full bloom; no +dead ones. No leaves on the lawn; no dry twigs showing on the trees. +That other house in the background looks like a palace, and the man with +the rake, looking over the fence: he looks like this one's twin brother, +and he's out raking leaves in brand new clothes--" + +Pretty-Lee grabbed her magazine. "You just seem to hate everything +that's nicer than this messy town--" + +"I don't think it's nicer. I like you; your hair isn't always perfectly +smooth, and you've got a mended place on your dress, and you feel human, +you smell human--" + +"Oh!" Pretty-Lee turned and flounced out of the drug store. + + * * * + +Brett shifted in the dusty plush seat and looked around. There were a +few other people in the car. An old man was reading a newspaper; two old +ladies whispered together. There was a woman of about thirty with a +mean-looking kid; and some others. They didn't look like magazine +pictures, any of them. He tried to picture them doing the things you +read in newspapers: the old ladies putting poison in somebody's tea; the +old man giving orders to start a war. He thought about babies in houses +in cities, and airplanes flying over, and bombs falling down: huge +explosive bombs. Blam! Buildings fall in, pieces of glass and stone fly +through the air. The babies are blown up along with everything else-- + +But the kind of people he knew couldn't do anything like that. They +liked to loaf and eat and talk and drink beer and buy a new tractor or +refrigerator and go fishing. And if they ever got mad and hit +somebody--afterwards they were embarrassed and wanted to shake hands.... + +The train slowed, came to a shuddery stop. Through the window he saw a +cardboardy-looking building with the words BAXTER'S JUNCTION painted +across it. There were a few faded posters on a bulletin board. An old +man was sitting on a bench, waiting. The two old ladies got off and a +boy in blue jeans got on. The train started up. Brett folded his jacket +and tucked it under his head and tried to doze off.... + + * * * * * + +Brett awoke, yawned, sat up. The train was slowing. He remembered you +couldn't use the toilets while the train was stopped. He got up and went +to the end of the car. The door was jammed. He got it open and went +inside and closed the door behind him. The train was going slower, +clack-clack ... clack-clack ... clack; clack ... cuh-lack ... + +He washed his hands, then pulled at the door. It was stuck. He pulled +harder. The handle was too small; it was hard to get hold of. The train +came to a halt. Brett braced himself and strained against the door. It +didn't budge. + +He looked out the grimy window. The sun was getting lower. It was about +three-thirty, he guessed. He couldn't see anything but some dry-looking +fields. + +Outside in the corridor there were footsteps. He started to call, but +then didn't. It would be too embarrassing, pounding on the door and +yelling, "Let me out! I'm stuck in the toilet ..." + +He tried to rattle the door. It didn't rattle. Somebody was dragging +something heavy past the door. Mail bags, maybe. He'd better yell. But +dammit, the door couldn't be all that hard to open. He studied the +latch. All he had to do was turn it. He got a good grip and twisted. +Nothing. + +He heard the mail bag bump-bump, and then another one. To heck with it; +he'd yell. He'd wait until he heard the footsteps pass the door again +and then he'd make some noise. + +Brett waited. It was quiet now. He rapped on the door anyway. No answer. +Maybe there was nobody left in the car. In a minute the train would +start up and he'd be stuck here until the next stop. He banged on the +door. "Hey! The door is stuck!" + +It sounded foolish. He listened. It was very quiet. He pounded again. +The car creaked once. He put his ear to the door. He couldn't hear +anything. He turned back to the window. There was no one in sight. He +put his cheek flat against it, looked along the car. He saw only dry +fields. + +He turned around and gave the door a good kick. If he damaged it, it was +too bad; the railroad shouldn't have defective locks on the doors. If +they tried to make him pay for it, he'd tell them they were lucky he +didn't sue the railroad ... + + * * * + +He braced himself against the opposite wall, drew his foot back, and +kicked hard at the lock. Something broke. He pulled the door open. + +He was looking out the open door and through the window beyond. There +was no platform, just the same dry fields he could see on the other +side. He came out and went along to his seat. The car was empty now. + +He looked out the window. Why had the train stopped here? Maybe there +was some kind of trouble with the engine. It had been sitting here for +ten minutes or so now. Brett got up and went along to the door, stepped +down onto the iron step. Leaning out, he could see the train stretching +along ahead, one car, two cars-- + +There was no engine. + +Maybe he was turned around. He looked the other way. There were three +cars. No engine there either. He must be on some kind of siding ... + +Brett stepped back inside, and pushed through into the next car. It was +empty. He walked along the length of it, into the next car. It was empty +too. He went back through the two cars and his own car and on, all the +way to the end of the train. All the cars were empty. He stood on the +platform at the end of the last car, and looked back along the rails. +They ran straight, through the dry fields, right to the horizon. He +stepped down to the ground, went along the cindery bed to the front of +the train, stepping on the ends of the wooden ties. The coupling stood +open. The tall, dusty coach stood silently on its iron wheels, waiting. +Ahead the tracks went on-- + +And stopped. + +He walked along the ties, following the iron rails, shiny on top, and +brown with rust on the sides. A hundred feet from the train they ended. +The cinders went on another ten feet and petered out. Beyond, the fields +closed in. Brett looked up at the sun. It was lower now in the west, its +light getting yellow and late-afternoonish. He turned and looked back at +the train. The cars stood high and prim, empty, silent. He walked back, +climbed in, got his bag down from the rack, pulled on his jacket. He +jumped down to the cinders, followed them to where they ended. He +hesitated a moment, then pushed between the knee-high stalks. Eastward +across the field he could see what looked like a smudge on the far +horizon. + +He walked until dark, then made himself a nest in the dead stalks, and +went to sleep. + + * * * + +He lay on his back, looking up at pink dawn clouds. Around him, dry +stalks rustled in a faint stir of air. He felt crumbly earth under his +fingers. He sat up, reached out and broke off a stalk. It crumbled into +fragile chips. He wondered what it was. It wasn't any crop he'd ever +seen before. + +He stood, looked around. The field went on and on, dead flat. A locust +came whirring toward him, plumped to earth at his feet. He picked it up. +Long elbowed legs groped at his fingers aimlessly. He tossed the insect +in the air. It fluttered away. To the east the smudge was clearer now; +it seemed to be a grey wall, far away. A city? He picked up his bag and +started on. + +He was getting hungry. He hadn't eaten since the previous morning. He +was thirsty too. The city couldn't be more than three hours' walk. He +tramped along, the dry plants crackling under his feet, little puffs of +dust rising from the dry ground. He thought about the rails, running +across the empty fields, ending ... + +He had heard the locomotive groaning up ahead as the train slowed. And +there had been feet in the corridor. Where had they gone? + +He thought of the train, Casperton, Aunt Haicey, Mr. Phillips. They +seemed very far away, something remembered from long ago. Up above the +sun was hot. That was real. The rest seemed unimportant. Ahead there was +a city. He would walk until he came to it. He tried to think of other +things: television, crowds of people, money: the tattered paper and the +worn silver-- + +Only the sun and the dusty plain and the dead plants were real now. He +could see them, feel them. And the suitcase. It was heavy; he shifted +hands, kept going. + +There was something white on the ground ahead, a small shiny surface +protruding from the earth. Brett dropped the suitcase, went down on one +knee, dug into the dry soil, pulled out a china teacup, the handle +missing. Caked dirt crumbled away under his thumb, leaving the surface +clean. He looked at the bottom of the cup. It was unmarked. Why just one +teacup, he wondered, here in the middle of nowhere? He dropped it, took +up his suitcase, and went on. + + * * * + +After that he watched the ground more closely. He found a shoe; it was +badly weathered, but the sole was good. It was a high-topped work shoe, +size 10-1/2-C. Who had dropped it here? He thought of other lone shoes +he had seen, lying at the roadside or in alleys. How did they get +there...? + +Half an hour later he detoured around the rusted front fender of an +old-fashioned car. He looked around for the rest of the car but saw +nothing. The wall was closer now; perhaps five miles more. + +A scrap of white paper fluttered across the field in a stir of air. He +saw another, more, blowing along in the fitful gusts. He ran a few +steps, caught one, smoothed it out. + + BUY NOW--PAY LATER! + +He picked up another. + + PREPARE TO MEET GOD + +A third said: + + WIN WITH WILLKIE + + * * * * * + +The wall loomed above him, smooth and grey. Dust was caked on his skin +and clothes, and as he walked he brushed at himself absently. The +suitcase dragged at his arm, thumped against his shin. He was very +hungry and thirsty. He sniffed the air, instinctively searching for the +odors of food. He had been following the wall for a long time, searching +for an opening. It curved away from him, rising vertically from the +level earth. Its surface was porous, unadorned, too smooth to climb. It +was, Brett estimated, twenty feet high. If there were anything to make a +ladder from-- + +Ahead he saw a wide gate, flanked by grey columns. He came up to it, put +the suitcase down, and wiped at his forehead with his handkerchief. +Through the opening in the wall a paved street was visible, and the +facades of buildings. Those on the street before him were low, not more +than one or two stories, but behind them taller towers reared up. There +were no people in sight; no sounds stirred the hot noon-time air. Brett +picked up his bag and passed through the gate. + +For the next hour he walked empty pavements, listening to the echoes of +his footsteps against brownstone fronts, empty shop windows, curtained +glass doors, and here and there a vacant lot, weed-grown and desolate. +He paused at cross streets, looked down long vacant ways. Now and then a +distant sound came to him: the lonely honk of a horn, a faintly tolling +bell, a clatter of hooves. + +He came to a narrow alley that cut like a dark canyon between blank +walls. He stood at its mouth, listening to a distant murmur, like a +crowd at a funeral. He turned down the narrow way. + +It went straight for a few yards, then twisted. As he followed its +turnings the crowd noise gradually grew louder. He could make out +individual voices now, an occasional word above the hubbub. He started +to hurry, eager to find someone to talk to. + +Abruptly the voices--hundreds of voices, he thought--rose in a roar, a +long-drawn Yaaayyyyy...! Brett thought of a stadium crowd as the home +team trotted onto the field. He could hear a band now, a shrilling of +brass, the clatter and thump of percussion instruments. Now he could see +the mouth of the alley ahead, a sunny street hung with bunting, the +backs of people, and over their heads the rhythmic bobbing of a passing +procession, tall shakos and guidons in almost-even rows. Two tall poles +with a streamer between them swung into view. He caught a glimpse of +tall red letters: + + ... For Our Side! + + * * * + +He moved closer, edged up behind the grey-backed crowd. A phalanx of +yellow-tuniced men approached, walking stiffly, fez tassels swinging. A +small boy darted out into the street, loped along at their side. The +music screeched and wheezed. Brett tapped the man before him. + +"What's it all about...?" + +He couldn't hear his own voice. The man ignored him. Brett moved along +behind the crowd, looking for a vantage point or a thinning in the +ranks. There seemed to be fewer people ahead. He came to the end of the +crowd, moved on a few yards, stood at the curb. The yellow-jackets had +passed now, and a group of round-thighed girls in satin blouses and +black boots and white fur caps glided into view, silent, expressionless. +As they reached a point fifty feet from Brett, they broke abruptly into +a strutting prance, knees high, hips flirting, tossing shining batons +high, catching them, twirling them, and up again ... + +Brett craned his neck, looking for TV cameras. The crowd lining the +opposite side of the street stood in solid ranks, drably clad, eyes +following the procession, mouths working. A fat man in a rumpled suit +and a panama hat squeezed to the front, stood picking his teeth. +Somehow, he seemed out of place among the others. Behind the spectators, +the store fronts looked normal, dowdy brick and mismatched glass and +oxidizing aluminum, dusty windows and cluttered displays of cardboard, a +faded sign that read TODAY ONLY--PRICES SLASHED. To Brett's left the +sidewalk stretched, empty. To his right the crowd was packed close, the +shout rising and falling. Now a rank of blue-suited policemen followed +the majorettes, swinging along silently. Behind them, over them, a piece +of paper blew along the street. Brett turned to the man on his right. + +"Pardon me. Can you tell me the name of this town?" + +The man ignored him. Brett tapped the man's shoulder. "Hey! What town is +this?" + +The man took off his hat, whirled it overhead, then threw it up. It +sailed away over the crowd, lost. Brett wondered briefly how people who +threw their hats ever recovered them. But then, nobody he knew would +throw his hat ... + +"You mind telling me the name of this place?" Brett said, as he took the +man's arm, pulled. The man rotated toward Brett, leaning heavily against +him. Brett stepped back. The man fell, lay stiffly, his arms moving, his +eyes and mouth open. + +"Ahhhhh," he said. "Whum-whum-whum. Awww, jawww ..." + +Brett stooped quickly. "I'm sorry," he cried. He looked around. "Help! +This man ..." + +Nobody was watching. The next man, a few feet away, stood close against +his neighbor, hatless, his jaw moving. + +"This man's sick," said Brett, tugging at the man's arm. "He fell." + +The man's eyes moved reluctantly to Brett. "None of my business," he +muttered. + +"Won't anybody give me a hand?" + +"Probably a drunk." + +Behind Brett a voice called in a penetrating whisper: "Quick! You! Get +into the alley...!" + +He turned. A gaunt man of about thirty with sparse reddish hair, +perspiration glistening on his upper lip, stood at the mouth of a narrow +way like the one Brett had come through. He wore a grimy pale yellow +shirt with a wide-flaring collar, limp and sweat-stained, dark green +knee-breeches, soft leather boots, scuffed and dirty, with limp tops +that drooped over his ankles. He gestured, drew back into the alley. "In +here." + +Brett went toward him. "This man ..." + +"Come on, you fool!" The man took Brett's arm, pulled him deeper into +the dark passage. Brett resisted. "Wait a minute. That fellow ..." He +tried to point. + +"Don't you know yet?" The red-head spoke with a strange accent. "Golems +... You got to get out of sight before the--" + + * * * + +The man froze, flattened himself against the wall. Automatically Brett +moved to a place beside him. The man's head was twisted toward the alley +mouth. The tendons in his weathered neck stood out. He had a three-day +stubble of beard. Brett could smell him, standing this close. He edged +away. "What--" + +"Don't make a sound! Don't move, you idiot!" His voice was a thin hiss. + +Brett followed the other's eyes toward the sunny street. The fallen man +lay on the pavement, moving feebly, eyes open. Something moved up to +him, a translucent brownish shape, like muddy water. It hovered for a +moment, then dropped on the man like a breaking wave, flowed around him. +The body shifted, rotating stiffly, then tilted upright. The sun struck +through the fluid shape that flowed down now, amber highlights +twinkling, to form itself into the crested wave, flow away. + +"What the hell...!" + +"Come on!" The red-head turned, trotted silently toward the shadowy bend +under the high grey walls. He looked back, beckoned impatiently, passed +out of sight around the turn-- + +Brett came up behind him, saw a wide avenue, tall trees with chartreuse +springtime leaves, a wrought-iron fence, and beyond it, rolling green +lawns. There were no people in sight. + +"Wait a minute! What is this place?!" + +His companion turned red-rimmed eyes on Brett. "How long have you been +here?" he asked. "How did you get in?" + +"I came through a gate. Just about an hour ago." + +"I knew you were a man as soon as I saw you talking to the golem," said +the red-head. "I've been here two months; maybe more. We've got to get +out of sight. You want food? There's a place ..." He jerked his thumb. +"Come on. Time to talk later." + + * * * + +Brett followed him. They turned down a side street, pushed through the +door of a dingy cafe. It banged behind them. There were tables, stools +at a bar, a dusty juke box. They took seats at a table. The red-head +groped under the table, pulled off a shoe, hammered it against the wall. +He cocked his head, listening. The silence was absolute. He hammered +again. There was a clash of crockery from beyond the kitchen door. "Now +don't say anything," the red-head said. He eyed the door behind the +counter expectantly. It flew open. A girl with red cheeks and untidy +hair, dressed in a green waitress' uniform appeared, swept up to the +table, pad and pencil in hand. + +"Coffee and a ham sandwich," said the red-head. Brett said nothing. The +girl glanced at him briefly, jotted hastily, whisked away. + +"I saw them here the first day," the red-head said. "It was a piece of +luck. I saw how the Gels started it up. They were big ones--not like the +tidiers-up. As soon as they were finished, I came in and tried the same +thing. It worked. I used the golem's lines--" + +"I don't know what you're talking about," Brett said. "I'm going to ask +that girl--" + +"Don't say anything to her; it might spoil everything. The whole +sequence might collapse; or it might call the Gels. I'm not sure. You +can have the food when it comes back with it." + +"Why do you say 'when "it" comes back'?" + +"Ah." He looked at Brett strangely. "I'll show you." + +Brett could smell food now. His mouth watered. He hadn't eaten for +twenty-four hours. + +"Care, that's the thing," the red-head said. "Move quiet, and stay out +of sight, and you can live like a County Duke. Food's the hardest, but +here--" + +The red-cheeked girl reappeared, a tray balanced on one arm, a heavy cup +and saucer in the other hand. She clattered them down on the table. + +"Took you long enough," the red-head said. The girl sniffed, opened her +mouth to speak--and the red-head darted out a stiff finger, jabbed her +under the ribs. She stood, mouth open, frozen. + +Brett half rose. "He's crazy, miss," he said. "Please accept--" + +"Don't waste your breath." Brett's host was looking at him triumphantly. +"Why do I call it 'it'?" He stood up, reached out and undid the top +buttons of the green uniform. The waitress stood, leaning slightly +forward, unmoving. The blouse fell open, exposing round white +breasts--unadorned, blind. + +"A doll," said the red-head. "A puppet; a golem." + + * * * + +Brett stared at her, the damp curls at her temple, the tip of her tongue +behind her teeth, the tiny red veins in her round cheeks, and the white +skin curving ... + +"That's a quick way to tell 'em," said the red-head. "The teat is +smooth." He rebuttoned the uniform, then jabbed again at the girl's +ribs. She straightened, patted her hair. + +"No doubt a gentleman like you is used to better," she said carelessly. +She went away. + +"I'm Awalawon Dhuva," the red-head said. + +"My name's Brett Hale." Brett took a bite of the sandwich. + +"Those clothes," Dhuva said. "And you have a strange way of talking. +What county are you from?" + +"Jefferson." + +"Never heard of it. I'm from Wavly. What brought you here?" + +"I was on a train. The tracks came to an end out in the middle of +nowhere. I walked ... and here I am. What is this place?" + +"Don't know." Dhuva shook his head. "I knew they were lying about the +Fire River, though. Never did believe all that stuff. Religious hokum, +to keep the masses quiet. Don't know what to believe now. Take the roof. +They say a hundred kharfads up; but how do we know? Maybe it's a +thousand--or only ten. By Grat, I'd like to go up in a balloon, see for +myself." + +"What are you talking about?" Brett said. "Go where in a balloon? See +what?" + +"Oh, I've seen one at the Tourney. Big hot-air bag, with a basket under +it. Tied down with a rope. But if you cut the rope...! But you can bet +the priests will never let that happen, no, sir." Dhuva looked at Brett +speculatively. "What about your county: Fession, or whatever you called +it. How high do they tell you it is there?" + +"You mean the sky? Well, the air ends after a few miles and space just +goes on--millions of miles--" + +Dhuva slapped the table and laughed. "The people in Fesseron must be +some yokels! Just goes on up; now who'd swallow that tale?" He chuckled. + +"Only a child thinks the sky is some kind of tent," said Brett. "Haven't +you ever heard of the Solar System, the other planets?" + +"What are those?" + +"Other worlds. They all circle around the sun, like the Earth." + +"Other worlds, eh? Sailing around up under the roof? Funny; I never saw +them." Dhuva snickered. "Wake up, Brett. Forget all those stories. Just +believe what you see." + +"What about that brown thing?" + +"The Gels? They run this place. Look out for them, Brett. Stay alert. +Don't let them see you." + + * * * + +"What do they do?" + +"I don't know--and I don't want to find out. This is a great place--I +like it here. I have all I want to eat, plenty of nice rooms for +sleeping. There's the parades and the scenes. It's a good life--as long +as you keep out of sight." + +"How do you get out of here?" Brett asked, finishing his coffee. + +"Don't know how to get out; over the wall, I suppose. I don't plan to +leave though. I left home in a hurry. The Duke--never mind. I'm not +going back." + +"Are all the people here ... golems?" Brett said. "Aren't there any more +real people?" + +"You're the first I've seen. I spotted you as soon as I saw you. A live +man moves different than a golem. You see golems doing things like +knitting their brows, starting back in alarm, looking askance, and +standing arms akimbo. And they have things like pursed lips and knowing +glances and mirthless laughter. You know: all the things you read about, +that real people never do. But now that you're here, I've got somebody +to talk to. I did get lonesome, I admit. I'll show you where I stay and +we'll fix you up with a bed." + +"I won't be around that long." + +"What can you get outside that you can't get here? There's everything +you need here in the city. We can have a great time." + +"You sound like my Aunt Haicey," Brett said. "She said I had everything +I needed back in Casperton. How does she know what I need? How do you +know? How do I know myself? I can tell you I need more than food and a +place to sleep--" + +"What more?" + +"Everything. Things to think about and something worth doing. Why, even +in the movies--" + +"What's a movie?" + +"You know, a play, on film. A moving picture." + +"A picture that moves?" + +"That's right." + +"This is something the priests told you about?" Dhuva seemed to be +holding in his mirth. + +"Everybody's seen movies." + +Dhuva burst out laughing. "Those priests," he said. "They're the same +everywhere, I see. The stories they tell, and people believe them. What +else?" + +"Priests have nothing to do with it." + +Dhuva composed his features. "What do they tell you about Grat, and the +Wheel?" + +"Grat? What's that?" + +"The Over-Being. The Four-eyed One." Dhuva made a sign, caught himself. +"Just habit," he said. "I don't believe that rubbish. Never did." + +"I suppose you're talking about God," Brett said. + +"I don't know about God. Tell me about it." + +"He's the creator of the world. He's ... well, superhuman. He knows +everything that happens, and when you die, if you've led a good life, +you meet God in Heaven." + +"Where's that?" + +"It's ..." Brett waved a hand vaguely, "up above." + +"But you said there was just emptiness up above," Dhuva recalled. "And +some other worlds whirling around, like islands adrift in the sea." + +"Well--" + +"Never mind," Dhuva held up his hands. "Our priests are liars too. All +that balderdash about the Wheel and the River of Fire. It's just as bad +as your Hivvel or whatever you called it. And our Grat and your Mud, or +Gog: they're the same--" Dhuva's head went up. "What's that?" + +"I didn't hear anything." + + * * * + +Dhuva got to his feet, turned to the door. Brett rose. A towering brown +shape, glassy and transparent, hung in the door, its surface rippling. +Dhuva whirled, leaped past Brett, dived for the rear door. Brett stood +frozen. The shape flowed--swift as quicksilver--caught Dhuva in +mid-stride, engulfed him. For an instant Brett saw the thin figure, legs +kicking, upended within the muddy form of the Gel. Then the turbid wave +swept across to the door, sloshed it aside, disappeared. Dhuva was gone. + +Brett stood rooted, staring at the doorway. A bar of sunlight fell +across the dusty floor. A brown mouse ran along the baseboard. It was +very quiet. Brett went to the door through which the Gel had +disappeared, hesitated a moment, then thrust it open. + +He was looking down into a great dark pit, acres in extent, its sides +riddled with holes, the amputated ends of water and sewage lines and +power cables dangling. Far below light glistened from the surface of a +black pool. A few feet away the waitress stood unmoving in the dark on a +narrow strip of linoleum. At her feet the chasm yawned. The edge of the +floor was ragged, as though it had been gnawed away by rats. There was +no sign of Dhuva. + +Brett stepped back into the dining room, let the door swing shut. He +took a deep breath, picked up a paper napkin from a table and wiped his +forehead, dropped the napkin on the floor and went out into the street, +his suitcase forgotten now. At the corner he turned, walked along past +silent shop windows crowded with home permanents, sun glasses, +fingernail polish, suntan lotion, paper cartons, streamers, plastic +toys, vari-colored garments of synthetic fiber, home remedies, beauty +aids, popular music, greeting cards ... + +At the next corner he stopped, looking down the silent streets. Nothing +moved. Brett went to a window in a grey concrete wall, pulled himself up +to peer through the dusty pane, saw a room filled with tailor's forms, +garment racks, a bicycle, bundled back issues of magazines without +covers. + +He went along to a door. It was solid, painted shut. The next door +looked easier. He wrenched at the tarnished brass nob, then stepped back +and kicked the door. With a hollow sound the door fell inward, taking +with it the jamb. Brett stood staring at the gaping opening. A fragment +of masonry dropped with a dry clink. Brett stepped through the breach in +the grey facade. The black pool at the bottom of the pit winked a +flicker of light back at him in the deep gloom. + + * * * + +Around him, the high walls of the block of buildings loomed in +silhouette; the squares of the windows were ranks of luminous blue +against the dark. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight. Far above, +the roof was dimly visible, a spidery tangle of trusswork. And below was +the abyss. + +At Brett's feet the stump of a heavy brass rail projected an inch from +the floor. It was long enough, Brett thought, to give firm anchor to a +rope. Somewhere below, Dhuva--a stranger who had befriended him--lay in +the grip of the Gels. He would do what he could--but he needed +equipment--and help. First he would find a store with rope, guns, +knives. He would-- + +The broken edge of masonry where the door had been caught his eye. The +shell of the wall, exposed where the door frame had torn away, was +wafer-thin. Brett reached up, broke off a piece. The outer face--the +side that showed on the street--was smooth, solid-looking. The back was +porous, nibbled. Brett stepped outside, examined the wall. He kicked at +the grey surface. A great piece of wall, six feet high, broke into +fragments, fell on the sidewalk with a crash, driving out a puff of +dust. Another section fell. One piece of it skidded away, clattered down +into the depths. Brett heard a distant splash. He looked at the great +jagged opening in the wall--like a jigsaw picture with a piece missing. +He turned and started off at a trot, his mouth dry, his pulse thumping +painfully in his chest. + +Two blocks from the hollow building, Brett slowed to a walk, his +footsteps echoing in the empty street. He looked into each store window +as he passed. There were artificial legs, bottles of colored water, +immense dolls, wigs, glass eyes--but no rope. Brett tried to think. What +kind of store would handle rope? A marine supply company, maybe. But +where would he find one? + +Perhaps it would be easiest to look in a telephone book. Ahead he saw a +sign lettered HOTEL. Brett went up to the revolving door, pushed inside. +He was in a dim, marble-panelled lobby, with double doors leading into +a beige-carpeted bar on his right, the brass-painted cage of an elevator +directly before him, flanked by tall urns of sand and an ascending +staircase. On the left was a dark mahogany-finished reception desk. +Behind the desk a man stood silently, waiting. Brett felt a wild surge +of relief. + +"Those things, those Gels!" he called, starting across the room. "My +friend--" + +He broke off. The clerk stood, staring over Brett's shoulder, holding a +pen poised over a book. Brett reached out, took the pen. The man's +finger curled stiffly around nothing. A golem. + + * * * + +Brett turned away, went into the bar. Vacant stools were ranged before a +dark mirror. At the tables empty glasses stood before empty chairs. +Brett started as he heard the revolving door thump-thump. Suddenly soft +light bathed the lobby behind him. Somewhere a piano tinkled _More Than +You Know_. With a distant clatter of closing doors the elevator came to +life. + +Brett hugged a shadowed corner, saw a fat man in a limp seersucker suit +cross to the reception desk. He had a red face, a bald scalp blotched +with large brown freckles. The clerk inclined his head blandly. + +"Ah, yes, sir, a nice double with bath ..." Brett heard the unctuous +voice of the clerk as he offered the pen. The fat man took it, scrawled +something in the register. "... at fourteen dollars," the clerk +murmured. He smiled, dinged the bell. A boy in tight green tunic and +trousers and a pillbox cap with a chin strap pushed through a door +beside the desk, took the key, led the way to the elevator. The fat man +entered. Through the openwork of the shaft Brett watched as the elevator +car rose, greasy cables trembling and swaying. He started back across +the lobby--and stopped dead. + +A wet brown shape had appeared in the entrance. It flowed across the rug +to the bellhop. Face blank, the golem turned back to its door. Above, +Brett heard the elevator stop. Doors clashed. The clerk stood poised +behind the desk. The Gel hovered, then flowed away. The piano was silent +now. The lights burned, a soft glow, then winked out. Brett thought +about the fat man. He had seen him before ... + +He went up the stairs. In the second floor corridor Brett felt his way +along in near-darkness, guided by the dim light coming through transoms. +He tried a door. It opened. He stepped into a large bedroom with a +double bed, an easy chair, a chest of drawers. He crossed the room, +looked out across an alley. Twenty feet away white curtains hung at +windows in a brick wall. There was nothing behind the windows. + +There were sounds in the corridor. Brett dropped to the floor behind the +bed. + +"All right, you two," a drunken voice bellowed. "And may all your +troubles be little ones." There was laughter, squeals, a dry clash of +beads flung against the door. A key grated. The door swung wide. Lights +blazed in the hall, silhouetting the figures of a man in black jacket +and trousers, a woman in a white bridal dress and veil, flowers in her +hand. + +"Take care, Mel!" + +"... do anything I wouldn't do!" + +"... kiss the bride, now!" + +The couple backed into the room, pushed the door shut, stood against it. +Brett crouched behind the bed, not breathing, waiting. The couple stood +at the door, in the dark, heads down ... + + * * * + +Brett stood, rounded the foot of the bed, approached the two unmoving +figures. The girl looked young, sleek, perfect-featured, with soft dark +hair. Her eyes were half-open; Brett caught a glint of light reflected +from the eyeball. The man was bronzed, broad-shouldered, his hair wavy +and blond. His lips were parted, showing even white teeth. The two +stood, not breathing, sightless eyes fixed on nothing. + +Brett took the bouquet from the woman's hand. The flowers seemed +real--except that they had no perfume. He dropped them on the floor, +pulled at the male golem to clear the door. The figure pivoted, toppled, +hit with a heavy thump. Brett raised the woman in his arms and propped +her against the bed. Back at the door he listened. All was quiet now. He +started to open the door, then hesitated. He went back to the bed, undid +the tiny pearl buttons down the front of the bridal gown, pulled it +open. The breasts were rounded, smooth, an unbroken creamy white ... + +In the hall, he started toward the stair. A tall Gel rippled into view +ahead, its shape flowing and wavering, now billowing out, then rising +up. The shifting form undulated toward Brett. He made a move to run, +then remembered Dhuva, stood motionless. The Gel wobbled past him, +slumped suddenly, flowed under a door. Brett let out a breath. Never +mind the fat man. There were too many Gels here. He started back along +the corridor. + +Soft music came from double doors which stood open on a landing. Brett +went to them, risked a look inside. Graceful couples moved sedately on a +polished floor, diners sat at tables, black-clad waiters moving among +them. At the far side of the room, near a dusty rubber plant, sat the +fat man, studying a menu. As Brett watched he shook out a napkin, ran it +around inside his collar, then mopped his face. + +Never disturb a scene, Dhuva had said. But perhaps he could blend with +it. Brett brushed at his suit, straightened his tie, stepped into the +room. A waiter approached, eyed him dubiously. Brett got out his wallet, +took out a five-dollar bill. + +"A quiet table in the corner," he said. He glanced back. There were no +Gels in sight. He followed the waiter to a table near the fat man. + + * * * + +Seated, he looked around. He wanted to talk to the fat man, but he +couldn't afford to attract attention. He would watch, and wait his +chance. + +At the nearby tables men with well-pressed suits, clean collars, and +carefully shaved faces murmured to sleekly gowned women who fingered +wine glasses, smiled archly. He caught fragments of conversation: + +"My dear, have you heard ..." + +"... in the low eighties ..." + +"... quite impossible. One must ..." + +"... for this time of year." + +The waiter returned with a shallow bowl of milky soup. Brett looked at +the array of spoons, forks, knives, glanced sideways at the diners at +the next table. It was important to follow the correct ritual. He put +his napkin in his lap, careful to shake out all the folds. He looked at +the spoons again, picked a large one, glanced at the waiter. So far so +good ... + +"Wine, sir?" + +Brett indicated the neighboring couple. "The same as they're having." +The waiter turned away, returned holding a wine bottle, label toward +Brett. He looked at it, nodded. The waiter busied himself with the cork, +removing it with many flourishes, setting a glass before Brett, pouring +half an inch of wine. He waited expectantly. + +Brett picked up the glass, tasted it. It tasted like wine. He nodded. +The waiter poured. Brett wondered what would have happened if he had +made a face and spurned it. But it would be too risky to try. No one +ever did it. + +Couples danced, resumed their seats; others rose and took the floor. A +string ensemble in a distant corner played restrained tunes that seemed +to speak of the gentle faded melancholy of decorous tea dances on +long-forgotten afternoons. Brett glanced toward the fat man. He was +eating soup noisily, his napkin tied under his chin. + +The waiter was back with a plate. "Lovely day, sir," he said. + +"Great," Brett agreed. + +The waiter placed a covered platter on the table, removed the cover, +stood with carving knife and fork poised. + +"A bit of the crispy, sir?" + +Brett nodded. He eyed the waiter surreptitiously. He looked real. Some +golems seemed realer than others; or perhaps it merely depended on the +parts they were playing. The man who had fallen at the parade had been +only a sort of extra, a crowd member. The waiter, on the other hand, was +able to converse. Perhaps it would be possible to learn something from +him ... + +"What's ... uh ... how do you spell the name of this town?" Brett asked. + +"I was never much of a one for spelling, sir," the waiter said. + +"Try it." + +"Gravy, sir?" + +"Sure. Try to spell the name." + +"Perhaps I'd better call the headwaiter, sir," the golem said stiffly. + +From the corner of an eye Brett caught a flicker of motion. He whirled, +saw nothing. Had it been a Gel? + +"Never mind," he said. The waiter served potatoes, peas, refilled the +wine glass, moved off silently. The question had been a little too +unorthodox, Brett decided. Perhaps if he led up to the subject more +obliquely ... + + * * * + +When the waiter returned Brett said, "Nice day." + +"Very nice, sir." + +"Better than yesterday." + +"Yes indeed, sir." + +"I wonder what tomorrow'll be like." + +"Perhaps we'll have a bit of rain, sir." + +Brett nodded toward the dance floor. "Nice orchestra." + +"They're very popular, sir." + +"From here in town?" + +"I wouldn't know as to that, sir." + +"Lived here long yourself?" + +"Oh, yes, sir." The waiter's expression showed disapproval. "Would there +be anything else, sir?" + +"I'm a newcomer here," Brett said. "I wonder if you could tell me--" + +"Excuse me, sir." The waiter was gone. Brett poked at the mashed +potatoes. Quizzing golems was hopeless. He would have to find out for +himself. He turned to look at the fat man. As Brett watched he took a +large handkerchief from a pocket, blew his nose loudly. No one turned to +look. The orchestra played softly. The couples danced. Now was as good a +time as any ... + +Brett rose, crossed to the other's table. The man looked up. + +"Mind if I sit down?" Brett said. "I'd like to talk to you." + +The fat man blinked, motioned to a chair. Brett sat down, leaned across +the table. "Maybe I'm wrong," he said quietly, "but I think you're +real." + +The fat man blinked again. "What's that?" he snapped. He had a high +petulant voice. + +"You're not like the rest of them. I think I can talk to you. I think +you're another outsider." + +The fat man looked down at his rumpled suit. "I ... ah ... was caught a +little short today. Didn't have time to change. I'm a busy man. And what +business is it of yours?" He clamped his jaw shut, eyed Brett warily. + +"I'm a stranger here," Brett said. "I want to find out what's going on +in this place--" + +"Buy an amusement guide. Lists all the shows--" + +"I don't mean that. I mean these dummies all over the place, and the +Gels--" + +"What dummies? Jells? Jello? You don't like Jello?" + +"I love Jello. I don't--" + +"Just ask the waiter. He'll bring you your Jello. Any flavor you like. +Now if you'll excuse me ..." + +"I'm talking about the brown things; they look like muddy water. They +come around if you interfere with a scene." + +The fat man looked nervous. "Please. Go away." + +"If I make a disturbance, the Gels will come. Is that what you're afraid +of?" + +"Now, now. Be calm. No need for you to get excited." + +"I won't make a scene," Brett said. "Just talk to me. How long have you +been here?" + +"I dislike scenes. I dislike them intensely." + +"When did you come here?" + +"Just ten minutes ago. I just sat down. I haven't had my dinner yet. +Please, young man. Go back to your table." The fat man watched Brett +warily. Sweat glistened on his bald head. + +"I mean this town. How long have you been here? Where did you come +from?" + +"Why, I was born here. Where did I come from? What sort of question is +that? Just consider that the stork brought me." + +"You were born here?" + +"Certainly." + +"What's the name of the town?" + + * * * + +"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" The fat man was getting angry. +His voice was rising. + +"Shhh," Brett cautioned. "You'll attract the Gels." + +"Blast the Jilts, whatever that is!" the fat man snapped. "Now, get +along with you. I'll call the manager." + +"Don't you know?" Brett said, staring at the fat man. "They're all +dummies; golems, they're called. They're not real." + +"Who're not real?" + +"All these imitation people at the tables and on the dance floor. Surely +you realize--" + +"I realize you're in need of medical attention." The fat man pushed back +his chair and got to his feet. "You keep the table," he said. "I'll dine +elsewhere." + +"Wait!" Brett got up, seized the fat man's arm. + +"Take your hands off me--" The fat man went toward the door. Brett +followed. At the cashier's desk Brett turned suddenly, saw a fluid brown +shape flicker-- + +"Look!" He pulled at the fat man's arm-- + +"Look at what?" The Gel was gone. + +"It was there: a Gel." + +The fat man flung down a bill, hurried away. Brett fumbled out a ten, +waited for change. "Wait!" he called. He heard the fat man's feet +receding down the stairs. + +"Hurry," he said to the cashier. The woman sat glassy-eyed, staring at +nothing. The music died. The lights flickered, went off. In the gloom +Brett saw a fluid shape rise up-- + +He ran, pounding down the stairs. The fat man was just rounding the +corner. Brett opened his mouth to call--and went rigid, as a translucent +shape of mud shot from the door, rose up to tower before him. Brett +stood, mouth half open, eyes staring, leaning forward with hands +outflung. The Gel loomed, its surface flickering--waiting. Brett caught +an acrid odor of geraniums. + +A minute passed. Brett's cheek itched. He fought a desire to blink, to +swallow--to turn and run. The high sun beat down on the silent street, +the still window displays. + +Then the Gel broke form, slumped, flashed away. Brett tottered back +against the wall, let his breath out in a harsh sigh. + +Across the street he saw a window with a display of camping equipment, +portable stoves, boots, rifles. He crossed the street, tried the door. +It was locked. He looked up and down the street. There was no one in +sight. He kicked in the glass beside the latch, reached through and +turned the knob. Inside he looked over the shelves, selected a heavy +coil of nylon rope, a sheath knife, a canteen. He examined a Winchester +repeating rifle with a telescopic sight, then put it back and strapped +on a .22 revolver. He emptied two boxes of long rifle cartridges into +his pocket, then loaded the pistol. He coiled the rope over his shoulder +and went back out into the empty street. + + * * * + +The fat man was standing in front of a shop in the next block, picking +at a blemish on his chin and eyeing the window display. He looked up +with a frown, started away as Brett came up. + +"Wait a minute," Brett called. "Didn't you see the Gel? the one that +cornered me back there?" + +The fat man looked back suspiciously, kept going. + +"Wait!" Brett caught his arm. "I know you're real. I've seen you belch +and sweat and scratch. You're the only one I can call on--and I need +help. My friend is trapped--" + +The fat man pulled away, his face flushed an even deeper red. "I'm +warning you, you maniac: get away from me...!" + +Brett stepped close, rammed the fat man hard in the ribs. He sank to his +knees, gasping. The panama hat rolled away. Brett grabbed his arm, +steadied him. + +"Sorry," he said. "I had to be sure. You're real, all right. We've got +to rescue my friend, Dhuva--" + +The fat man leaned against the glass, rolling terrified eyes, rubbing +his stomach. "I'll call the police!" he gasped. + +"What police?" Brett waved an arm. "Look. Not a car in sight. Did you +ever see the street that empty before?" + +"Wednesday afternoon," the fat man gasped. + +"Come with me. I want to show you. It's all hollow. There's nothing +behind these walls--" + +"Why doesn't somebody come along?" the fat man moaned. + +"The masonry is only a quarter-inch thick," Brett said. "Come on; I'll +show you." + +"I don't like it," said the fat man. His face was pale and moist. +"You're mad. What's wrong? It's so quiet ..." + +"We've got to try to save him. The Gel took him down into this pit--" + +"Let me go," the man whined. "I'm afraid. Can't you just let me lead my +life in peace?" + +"Don't you understand? The Gel took a man. They may be after you next." + +"There's no one after me! I'm a business man ... a respectable citizen. +I mind my own business, give to charity, go to church. All I want is to +be left alone!" + + * * * + +Brett dropped his hands from the fat man's arms, stood looking at him: +the blotched face, pale now, the damp forehead, the quivering jowls. The +fat man stooped for his hat, slapped it against his leg, clamped it on +his head. + +"I think I understand now," said Brett. "This is your place, this +imitation city. Everything's faked to fit your needs--like in the hotel. +Wherever you go, the scene unrolls in front of you. You never see the +Gels, never discover the secret of the golems--because you conform. You +never do the unexpected." + +"That's right. I'm law-abiding. I'm respectable. I don't pry. I don't +nose into other people's business. Why should I? Just let me alone ..." + +"Sure," Brett said. "Even if I dragged you down there and showed you, +you wouldn't believe it. But you're not in the scene now. I've taken you +out of it--" + +Suddenly the fat man turned and ran a few yards, then looked back to see +whether Brett was pursuing him. He shook a round fist. + +"I've seen your kind before," he shouted. "Troublemakers." + +Brett took a step toward him. The fat man yelped and ran another fifty +feet, his coat tails bobbing. He looked back, stopped, a fat figure +alone in the empty sunny street. + +"You haven't seen the last of me!" he shouted. "We know how to deal with +your kind." He tugged at his vest, went off along the sidewalk. Brett +watched him go, then started back toward the hollow building. + + * * * * * + +The jagged fragments of masonry Brett had knocked from the wall lay as +he had left them. He stepped through the opening, peered down into the +murky pit, trying to judge its depth. A hundred feet at least. Perhaps a +hundred and fifty. + +He unslung the rope from his shoulder, tied one end to the brass stump, +threw the coil down the precipitous side. It fell away into darkness, +hung swaying. It was impossible to tell whether the end reached any +solid footing below. He couldn't waste any more time looking for help. +He would have to try it alone. + +There was a scrape of shoe leather on the pavement outside. He turned, +stepped out into the white sunlight. The fat man rounded the corner, +recoiled as he saw Brett. He flung out a pudgy forefinger, his +protruding eyes wide in his blotchy red face. + +"There he is! I told you he came this way!" Two uniformed policemen came +into view. One eyed the gun at Brett's side, put a hand on his own. + +"Better take that off, sir." + +"Look!" Brett said to the fat man. He stooped, picked up a crust of +masonry. "Look at this--just a shell--" + +"He's blasted a hole right in that building, officer!" the fat man +shrilled. "He's dangerous." + +The cop ignored the gaping hole in the wall. "You'll have to come along +with me, sir. This gentleman registered a complaint ..." + +Brett stood staring into the cop's eyes. They were pale blue eyes, +looking steadily back at him from a bland face. Could the cop be real? +Or would he be able to push him over, as he had other golems? + +"The fellow's not right in the head," the fat man was saying to the cop. +"You should have heard his crazy talk. A troublemaker. His kind have got +to be locked up!" + +The cop nodded. "Can't have anyone causing trouble." + +"Only a young fellow," said the fat man. He mopped at his forehead with +a large handkerchief. "Tragic. But I'm sure that you men know how to +handle him." + +"Better give me the gun, sir." The cop held out a hand. Brett moved +suddenly, rammed stiff fingers into the cop's ribs. He stiffened, +toppled, lay rigid, staring up at nothing. + +"You ... you killed him," the fat man gasped, backing. The second cop +tugged at his gun. Brett leaped at him, sent him down with a blow to the +ribs. He turned to face the fat man. + +"I didn't kill them! I just turned them off. They're not real, they're +just golems." + +"A killer! And right in the city, in broad daylight." + +"You've got to help me!" Brett cried. "This whole scene: don't you see? +It has the air of something improvised in a hurry, to deal with the +unexpected factor; that's me. The Gels know something's wrong, but they +can't quite figure out what. When you called the cops the Gels +obliged--" + + * * * + +Startlingly the fat man burst into tears. He fell to his knees. + +"Don't kill me ... oh, don't kill me ..." + +"Nobody's going to kill you, you fool!" Brett snapped. "Look! I want to +show you!" He seized the fat man's lapel, dragged him to his feet and +across the sidewalk, through the opening. The fat man stopped dead, +stumbled back-- + +"What's this? What kind of place is this?" He scrambled for the opening. + +"It's what I've been trying to tell you. This city you live in--it's a +hollow shell. There's nothing inside. None of it's real. Only you ... +and me. There was another man: Dhuva. I was in a cafe with him. A Gel +came. He tried to run. It caught him. Now he's ... down there." + +"I'm not alone," the fat man babbled. "I have my friends, my clubs, my +business associates. I'm insured. Lately I've been thinking a lot about +Jesus--" + +He broke off, whirled, and jumped for the doorway. Brett leaped after +him, caught his coat. It ripped. The fat man stumbled over one of the +cop-golems, went to hands and knees. Brett stood over him. + +"Get up, damn it!" he snapped. "I need help and you're going to help +me!" He hauled the fat man to his feet. "All you have to do is stand by +the rope. Dhuva may be unconscious when I find him. You'll have to help +me haul him up. If anybody comes along, any Gels, I mean--give me a +signal. A whistle ... like this--" Brett demonstrated. "And if I get in +trouble, do what you can. Here ..." Brett started to offer the fat man +the gun, then handed him the hunting knife. "If anybody interferes, this +may not do any good, but it's something. I'm going down now." + +The fat man watched as Brett gripped the rope, let himself over the +edge. Brett looked up at the glistening face, the damp strands of hair +across the freckled scalp. Brett had no assurance that the man would +stay at his post, but he had done what he could. + +"Remember," said Brett. "It's a real man they've got, like you and me +... not a golem. We owe it to him." The fat man's hands trembled. He +watched Brett, licked his lips. Brett started down. + + * * * * * + +The descent was easy. The rough face of the excavation gave footholds. +The end of a decaying timber projected; below it was the stump of a +crumbling concrete pipe two feet in diameter. Brett was ten feet below +the rim of floor now. Above, the broad figure of the fat man was visible +in silhouette against the jagged opening in the wall. + +Now the cliff shelved back; the rope hung free. Brett eased past the cut +end of a rusted water pipe, went down hand over hand. If there were +nothing at the bottom to give him footing, it would be a long climb back +... + +Twenty feet below he could see the still black water, pockmarked with +expanding rings where bits of debris dislodged by his passage peppered +the surface. + +There was a rhythmic vibration in the rope. Brett felt it through his +hands, a fine sawing sensation ... + +He was falling, gripping the limp rope ... + +He slammed on his back in three feet of oily water. The coils of rope +collapsed around him with a sustained splashing. He got to his feet, +groped for the end of the rope. The glossy nylon strands had been +cleanly cut. + + * * * + +For half an hour Brett waded in waist-deep water along a wall of damp +clay that rose sheer above him. Far above, bars of dim sunlight crossed +the upper reaches of the cavern. He had seen no sign of Dhuva ... or the +Gels. + +He encountered a sodden timber that projected above the surface of the +pool, clung to it to rest. Bits of flotsam--a plastic pistol, bridge +tallies, a golf bag--floated in the black water. A tunnel extended +through the clay wall ahead; beyond, Brett could see a second great +cavern rising. He pictured the city, silent and empty above, and the +honey-combed earth beneath. He moved on. + +An hour later Brett had traversed the second cavern. Now he clung to an +outthrust spur of granite directly beneath the point at which Dhuva had +disappeared. Far above he could see the green-clad waitress standing +stiffly on her ledge. He was tired. Walking in water, his feet +floundering in soft mud, was exhausting. He was no closer to escape, or +to finding Dhuva, than he had been when the fat man cut the rope. He had +been a fool to leave the man alone, with a knife ... but he had had no +choice. + +He would have to find another way out. Endlessly wading at the bottom of +the pit was useless. He would have to climb. One spot was as good as +another. He stepped back and scanned the wall of clay looming over him. +Twenty feet up, water dripped from the broken end of a four-inch water +main. Brett uncoiled the rope from his shoulder, tied a loop in the end, +whirled it and cast upward. It missed, fell back with a splash. He +gathered it in, tried again. On the third try it caught. He tested it, +then started up. His hands were slippery with mud and water. He twined +the rope around his legs, inched higher. The slender cable was smooth as +glass. He slipped back two feet, then inched upward, slipped again, +painfully climbed, slipped, climbed. + +After the first ten feet he found toe-holds in the muddy wall. He worked +his way up, his hands aching and raw. A projecting tangle of power cable +gave a secure purchase for a foot. He rested. Nearby, an opening two +feet in diameter gaped in the clay: a tunnel. It might be possible to +swing sideways across the face of the clay and reach the opening. It was +worth a try. His stiff, clay-slimed hands would pull him no higher. + +He gripped the rope, kicked off sideways, hooked a foot in the tunnel +mouth, half jumped, half fell into the mouth of the tunnel. He clung to +the rope, shook it loose from the pipe above, coiled it and looped it +over his shoulder. On hands and knees he started into the narrow +passage. + + * * * + +The tunnel curved left, then right, dipped, then angled up. Brett +crawled steadily, the smooth stiff clay yielding and cold against his +hands and sodden knees. Another smaller tunnel joined from the left. +Another angled in from above. The tunnel widened to three feet, then +four. Brett got to his feet, walked in a crouch. Here and there, barely +visible in the near-darkness, objects lay imbedded in the mud: a +silver-plated spoon, its handle bent; the rusted engine of an electric +train; a portable radio, green with corrosion from burst batteries. + +At a distance, Brett estimated, of a hundred yards from the pit, the +tunnel opened into a vast cave, green-lit from tiny discs of frosted +glass set in the ceiling far above. A row of discolored concrete piles, +the foundations of the building above, protruded against the near wall, +their surfaces nibbled and pitted. Between Brett and the concrete +columns the floor was littered with pale sticks and stones, gleaming +dully in the gloom. + +Brett started across the floor. One of the sticks snapped underfoot. He +kicked a melon-sized stone. It rolled lightly, came to rest with hollow +eyes staring toward him. A human skull. + + * * * * * + +The floor of the cave covered an area the size of a city block. It was +blanketed with human bones, with here and there a small cat skeleton or +the fanged snout-bones of a dog. There was a constant rustling of rats +that played among the rib cages, sat atop crania, scuttled behind +shin-bones. Brett picked his way, stepping over imitation pearl +necklaces, zircon rings, plastic buttons, hearing aids, lipsticks, +compacts, corset stays, prosthetic devices, rubber heels, wrist watches, +lapel watches, pocket watches with corroded brass chains. + +Ahead Brett saw a patch of color: a blur of pale yellow. He hurried, +stumbling over bone heaps, crunching eyeglasses underfoot. He reached +the still figure where it lay slackly, face down. Gingerly he squatted, +turned it on its back. It was Dhuva. + +Brett slapped the cold wrists, rubbed the clammy hands. Dhuva stirred, +moaned weakly. Brett pulled him to a sitting position. "Wake up!" he +whispered. "Wake up!" + +Dhuva's eyelids fluttered. He blinked dully at Brett. + +"The Gels may turn up any minute," Brett hissed. "We have to get away +from here. Can you walk?" + +"I saw it," said Dhuva faintly. "But it moved so fast ..." + +"You're safe here for the moment," Brett said. "There are none of them +around. But they may be back. We've got to find a way out!" + +Dhuva started up, staring around. "Where am I?" he said hoarsely. Brett +seized his arm, steadied him on his feet. + +"We're in a hollowed-out cave," he said. "The whole city is undermined +with them. They're connected by tunnels. We have to find one leading +back to the surface." + +Dhuva gazed around at the acres of bones. "It left me here for dead." + +"Or to die," said Brett. + +"Look at them," Dhuva breathed. "Hundreds ... thousands ..." + +"The whole population, it looks like. The Gels must have whisked them +down here one by one." + +"But why?" + +"For interfering with the scenes. But that doesn't matter now. What +matters is getting out. Come on. I see tunnels on the other side." + +They crossed the broad floor, around them the white bones, the rustle of +rats. They reached the far side of the cave, picked a six-foot tunnel +which trended upward, a trickle of water seeping out of the dark mouth. +They started up the slope. + + * * * + +"We have to have a weapon against the Gels," said Brett. + +"Why? I don't want to fight them." Dhuva's voice was thin, frightened. +"I want to get away from here ... even back to Wavly. I'd rather face +the Duke." + +"This was a real town, once," said Brett. "The Gels have taken it over, +hollowed out the buildings, mined the earth under it, killed off the +people, and put imitation people in their place. And nobody ever knew. I +met a man who's lived here all his life. He doesn't know. But we know +... and we have to do something about it." + +"It's not our business. I've had enough. I want to get away." + +"The Gels must stay down below, somewhere in that maze of tunnels. For +some reason they try to keep up appearances ... but only for the people +who belong here. They play out scenes for the fat man, wherever he goes. +And he never goes anywhere he isn't expected to." + +"We'll get over the wall somehow," said Dhuva. "We may starve, crossing +the dry fields, but that's better than this." + +They emerged from the tunnel into a coal bin, crossed to a sagging door, +found themselves in a boiler room. Stairs led up to sunlight. In the +street, in the shadow of tall buildings, a boxy sedan was parked at the +curb. Brett went to it, tried the door. It opened. Keys dangled from the +ignition switch. He slid into the dusty seat. Behind him there was a +hoarse scream. Brett looked up. Through the streaked windshield he saw a +mighty Gel rear up before Dhuva, who crouched back against the blackened +brick front of the building. + +"Don't move, Dhuva!" Brett shouted. Dhuva stood frozen, flattened +against the wall. The Gel towered, its surface rippling. + +Brett eased from the seat. He stood on the pavement, fifteen feet from +the Gel. The rank Gel odor came in waves from the creature. Beyond it he +could see Dhuva's white terrified face. + +[Illustration] + +Silently Brett turned the latch of the old-fashioned auto hood, raised +it. The copper fuel line curved down from the firewall to a glass +sediment cup. The knurled retaining screw turned easily; the cup dropped +into Brett's hand. Gasoline ran down in an amber stream. Brett pulled +off his damp coat, wadded it, jammed it under the flow. Over his +shoulder he saw Dhuva, still rigid--and the Gel, hovering, uncertain. + +The coat was saturated with gasoline now. Brett fumbled a match box from +his pocket. Wet. He threw the sodden container aside. The battery caught +his eye, clamped in a rusted frame under the hood. He jerked the pistol +from its holster, used it to short the terminals. Tiny blue sparks +jumped. He jammed the coat near, rasped the gun against the soft lead +poles. With a whoosh! the coat caught; yellow flames leaped, +soot-rimmed. Brett snatched at a sleeve, whirled the coat high. The +great Gel, attracted by the sudden motion, rushed at him. He flung the +blazing garment over the monster, leaped aside. + +The creature went mad. It slumped, lashed itself against the pavement. +The burning coat was thrown clear. The Gel threw itself across the +pavement, into the gutter, sending a splatter of filthy water over +Brett. From the corner of his eye, Brett saw Dhuva seize the burning +coat, hurl it into the pooled gasoline in the gutter. Fire leaped twenty +feet high; in its center the great Gel bucked and writhed. The ancient +car shuddered as the frantic monster struck it. Black smoke boiled up; +an unbelievable stench came to Brett's nostrils. He backed, coughing. +Flames roared around the front of the car. Paint blistered and burned. A +tire burst. In a final frenzy, the Gel whipped clear, lay, a great +blackened shape of melting rubber, twitching, then still. + + * * * + +"They've tunneled under everything," Brett said. "They've cut through +power lines and water lines, concrete, steel, earth; they've left the +shell, shored up with spidery-looking trusswork. Somehow they've kept +water and power flowing to wherever they needed it--" + +"I don't care about your theories," Dhuva said; "I only want to get +away." + +"It's bound to work, Dhuva. I need your help." + +"No." + +"Then I'll have to try alone." He turned away. + +"Wait," Dhuva called. He came up to Brett. "I owe you a life; you saved +mine. I can't let you down now. But if this doesn't work ... or if you +can't find what you want--" + +"Then we'll go." + +Together they turned down a side street, walking rapidly. At the next +corner Brett pointed. + +"There's one!" They crossed to the service station at a run. Brett tried +the door. Locked. He kicked at it, splintered the wood around the lock. +He glanced around inside. "No good," he called. "Try the next building. +I'll check the one behind." + +He crossed the wide drive, battered in a door, looked in at a floor +covered with wood shavings. It ended ten feet from the door. Brett went +to the edge, looked down. Diagonally, forty feet away, the underground +fifty-thousand-gallon storage tank which supplied the gasoline pumps of +the station perched, isolated, on a column of striated clay, ribbed +with chitinous Gel buttresses. The truncated feed lines ended six feet +from the tank. From Brett's position, it was impossible to say whether +the ends were plugged. + +Across the dark cavern a square of light appeared. Dhuva stood in a +doorway looking toward Brett. + +"Over here, Dhuva!" Brett uncoiled his rope, arranged a slip-noose. He +measured the distance with his eye, tossed the loop. It slapped the top +of the tank, caught on a massive fitting. He smashed the glass from a +window, tied the end of the rope to the center post. Dhuva arrived, +watched as Brett went to the edge, hooked his legs over the rope, and +started across to the tank. + +It was an easy crossing. Brett's feet clanged against the tank. He +straddled the six-foot cylinder, worked his way to the end, then +clambered down to the two two-inch feed lines. He tested their +resilience, then lay flat, eased out on them. There were plugs of hard +waxy material in the cut ends of the pipes. Brett poked at them with the +pistol. Chunks loosened and fell. He worked for fifteen minutes before +the first trickle came. Two minutes later, two thick streams of gasoline +were pouring down into the darkness. + + * * * + +Brett and Dhuva piled sticks, scraps of paper, shavings, and lumps of +coal around a core of gasoline-soaked rags. Directly above the heaped +tinder a taut rope stretched from the window post to a child's wagon, +the steel bed of which contained a second heap of combustibles. The +wagon hung half over the ragged edge of the floor. + +"It should take about fifteen minutes for the fire to burn through the +rope," Brett said. "Then the wagon will fall and dump the hot coals in +the gasoline. By then it will have spread all over the surface and +flowed down side tunnels into other parts of the cavern system." + +"But it may not get them all." + +"It will get some of them. It's the best we can do right now. You get +the fire going in the wagon; I'll start this one up." + +Dhuva sniffed the air. "That fluid," he said. "We know it in Wavly as +phlogistoneum. The wealthy use it for cooking." + +"We'll use it to cook Gels." Brett struck a match. The fire leaped up, +smoking. Dhuva watched, struck his match awkwardly, started his blaze. +They stood for a moment watching. The nylon curled and blackened, +melting in the heat. + +"We'd better get moving," Brett said. "It doesn't look as though it will +last fifteen minutes." + +They stepped out into the street. Behind them wisps of smoke curled from +the door. Dhuva seized Brett's arm. "Look!" + +Half a block away the fat man in the panama hat strode toward them at +the head of a group of men in grey flannel. "That's him!" the fat man +shouted, "the one I told you about. I knew the scoundrel would be back!" +He slowed, eyeing Brett and Dhuva warily. + +"You'd better get away from here, fast!" Brett called. "There'll be an +explosion in a few minutes--" + +"Smoke!" the fat man yelped. "Fire! They've set fire to the city! There +it is! pouring out of the window ... and the door!" He started forward. +Brett yanked the pistol from the holster, thumbed back the hammer. + +"Stop right there!" he barked. "For your own good I'm telling you to +run. I don't care about that crowd of golems you've collected, but I'd +hate to see a real human get hurt--even a cowardly one like you." + +"These are honest citizens," the fat man gasped, standing, staring at +the gun. "You won't get away with this. We all know you. You'll be dealt +with ..." + +"We're going now. And you're going too." + +"You can't kill us all," the fat man said. He licked his lips. "We won't +let you destroy our city." + + * * * + +As the fat man turned to exhort his followers Brett fired, once twice, +three times. Three golems fell on their faces. The fat man whirled. + +"Devil!" he shrieked. "A killer is abroad!" He charged, mouth open. +Brett ducked aside, tripped the fat man. He fell heavily, slamming his +face against the pavement. The golems surged forward. Brett and Dhuva +slammed punches to the sternum, took clumsy blows on the shoulder, back, +chest. Golems fell. Brett ducked a wild swing, toppled his attacker, +turned to see Dhuva deal with the last of the dummies. The fat man sat +in the street, dabbing at his bleeding nose, the panama still in place. + +"Get up," Brett commanded. "There's no time left." + +"You've killed them. Killed them all ..." The fat man got to his feet, +then turned suddenly and plunged for the door from which a cloud of +smoke poured. Brett hauled him back. He and Dhuva started off, dragging +the struggling man between them. They had gone a block when their +prisoner, with a sudden frantic jerk, freed himself, set off at a run +for the fire. + +"Let him go!" Dhuva cried. "It's too late to go back!" + +The fat man leaped fallen golems, wrestled with the door, disappeared +into the smoke. Brett and Dhuva sprinted for the corner. As they +rounded it a tremendous blast shook the street. The pavement before them +quivered, opened in a wide crack. A ten-foot section dropped from view. +They skirted the gaping hole, dashed for safety as the facades along the +street cracked, fell in clouds of dust. The street trembled under a +second explosion. Cracks opened, dust rising in puffs from the long +wavering lines. Masonry collapsed around them. They put their heads down +and ran. + + * * * * * + +Winded, Brett and Dhuva walked through the empty streets of the city. +Behind them, smoke blackened the sky. Embers floated down around them. +The odor of burning Gel was carried on the wind. The late sun shone on +the blank pavement. A lone golem in a tasseled fez, left over from the +morning's parade, leaned stiffly against a lamp post, eyes blank. Empty +cars sat in driveways. TV antennae stood forlornly against the sunset. + +"That place looks lived-in," said Brett, indicating an open apartment +window with a curtain billowing above a potted geranium. "I'll take a +look." + +He came back shaking his head. "They were all in the TV room. They +looked so natural at first; I mean, they didn't look up or anything when +I walked in. I turned the set off. The electricity is still working +anyway. Wonder how long it will last?" + +They turned down a residential street. Underfoot the pavement trembled +at a distant blast. They skirted a crack, kept going. Occasional golems +stood in awkward poses or lay across sidewalks. One, clad in black, +tilted awkwardly in a gothic entry of fretted stone work. "I guess there +won't be any church this Sunday," said Brett. + +He halted before a brown brick apartment house. An untended hose welled +on a patch of sickly lawn. Brett went to the door, stood listening, then +went in. Across the room the still figure of a woman sat in a rocker. A +curl stirred on her smooth forehead. A flicker of expression seemed to +cross the lined face. Brett started forward. "Don't be afraid. You can +come with us--" + +He stopped. A flapping window-shade cast restless shadows on the still +golem features on which dust was already settling. Brett turned away, +shaking his head. + +"All of them," he said. "It's as though they were snipped out of paper. +When the Gels died their dummies died with them." + +"Why?" said Dhuva. "What does it all mean?" + +"Mean?" said Brett. He shook his head, started off again along the +street. "It doesn't mean anything. It's just the way things are." + + * * * + +Brett sat in a deserted Cadillac, tuning the radio. + +"... anybody hear me?" said a plaintive voice from the speaker. "This is +Ab Gullorian, at the Twin Spires. Looks like I'm the only one left +alive. Can anybody hear me?" + +Brett tuned. "... been asking the wrong questions ... looking for the +Final Fact. Now these are strange matters, brothers. But if a flower +blooms, what man shall ask why? What lore do we seek in a symphony...?" + +He twisted the knob again. "... Kansas City. Not more than half a dozen +of us. And the dead! Piled all over the place. But it's a funny thing: +Doc Potter started to do an autopsy--" + +Brett turned the knob. "... CQ, CQ, CQ. This is Hollip Quate, calling +CQ, CQ. There's been a disaster here at Port Wanderlust. We need--" + +"Take Jesus into your hearts," another station urged. + +"... to base," the radio said faintly, with much crackling. "Lunar +Observatory to base. Come in, Lunar Control. This is Commander McVee of +the Lunar Detachment, sole survivor--" + +"... hello, Hollip Quate? Hollip Quate? This is Kansas City calling. +Say, where did you say you were calling from...?" + +"It looks as though both of us had a lot of mistaken ideas about the +world outside," said Brett. "Most of these stations sound as though they +might as well be coming from Mars." + +"I don't understand where the voices come from," Dhuva said. "But all +the places they name are strange to me ... except the Twin Spires." + +"I've heard of Kansas City," Brett said, "but none of the other ones." + +The ground trembled. A low rumble rolled. "Another one," Brett said. He +switched off the radio, tried the starter. It groaned, turned over. The +engine caught, sputtered, then ran smoothly. + +"Get in, Dhuva. We might as well ride. Which way do we go to get out of +this place?" + +"The wall lies in that direction," said Dhuva. "But I don't know about a +gate." + +"We'll worry about that when we get to it," said Brett. "This whole +place is going to collapse before long. We really started something. I +suppose other underground storage tanks caught--and gas lines, too." + +A building ahead cracked, fell in a heap of pulverized plaster. The car +bucked as a blast sent a ripple down the street. A manhole cover popped +up, clattered a few feet, dropped from sight. Brett swerved, gunned the +car. It leaped over rubble, roared along the littered pavement. Brett +looked in the rear-view mirror. A block behind them the street ended. +Smoke and dust rose from the immense pit. + +"We just missed it that time!" he called. "How far to the wall?" + +"Not far! Turn here ..." + +Brett rounded the corner with a shrieking of tires. Ahead the grey wall +rose up, blank, featureless. + +"This is a dead end!" Brett shouted. + +"We'd better get out and run for it--" + +"No time! I'm going to ram the wall! Maybe I can knock a hole in it." + + * * * + +Dhuva crouched; teeth gritted, Brett held the accelerator to the floor, +roared straight toward the wall. The heavy car shot across the last few +yards, struck-- + +And burst through a curtain of canvas into a field of dry stalks. + +Brett steered the car in a wide curve to halt and look back. A blackened +panama hat floated down, settled among the stalks. Smoke poured up in a +dense cloud from behind the canvas wall. A fetid stench pervaded the +air. + +"That finishes that, I guess," Brett said. + +"I don't know. Look there." + +Brett turned. Far across the dry field columns of smoke rose from the +ground. + +"The whole thing's undermined," Brett said. "How far does it go?" + +"No telling. But we'd better be off. Perhaps we can get beyond the edge +of it. Not that it matters. We're all that's left ..." + +"You sound like the fat man," Brett said. "But why should we be so +surprised to find out the truth? After all, we never saw it before. All +we knew--or thought we knew--was what they told us. The moon, the other +side of the world, a distant city ... or even the next town. How do we +really know what's there ... unless we go and see for ourselves? Does a +goldfish in his bowl know what the ocean is like?" + +"Where did they come from, those Gels? How much of the world have they +undermined? What about Wavly? Is it a golem country too? The Duke ... +and all the people I knew?" + +"I don't know, Dhuva. I've been wondering about the people in Casperton. +Like Doc Welch. I used to see him in the street with his little black +bag. I always thought it was full of pills and scalpels; but maybe it +really had zebra's tails and toad's eyes in it. Maybe he's really a +magician on his way to cast spells against demons. Maybe the people I +used to see hurrying to catch the bus every morning weren't really going +to the office. Maybe they go down into caves and chip away at the +foundations of things. Maybe they go up on rooftops and put on +rainbow-colored robes and fly away. I used to pass by a bank in +Casperton: a big grey stone building with little curtains over the +bottom half of the windows. I never go in there. I don't have anything +to do in a bank. I've always thought it was full of bankers, banking ... +Now I don't know. It could be anything ..." + +"That's why I'm afraid," Dhuva said. "It could be anything." + +"Things aren't really any different than they were," said Brett, "... +except that now we know." He turned the big car out across the field +toward Casperton. + +"I don't know what we'll find when we get back. Aunt Haicey, Pretty-Lee +... But there's only one way to find out." + +The moon rose as the car bumped westward, raising a trail of dust +against the luminous sky of evening. + + +THE END + + + + +[Illustration] + +"The body shifted, rotating stiffly, then tilted upright. + +"The sun struck through the amber shape that flowed down to form itself +into the crested wave." + +see IT COULD BE ANYTHING + + + + +Transcriber's Note: + + This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ January 1963. + Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. + copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and + typographical errors have been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's It Could Be Anything, by John Keith Laumer + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IT COULD BE ANYTHING *** + +***** This file should be named 26782.txt or 26782.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/7/8/26782/ + +Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell 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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