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diff --git a/old/51687.txt b/old/51687.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 097e9b3..0000000 --- a/old/51687.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1230 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Spy in the Elevator, by Donald E. Westlake - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Spy in the Elevator - -Author: Donald E. Westlake - -Release Date: April 7, 2016 [EBook #51687] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - - THE SPY IN THE ELEVATOR - - By DONALD E. WESTLAKE - - Illustrated by WEST - - [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from - Galaxy Magazine October 1961. - Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that - the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - - - - He was dangerously insane. He threatened - to destroy everything that was noble and - decent--including my date with my girl! - - -When the elevator didn't come, that just made the day perfect. A broken -egg yolk, a stuck zipper, a feedback in the aircon exhaust, the window -sticking at full transparency--well, I won't go through the whole sorry -list. Suffice it to say that when the elevator didn't come, that put -the roof on the city, as they say. - -It was just one of those days. Everybody gets them. Days when you're -lucky in you make it to nightfall with no bones broken. - -But of all times for it to happen! For literally months I'd been -building my courage up. And finally, just today, I had made up my -mind to do it--to propose to Linda. I'd called her second thing this -morning--right after the egg yolk--and invited myself down to her -place. "Ten o'clock," she'd said, smiling sweetly at me out of the -phone. She knew why I wanted to talk to her. And when Linda said ten -o'clock, she meant ten o'clock. - -Don't get me wrong. I don't mean that Linda's a perfectionist or a -harridan or anything like that. Far from it. But she does have a -fixation on that one subject of punctuality. The result of her job, -of course. She was an ore-sled dispatcher. Ore-sleds, being robots, -were invariably punctual. If an ore-sled didn't return on time, no one -waited for it. They simply knew that it had been captured by some other -Project and had blown itself up. - -Well, of course, after working as an ore-sled dispatcher for three -years, Linda quite naturally was a bit obsessed. I remember one time, -shortly after we'd started dating, when I arrived at her place five -minutes late and found her having hysterics. She thought I'd been -killed. She couldn't visualize anything less than that keeping me from -arriving at the designated moment. When I told her what actually had -happened--I'd broken a shoe lace--she refused to speak to me for four -days. - -And then the elevator didn't come. - - * * * * * - -Until then, I'd managed somehow to keep the day's minor disasters from -ruining my mood. Even while eating that horrible egg--I couldn't very -well throw it away, broken yolk or no; it was my breakfast allotment -and I was hungry--and while hurriedly jury-rigging drapery across that -gaspingly transparent window--one hundred and fifty-three stories -straight down to slag--I kept going over and over my prepared proposal -speeches, trying to select the most effective one. - -I had a Whimsical Approach: "Honey, I see there's a nice little -Non-P apartment available up on one seventy-three." And I had a -Romantic Approach: "Darling, I can't live without you at the moment. -Temporarily, I'm madly in love with you. I want to share my life -with you for a while. Will you be provisionally mine?" I even had a -Straightforward Approach: "Linda, I'm going to be needing a wife for at -least a year or two, and I can't think of anyone I would rather spend -that time with than you." - -Actually, though I wouldn't even have admitted this to Linda, much less -to anyone else, I loved her in more than a Non-P way. But even if we -both had been genetically desirable (neither of us were) I knew that -Linda relished her freedom and independence too much to ever contract -for any kind of marriage other than Non-P--Non-Permanent, No Progeny. - -So I rehearsed my various approaches, realizing that when the time -came I would probably be so tongue-tied I'd be capable of no more -than a blurted, "Will you marry me?" and I struggled with zippers and -malfunctioning air-cons, and I managed somehow to leave the apartment -at five minutes to ten. - -Linda lived down on the hundred fortieth floor, thirteen stories away. -It never took more than two or three minutes to get to her place, so I -was giving myself plenty of time. - -But then the elevator didn't come. - -I pushed the button, waited, and nothing happened. I couldn't -understand it. - -The elevator had always arrived before, within thirty seconds of -the button being pushed. This was a local stop, with an elevator -that traveled between the hundred thirty-third floor and the hundred -sixty-seventh floor, where it was possible to make connections for -either the next local or for the express. So it couldn't be more than -twenty stories away. And this was a non-rush hour. - -I pushed the button again, and then I waited some more. I looked at my -watch and it was three minutes to ten. Two minutes, and no elevator! If -it didn't arrive this instant, this second, I would be late. - -It didn't arrive. - -I vacillated, not knowing what to do next. Stay, hoping the elevator -would come after all? Or hurry back to the apartment and call Linda, to -give her advance warning that I would be late? - -Ten more seconds, and still no elevator. I chose the second -alternative, raced back down the hall, and thumbed my way into my -apartment. I dialed Linda's number, and the screen lit up with white -letters on black: PRIVACY DISCONNECTION. - -Of course! Linda expected me at any moment. And she knew what I wanted -to say to her, so quite naturally she had disconnected the phone, to -keep us from being interrupted. - -Frantic, I dashed from the apartment again, back down the hall to the -elevator, and leaned on that blasted button with all my weight. Even if -the elevator should arrive right now, I would still be almost a minute -late. - -No matter. It didn't arrive. - -I would have been in a howling rage anyway, but this impossibility -piled on top of all the other annoyances and breakdowns of the day -was just too much. I went into a frenzy, and kicked the elevator door -three times before I realized I was hurting myself more than I was -hurting the door. I limped back to the apartment, fuming, slammed the -door behind me, grabbed the phone book and looked up the number of -the Transit Staff. I dialed, prepared to register a complaint so loud -they'd be able to hear me in sub-basement three. - -I got some more letters that spelled: BUSY. - - * * * * * - -It took three tries before I got through to a hurried-looking female -receptionist "My name is Rice!" I bellowed. "Edmund Rice! I live on the -hundred and fifty-third floor! I just rang for the elevator and----" - -"The-elevator-is-disconnected." She said it very rapidly, as though she -were growing very used to saying it. - -It only stopped me for a second. "Disconnected? What do you mean -disconnected? Elevators don't _get_ disconnected!" I told her. - -"We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible," she rattled. My bellowing -was bouncing off her like radiation off the Project force-screen. - -I changed tactics. First I inhaled, making a production out of it, -giving myself a chance to calm down a bit. And then I asked, as -rationally as you could please, "Would you mind terribly telling me -_why_ the elevator is disconnected?" - -"I-am-sorry-sir-but-that----" - -"Stop," I said. I said it quietly, too, but she stopped. I saw her -looking at me. She hadn't done that before, she'd merely gazed blankly -at her screen and parroted her responses. - -But now she was actually looking at _me_. - -I took advantage of the fact. Calmly, rationally, I said to her, "I -would like to tell you something, Miss. I would like to tell you just -what you people have done to me by disconnecting the elevator. You have -ruined my life." - -She blinked, open-mouthed. "Ruined your life?" - -"Precisely." I found it necessary to inhale again, even more slowly -than before. "I was on my way," I explained, "to propose to a girl whom -I dearly love. In every way but one, she is the perfect woman. Do you -understand me?" - -She nodded, wide-eyed. I had stumbled on a romantic, though I was too -preoccupied to notice it at the time. - -"In every way but one," I continued. "She has one small imperfection, -a fixation about punctuality. And I was supposed to meet her at ten -o'clock. _I'm late!_" I shook my fist at the screen. "Do you realize -what you've _done_, disconnecting the elevator? Not only won't she -marry me, she won't even _speak_ to me! Not now! Not after this!" - -"Sir," she said tremulously, "please don't shout." - -"I'm not shouting!" - -"Sir, I'm terribly sorry. I understand your--" - -"You _understand_?" I trembled with speechless fury. - -She looked all about her, and then leaned closer to the screen, -revealing a cleavage that I was too distraught at the moment to pay -any attention to. "We're not supposed to give this information out, -sir," she said, her voice low, "but I'm going to tell you, so you'll -understand why we had to do it. I think it's perfectly awful that it -had to ruin things for you this way. But the fact of the matter is--" -she leaned even closer to the screen--"there's a spy in the elevator." - - -II - -It was my turn to be stunned. - -I just gaped at her. "A--a what?" - -"A spy. He was discovered on the hundred forty-seventh floor, and -managed to get into the elevator before the Army could catch him. He -jammed it between floors. But the Army is doing everything it can think -of to get him out." - -"Well--but why should there be any problem about getting him out?" - -"He plugged in the manual controls. We can't control the elevator from -outside at all. And when anyone tries to get into the shaft, he aims -the elevator at them." - -That sounded impossible. "He _aims_ the elevator?" - -"He runs it up and down the shaft," she explained, "trying to crush -anybody who goes after him." - -"Oh," I said. "So it might take a while." - -She leaned so close this time that even I, distracted as I was, could -hardly help but take note of her cleavage. She whispered, "They're -afraid they'll have to starve him out." - -"Oh, no!" - -She nodded solemnly. "I'm terribly sorry, sir," she said. Then she -glanced to her right, suddenly straightened up again, and said, -"We-will-resume-service-as-soon-as-possible." Click. Blank screen. - -For a minute or two, all I could do was sit and absorb what I'd been -told. A spy in the elevator! A spy who had managed to work his way all -the way up to the hundred forty-seventh floor before being unmasked! - -What in the world was the matter with the Army? If things were getting -that lax, the Project was doomed, force-screen or no. Who knew how many -more spies there were in the Project, still unsuspected? - -Until that moment, the state of siege in which we all lived had had -no reality for me. The Project, after all, was self-sufficient and -completely enclosed. No one ever left, no one ever entered. Under our -roof, we were a nation, two hundred stories high. The ever-present -threat of other projects had never been more for me--or for most other -people either, I suspected--than occasional ore-sleds that didn't -return, occasional spies shot down as they tried to sneak into the -building, occasional spies of our own leaving the Project in tiny -radiation-proof cars, hoping to get safely within another project and -bring back news of any immediate threats and dangers that project might -be planning for us. Most spies didn't return; most ore-sleds did. And -within the Project life was full, the knowledge of external dangers -merely lurking at the backs of our minds. After all, those external -dangers had been no more than potential for decades, since what Dr. -Kilbillie called the Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War. - -Dr. Kilbillie--Intermediate Project History, when I was fifteen years -old--had private names for every major war of the twentieth century. -There was the Ignoble Nobleman's War, the Racial Non-Racial War, and -the Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, known to the textbooks of course as -World Wars One, Two, and Three. - -The rise of the Projects, according to Dr. Kilbillie, was the result of -many many factors, but two of the most important were the population -explosion and the Treaty of Oslo. The population explosion, of course, -meant that there was continuously more and more people but never any -more space. So that housing, in the historically short time of one -century, made a complete transformation from horizontal expansion to -vertical. Before 1900, the vast majority of human beings lived in -tiny huts of from one to five stories. By 2000, _everybody_ lived in -Projects. From the very beginning, small attempts were made to make -these Projects more than dwelling places. By mid-century, Projects -(also called apartments and co-ops) already included restaurants, -shopping centers, baby-sitting services, dry cleaners and a host of -other adjuncts. By the end of the century, the Projects were completely -self-sufficient, with food grown hydroponically in the sub-basements, -separate floors set aside for schools and churches and factories, robot -ore-sleds capable of seeking out raw materials unavailable within the -Projects themselves and so on. And all because of, among other things, -the population explosion. - -And the Treaty of Oslo. - -It seems there was a power-struggle between two sets of then-existing -nations (they were something like Projects, only horizontal instead of -vertical) and both sets were equipped with atomic weapons. The Treaty -of Oslo began by stating that atomic war was unthinkable, and added -that just in case anyone happened to think of it only _tactical_ atomic -weapons could be used. No _strategic_ atomic weapons. (A tactical -weapon is something you use on the soldiers, and a strategic weapons is -something you use on the folks at home.) Oddly enough, when somebody -did think of the war, both sides adhered to the Treaty of Oslo, which -meant that no Projects were bombed. - -Of course, they made up for this as best they could by using tactical -atomic weapons all over the place. After the war almost the whole -world was quite dangerously radioactive. Except for the Projects. Or -at least those of them which had in time installed the force screens -which had been invented on the very eve of battle, and which deflected -radioactive particles. - -However, what with all of the _other_ treaties which were broken during -the Ungentlemanly Gentleman's War, by the time it was finished nobody -was quite sure any more who was on whose side. That project over there -on the horizon might be an ally. And then again it might not. Since -they weren't sure either, it was risky to expose yourself in order to -ask. - -And so life went on, with little to remind us of the dangers lurking -Outside. The basic policy of Eternal Vigilance and Instant Preparedness -was left to the Army. The rest of us simply lived our lives and let it -go at that. - - * * * * * - -But now there was a spy in the elevator. - -When I thought of how deeply he had penetrated our defenses, and of how -many others there might be, still penetrating, I shuddered. The walls -were our safeguards only so long as all potential enemies were on the -other side of them. - -I sat shaken, digesting this news, until suddenly I remembered Linda. - -I leaped to my feet, reading from my watch that it was now ten-fifteen. -I dashed once more from the apartment and down the hall to the -elevator, praying that the spy had been captured by now and that Linda -would agree with me that a spy in the elevator was good and sufficient -reason for me to be late. - -He was still there. At least, the elevator was still out. - -I sagged against the wall, thinking dismal thoughts. Then I noticed the -door to the right of the elevator. Through that door was the stairway. - -I hadn't paid any attention to it before. No one ever uses the stairs -except adventurous young boys playing cops and robbers, running up and -down from landing to landing. I myself hadn't set foot on a flight of -stairs since I was twelve years old. - -Actually, the whole idea of stairs was ridiculous. We had elevators, -didn't we? Usually, I mean, when they didn't contain spies. So what was -the use of stairs? - -Well, according to Dr. Kilbillie (a walking library of unnecessary -information), the Project had been built when there still had been such -things as municipal governments (something to do with cities, which -were more or less grouped Projects), and the local municipal government -had had on its books a fire ordinance, anachronistic even then, which -required a complete set of stairs in every building constructed in the -city. Ergo, the Project had stairs, thirty-two hundred of them. - -And now, after all these years, the stairs might prove useful after -all. It was only thirteen flights to Linda's floor. At sixteen steps a -flight, that meant two hundred and eight steps. - -Could I descend two hundred and eight steps for my true love? I could. -If the door would open. - -It would, though reluctantly. Who knew how many years it had been since -last this door had been opened? It squeaked and wailed and groaned and -finally opened half way. I stepped through to the musty, dusty landing, -took a deep breath, and started down. Eight steps and a landing, eight -steps and a floor. Eight steps and a landing, eight steps and a floor. - -On the landing between one fifty and one forty-nine, there was a -smallish door. I paused, looking curiously at it, and saw that at one -time letters had been painted on it. The letters had long since flaked -away, but they left a lighter residue of dust than that which covered -the rest of the door. And so the words could still be read, if with -difficulty. - -I read them. They said: - - EMERGENCY ENTRANCE - ELEVATOR SHAFT - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL - ONLY - KEEP LOCKED - -I frowned, wondering immediately why this door wasn't being firmly -guarded by at least a platoon of Army men. Half a dozen possible -answers flashed through my mind. The more recent maps might simply -have omitted this discarded and unnecessary door. It might be sealed -shut on the other side. The Army might have caught the spy already. -Somebody in authority might simply have goofed. - -As I stood there, pondering these possibilities, the door opened and -the spy came out, waving a gun. - - -III - -He couldn't have been anyone else but the spy. The gun, in the first -place. The fact that he looked harried and upset and terribly nervous, -in the second place. And, of course, the fact that he came from the -elevator shaft. - -Looking back, I think he must have been just as startled as I when we -came face to face like that. We formed a brief tableau, both of us -open-mouthed and wide-eyed. - -Unfortunately, he recovered first. - -He closed the emergency door behind him, quickly but quietly. His gun -stopped waving around and instead pointed directly at my middle. "Don't -move!" he whispered harshly. "Don't make a sound!" - -I did exactly as I was told. I didn't move and I didn't make a sound. -Which left me quite free to study him. - -He was rather short, perhaps three inches shorter than me, with a bony -high-cheekboned face featuring deepset eyes and a thin-lipped mouth. He -wore gray slacks and shirt, with brown slippers on his feet. He looked -exactly like a spy ... which is to say that he _didn't_ look like a -spy, he looked overpoweringly ordinary. More than anything else, he -reminded me of a rather taciturn milkman who used to make deliveries to -my parents' apartment. - -His gaze darted this way and that. Then he motioned with his free hand -at the descending stairs and whispered, "Where do they go?" - -I had to clear my throat before I could speak. "All the way down," I -said. - -"Good," he said--just as we both heard a sudden raucous squealing from -perhaps four flights down, a squealing which could be nothing but the -opening of a hall door. It was followed by the heavy thud of ascending -boots. The Army! - -But if I had any visions of imminent rescue, the spy dashed them. He -said, "Where do you live?" - -"One fifty-three," I said. This was a desperate and dangerous man. -I knew my only slim chance of safety lay in answering his questions -promptly, cooperating with him until and unless I saw a chance to -either escape or capture him. - -"All right," he whispered. "Go on." He prodded me with the gun. - -And so we went back up the stairs to one fifty-three, and stopped at -the door. He stood close behind me, the gun pressed against my back, -and grated in my ear, "I'll have this gun in my pocket. If you make one -false move I'll kill you. Now, we're going to your apartment. We're -friends, just strolling along together. You got that?" - -I nodded. - -"All right. Let's go." - -We went. I have never in my life seen that long hall quite so empty as -it was right then. No one came out of any of the apartments, no one -emerged from any of the branch halls. We walked to my apartment. I -thumbed the door open and we went inside. - -Once the door was closed behind us, he visibly relaxed, sagging against -the door, his gun hand hanging limp at his side, a nervous smile -playing across his lips. - -I looked at him, judging the distance between us, wondering if I could -leap at him before he could bring the gun up again. But he must have -read my intentions on my face. He straightened, shaking his head. He -said, "Don't try it. I don't want to kill you. I don't want to kill -anybody, but I will if I have to. We'll just wait here together until -the hue and cry passes us. Then I'll tie you up, so you won't be able -to sic your Army on me too soon, and I'll leave. If you don't try any -silly heroics, nothing will happen to you." - -"You'll never get away," I told him. "The whole Project is alerted." - -"You let me worry about that," he said. He licked his lips. "You got -any chico coffee?" - -"Yes." - -"Make me a cup. And don't get any bright ideas about dousing me with -boiling water." - -"I only have my day's allotment," I protested. "Just enough for two -cups, lunch and dinner." - -"Two cups is fine," he said. "One for each of us." - - * * * * * - -And now I had yet another grudge against this blasted spy. Which -reminded me again of Linda. From the looks of things, I wasn't _ever_ -going to get to her place. By now she was probably in mourning for me -and might even have the Sanitation Staff searching for my remains. - -As I made the chico, he asked me questions. My name first, and then, -"What do you do for a living?" - -I thought fast. "I'm an ore-sled dispatcher," I said. That was a lie, -of course, but I'd heard enough about ore-sled dispatching from Linda -to be able to maintain the fiction should he question me further about -it. - -Actually, I was a gymnast instructor. The subjects I taught included -wrestling, judo and karati--talents I would prefer to disclose to him -in my own fashion, when the time came. - -He was quiet for a moment. "What about radiation level on the -ore-sleds?" - -I had no idea what he was talking about, and admitted as much. - -"When they come back," he said. "How much radiation do they pick up? -Don't you people ever test them?" - -"Of course not," I told him. I was on secure ground now, with Linda's -information to guide me. "All radiation is cleared from the sleds and -their cargo before they're brought into the building." - -"I know that," he said impatiently. "But don't you ever check them -before de-radiating them?" - -"No. Why should we?" - -"To find out how far the radiation level outside has dropped." - -"For what? Who cares about that?" - -He frowned bitterly. "The same answer," he muttered, more to himself -than to me. "The same answer every time. You people have crawled into -your caves and you're ready to stay in them forever." - -I looked around at my apartment. "Rather a well-appointed cave," I told -him. - -"But a cave nevertheless." He leaned toward me, his eyes gleaming with -a fanatical flame. "Don't you ever wish to get Outside?" - -Incredible! I nearly poured boiling water all over myself. "Outside? Of -course not!" - -"The same thing," he grumbled, "over and over again. Always the same -stupidity. Listen, you! Do you realize how long it took man to get out -of the caves? The long slow painful creep of progress, for millennia, -before he ever made that first step from the cave?" - -"I have no idea," I told him. - -"I'll tell you this," he said belligerently. "A lot longer than it -took for him to turn around and go right back into the cave again." He -started pacing the floor, waving the gun around in an agitated fashion -as he talked. "Is this the _natural_ life of man? It is not. Is this -even a _desirable_ life for man? It is _definitely_ not." He spun back -to face me, pointing the gun at me again, but this time he pointed -it as though it were a finger, not a gun. "Listen, you," he snapped. -"Man was progressing. For all his stupidities and excesses, he was -growing up. His dreams were getting bigger and grander and better all -the time. He was planning to tackle _space_! The moon first, and then -the planets, and finally the stars. The whole universe was out there, -waiting to be plucked like an apple from a tank. And Man was reaching -out for it." He glared as though daring me to doubt it. - - * * * * * - -I decided that this man was doubly dangerous. Not only was he a spy, -he was also a lunatic. So I had two reasons for humoring him. I nodded -politely. - -"So what happened?" he demanded, and immediately answered himself. -"I'll tell you what happened! Just as he was about to make that first -giant step, Man got a hotfoot. That's all it was, just a little -hotfoot. So what did Man do? I'll tell you what he did. He turned -around and he ran all the way back to the cave he started from, his -tail between his legs. _That's_ what he did!" - -To say that all of this was incomprehensible would be an extreme -understatement. I fulfilled my obligation to this insane dialogue by -saying, "Here's your coffee." - -"Put it on the table," he said, switching instantly from raving maniac -to watchful spy. - -I put it on the table. He drank deep, then carried the cup across the -room and sat down in my favorite chair. He studied me narrowly, and -suddenly said, "What did they tell you I was? A spy?" - -"Of course," I said. - -He grinned bitterly, with one side of his mouth. "Of course. The damn -fools! Spy! What do you suppose I'm going to spy on?" - -He asked the question so violently and urgently that I knew I had to -answer quickly and well, or the maniac would return. "I--I wouldn't -know, exactly," I stammered. "Military equipment, I suppose." - -"Military equipment? _What_ military equipment? Your Army is supplied -with uniforms, whistles and hand guns, and that's about it." - -"The defenses--" I started. - -"The defenses," he interrupted me, "are non-existent. If you mean the -rocket launchers on the roof, they're rusted through with age. And what -other defenses are there? None." - -"If you say so," I replied stiffly. The Army claimed that we had -adequate defense equipment. I chose to believe the Army over an enemy -spy. - -"Your people send out spies, too, don't they?" he demanded. - -"Well, of course." - -"And what are _they_ supposed to spy on?" - -"Well--" It was such a pointless question, it seemed silly to even -answer it. "They're supposed to look for indications of an attack by -one of the other projects." - -"And do they find any indications, ever?" - -"I'm sure I don't know," I told him frostily. "That would be classified -information." - -"You bet it would," he said, with malicious glee. "All right, if that's -what _your_ spies are doing, and if _I'm_ a spy, then it follows that -I'm doing the same thing, right?" - -"I don't follow you," I admitted. - -"If I'm a spy," he said impatiently, "then I'm supposed to look for -indications of an attack by you people on my Project." - -I shrugged. "If that's your job," I said, "then that's your job." - -He got suddenly red-faced, and jumped to his feet. "That's _not_ my -job, you blatant idiot!" he shouted. "I'm not a spy! If I _were_ a spy, -_then_ that would be my job!" - - * * * * * - -The maniac had returned, in full force. "All right," I said hastily. -"All right, whatever you say." - -He glowered at me a moment longer, then shouted, "Bah!" and dropped -back into the chair. - -He breathed rather heavily for a while, glaring at the floor, then -looked at me again. "All right, listen. What if I were to tell you that -I _had_ found indications that you people were planning to attack my -Project?" - -I stared at him. "That's impossible!" I cried. "We aren't planning to -attack anybody! We just want to be left in peace!" - -"How do I know that?" he demanded. - -"It's the truth! What would we want to attack anybody for?" - -"Ah hah!" He sat forward, tensed, pointing the gun at me like a finger -again. "Now, then," he said. "If you know it doesn't make any sense for -this Project to attack any other project, then why in the world should -you think _they_ might see some advantage in attacking _you_?" - -I shook my head, dumbfounded. "I can't answer a question like that," I -said. "How do I know what they're thinking?" - -"They're human beings, aren't they?" he cried. "Like you? Like me? Like -all the other people in this mausoleum?" - -"Now, wait a minute--" - -"No!" he shouted. "You wait a minute! I want to tell you something. You -think I'm a spy. That blundering Army of yours thinks I'm a spy. That -fathead who turned me in thinks I'm a spy. But I'm _not_ a spy, and I'm -going to tell you what I am." - -I waited, looking as attentive as possible. - -"I come," he said, "from a Project about eighty miles north of here. -I came here by foot, without any sort of radiation shield at all to -protect me." - -The maniac was back. I didn't say a word. I didn't want to set off the -violence that was so obviously in this lunatic. - -"The radiation level," he went on, "is way down. It's practically as -low as it was before the Atom War. I don't know how long it's been -that low, but I would guess about ten years, at the very least." He -leaned forward again, urgent and serious. "The world is safe out there -now. Man can come back out of the cave again. He can start building -the dreams again. And this time he can build better, because he has -the horrible example of the recent past to guide him away from the -pitfalls. There's no need any longer for the Projects." - -And that was like saying there's no need any longer for stomachs, but I -didn't say so. I didn't say anything at all. - -"I'm a trained atomic engineer," he went on. "In my project, I worked -on the reactor. Theoretically, I believed that there was a chance the -radiation Outside was lessening by now, though we had no idea exactly -how much radiation had been released by the Atom War. But I wanted -to test the theory, and the Commission wouldn't let me. They claimed -public safety, but I knew better. If the Outside were safe and the -Projects were no longer needed, then the Commission was out of a job, -and they knew it. - - * * * * * - -"Well, I went ahead with the test anyway, and I was caught at it. For -my punishment, I was banned from the Project. They kicked me out, -telling me if I thought it was safe Outside I could live Outside. And -if it really was safe, I could come back and tell them. Except that -they also made it clear that I would be shot if I tried to get back in, -because I would be carrying deadly radiation." - -He smiled bitterly. "They had it all their own way," he said. "But it -_is_ safe out there, I'm living proof of it. I lived Outside for five -months. And gradually I realized I had to tell others. I had to spread -the word that Man could have his world back. I didn't dare try to get -back into my own Project; I would have been recognized and shot before -I could say a word. So I came here." - -He paused to finish the cup of chico that I should have had with lunch. -"I knew better," he continued, "than to simply walk into the building -and announce that I came from Outside. Man has an instinctive distrust -for strangers anyway; the Projects only intensify it. Once again, I -would have been shot. So I've been working in a more devious way. I -snuck into the Project--not a difficult thing for a man with no metal -on his person, no radiation shield cocooning him--and for the last two -months I've been wandering around the building talking with people. I -strike up a conversation. I try to plant a few seeds of doubt about the -deadliness of Outside, and I hope that at least a few of the people I -talk to will begin to wonder, as I once did." - -Two months! This spy, by his own admission, had been in the Project two -months before being detected. I'd never heard of such a thing, and I -hoped I'd never hear of such a thing again. - -"Things worked out pretty well," he said, "until today. I said -something wrong--I'm still not sure what--and the man I was talking to -hollered for Army, shouted I was a spy." He pounded the chair arm. "But -I'm not a spy! And it's the truth, Outside is safe!" He glared suddenly -at the window. "Why've you got that drape up there?" - -"The window broke down," I explained. "It's stuck at transparent." - -"Transparent? Fine!" He got up from the chair, strode across the room, -and ripped the drape down from the window. - -I cowered away from the sun-glare, turning my back to the window. - -"Come over here!" he shouted. When I didn't move, he snarled, "Get up -and come over here, or I swear I'll shoot!" - -And he would have, it was plain in his voice. I got to my feet, -hesitant, and walked trembling to the window, squinting against the -glare. - -"Look out there," he ordered. "Look!" - -I looked. - - -IV - -Terror. Horror. Dizziness and nausea. - -Far and away and far, nothing and nothing. Only the glare, and the high -blue, and the far far horizon, and the broken gray slag stretching out, -way down below. - -"Do you see?" he demanded. "Look down there! We're so high up, it's -hard to see, but _look_ for it. Do you see it? Do you see the green? -Do you know what that means? There are green things growing again -Outside! Not much yet. It's only just started back, but it's begun. The -radiation is down. Plants are growing again." - -The power of suggestion. And, of course, the heightened sensitivity -caused by the double threat of a man beside me carrying a gun that -yawning aching expanse of nothing beyond the window. I nearly fancied -that I did see faint specks of green. - -"Do you see it?" he asked me. - -"Wait," I said. I leaned closer to the window, though every nerve in me -wanted to leap the other way. "Yes!" I said. "Yes, I see it! Green!" - -He sighed, a long painful sigh of thanksgiving. "Then now you know," he -said. "I've been telling you the truth. It _is_ safe Outside." - -And my lie worked. For the first time, his guard was completely down. - -I moved like a whirlwind. I leaped, and twisted his arm in a hard -hammerlock, which caused him to cry out and drop the gun. That was -wrestling. Then I turned and twisted and dipped, causing him to fly -over my head and crash to the floor. That was judo. Then I jabbed -one rigid forefinger against a certain spot on the side of his neck, -causing the blood in his veins to forever stop its motion. That was -karati. - - * * * * * - -Well, by the time the Army men had finished questioning me, it was -three o'clock in the afternoon, and I was five hours late. The Army -men corroborated my belief that the man had been a spy, who had -apparently lost his mind when cornered in the elevator. Outside was -still dangerous, of course, they assured me of that. And he'd been -lying about having been here two months. He'd been in the Project less -than two days. Not only that, the Army men told me they'd found the -radiation-proof car he'd driven, and in which he had hoped to drive -back to his own Project once he'd discovered all our defenses. - -Despite the fact that I had the most legitimate excuse for tardiness -under the roof, Linda refused to forgive me for not making our ten -o'clock meeting. When I asked her to marry me she refused, at length -and descriptively. - -But I was surprised and relieved to discover how rapidly I got over my -heartbreak. This was aided by the fact that once the news of my exploit -spread, there were any number of girls more than anxious to get to know -me better, including the well-cleavaged young lady from the Transit -Staff. After all, I was a hero. - -They even gave me a medal. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Spy in the Elevator, by Donald E. 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