Allison blinked, frowning a little. "What did you say, darling? You mean the bougainvillaea? That's a very exotic plant. It comes from the South Pacific."
"What's it do? Hold the house together?"
Allison's smile vanished. She raised her eyebrow. "Darling, are you feeling all right? Is there anything the matter?"
Larry moved back toward the car. "Let's go back to town. I'm getting hungry for lunch."
"All right," Allison said, watching him oddly. "All right, we'll go back."
That night, after dinner, Larry seemed moody and unresponsive. "Let's go to the Wind-Up," he said suddenly. "I feel like seeing something familiar, for a change."
"What do you mean?"
Larry nodded at the expensive restaurant they had just left. "All those fancy lights. And little people in uniforms whispering in your ear. In French."
"If you expect to order food you should know some French," Allison stated. Her face twisted into an angry pout. "Larry, I'm beginning to wonder about you. The way you acted out at the house. The strange things you said."
Larry shrugged. "The sight of it drove me temporarily insane."
"Well, I certainly hope you recover."
"I'm recovering each minute."
They came to the Wind-Up. Allison started to go inside. Larry stopped for a moment, lighting a cigarette. The good old Wind-Up; he felt better already, just standing in front of it. Warm, dark, noisy, the sound of the ragged dixieland combo in the background -
His spirits returned. The peace and contentment of a good run-down bar. He sighed, pushing the door open.
And stopped, stricken.
The Wind-Up had changed. It was well-lit. Instead of Max the waiter, there were waitresses in neat white uniforms bustling around. The place was full of well-dressed women, sipping cocktails and chatting. And in the rear was an imitation gypsy orchestra, with a long-haired churl in fake costume, torturing a violin.
Allison turned around. "Come on!" she snapped impatiently. "You're attracting attention, standing there in the door."
Larry gazed for a long time at the imitation gypsy orchestra; at the bustling waitresses; the chatting ladies; the recessed neon lighting. Numbness crept over him. He sagged.
"What's the matter?" Allison caught his arm crossly. "What's the matter with you?"
"What – what happened?" Larry waved his hand feebly at the interior. "There been an accident?"
"Oh, this. I forgot to tell you. I spoke to Mr O'Mallery about it. Just before I met you last night."
"Mr O'Mallery?"
"He owns this building. He's an old friend of mine. I pointed out how – how dirty and unattractive his little place was getting. I pointed out what a few improvements would do."
Larry made his way outside, onto the sidewalk. He ground his cigarette out with his heel and shoved his hands in his pockets.
Allison hurried after him, her cheeks red with indignation. "Larry! Where are you going?"
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight?" She stared at him in astonishment. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going."
"Going where?"
"Out. Home. To the park. Anywhere." Larry started off down the sidewalk, hunched over, hands in his pockets.
Allison caught up with him, stepping angrily in front of him. "Have you gone out of your mind? Do you know what you're saying?"
"Sure. I'm leaving you; we're splitting up. Well, it was nice. See you sometime."
The two spots in Allison's cheeks glowed like two red coals. "Just a minute, Mr Brewster. I think you've forgotten something." Her voice was hard and brittle.
"Forgotten something? Like what?"
"You can't leave; you can't walk out on me."
Larry raised an eyebrow. "I can't?"
"I think you better reconsider, while you still have time."
"I don't get your drift." Larry yawned. "I think I'll go home to my three room apartment and go to bed. I'm tired." He started past her.
"Have you forgotten?" Allison snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're not completely real! That you exist only as a part of my world?"
"Lord! Are you going to start that again?"
"Better think about it before you walk off. You exist for my benefit, Mr Brewster. This is my world; remember that. Maybe in your own world things are different, but this is my world. And in my world things do as I say."
"So long," Larry Brewster said.
"You're – you're still leaving?"
Slowly, Larry Brewster shook his head. "No," he said. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not; I've changed my mind. You're too much trouble. You're leaving."
And as he spoke a ball of radiant light gently settled over Allison Holmes, engulfing her in a glowing aura of splendor. The ball of light lifted, carrying Miss Holmes up into the air, raising her effortlessly above the level of the buildings, into the evening sky.
Larry Brewster watched calmly, as the ball of light carried Miss Holmes off. He was not surprised to see her gradually fade and grow indistinct – until all at once there was nothing. Nothing but a faint shimmer in the sky. Allison Holmes was gone.
For a long time Larry Brewster stood, deep in thought, rubbing his jaw reflectively. He would miss Allison Holmes. In some ways he had liked her; for a while, she had been fun. Well, she was off now. In this world, Allison Holmes had not been completely real. What he had known, what Larry had called "Allison Holmes," wasn't any more than a partial appearance of her.
Then he paused, remembering: as the ball of radiant light had carried her away, he had seen a glimpse – a glimpse past her into a different world, one which was obviously her world, her real world, the world she wanted. The buildings were uncomfortably familiar; he could still remember the house…
Then – Allison had been real, after all – existing in Larry's world, until the time came for her to be transported to hers. Would she find another Larry Brewster there – one who saw eye-to-eye with her? He shuddered at the thought.
In fact, the whole experience had been somewhat unnerving.
"I wonder why," he murmured softly. He thought back to other unpleasant events, remembering how they had led him to greater satisfactions for their having happened – richness of experience he could not have appreciated without them. "Ah well," he sighed, "it's all for the best."
He started to walk home slowly, hands in his pockets, glancing up at the sky every now and then, as if for confirmation…
A Surface Raid
Harl left the third level, catching a tube car going North. The tube car carried him swiftly through one of the big junction bubbles and down to the fifth level. Harl caught an exciting, fugitive glimpse of people and outlets, a complex tangle of mid-period business and milling confusion.
Then the bubble was behind him and he was nearing his destination, the vast industrial fifth level, sprawling below everything else like some gigantic, soot-encrusted octopus of the night's misrule.
The gleaming tube car ejected him and continued on its way, disappearing down the tube. Harl bounded agilely into the receiving strip and slowed to a stop, still on his feet, swaying expertly back and forth.
A few minutes later he reached the entrance to his father's office. Harl raised his hand and the code door slid back. He entered, his heart thumping with excitement. The time had come.
Edward Boynton was in the planning department studying the outline for a new robot bore when he was informed that his son had entered the main office.
"I'll be right back," Boynton said, making his way past his policy staff and up the ramp into the office.
"Hello, Dad," Harl exclaimed, squaring his shoulders. Father and son exchanged handclasps. Then Harl sat down slowly. "How are things?" he asked. "I guess you expected me."
Then Edward Boynton seated himself behind his desk. "What do you want here?" he demanded. "You know I'm busy."
Harl smiled thinly across at his father. In his brown industrial-planner uniform, Edward Boynton towered above his yo
ung son, a massive man with broad shoulders and thick blond hair. His blue eyes were cold and hard as he returned the young man's level gaze.
"I happened to come into some information." Harl glanced uneasily around the room. "Your office isn't tapped, is it?"
"Of course not," the elder Boynton assured him.
"No screens or ears?" Harl relaxed a little. "I've learned that you and several others from your department are going up to the surface soon." Harl leaned eagerly toward his father. "Up to the surface – on a raid for saps."
Ed Boynton's face darkened. "Where did you hear that?" He gazed intently at his son. "Did anyone in this department -?"
"No," Harl said quickly. "No one informed. I picked up the information on my own, in connection with my educational activities."
Ed Boynton began to understand. "I see. You were experimenting with channel taps, cutting across the confidential channels. Like they teach you to do in communications."
"That's right. I happened to pick up a conversation between you and Robin Turner concerning the raid."
The atmosphere in the room became easier, more friendly. Ed Boynton relaxed, settling back in his chair. "Go on," he urged.
"It was mere chance. I had cut across ten or twelve channels, holding each one for only a second. I was using the Youth League equipment. All at once I recognized your voice. So I stayed on and caught the whole conversation."
"Then you heard most of it."
Harl nodded. "Exactly when are you going up, Dad? Have you set an exact date?"
Ed Boynton frowned. "No," he said, "I haven't. But it will be sometime this week. Almost everything is arranged."
"How many are going?" Harl asked.
"We're taking up one mother ship and about thirty eggs. All from this department."
"Thirty eggs? Sixty or seventy men."
"That's right." Ed Boynton stared intently at his son. "It won't be a big raid. Nothing compared to some of the Directorate raids of the past few years."
"But big enough for a single department."
Ed Boston's eyes flickered. "Be careful, Harl. If such loose talk should get out -"
"I know. I cut the recorder off as soon as I picked up the drift of your talk. I know what would happen if the Directorate found out a department was raiding without authorization – for its own factories."
"Do you really know? I wonder."
"One mother ship and thirty eggs," Harl exclaimed, ignoring the remark. "You'll be on the surface for about forty hours?"
"About. It depends on what luck we have."
"How many saps are you after?"
"We need at least two dozen," the elder Boynton replied.
"Males?"
"For the most part. A few females, but males primarily."
"For the basic-industry factory units, I assume." Harl straightened in his chair. "All right, then. Now that I know more about the raid itself I can get down to business."
He stared hard at his father.
"Business?" Boynton glanced up sharply. "Precisely what do you mean?"
"My exact reason for coming down here." Harl leaned across the desk toward his father, his voice clipped and intense. "I'm going along with you on the raid. I want to go along – to get some saps for myself."
For a moment there was an astonished silence. Then Ed Boynton laughed. "What are you talking about? What do you know about saps?"
The inner door slid back, and Robin Turner came quickly into the office. He joined Boynton behind the desk.
"He can't go," Turner said flatly. "It would increase the risks tenfold."
Harl glanced up. "There was an ear in here, then."
"Of course. Turner always listens in." Ed Boynton nodded, regarding his son thoughtfully. "Why do you want to go along?"
"That's my concern," Harl said, his lips tightening.
Turner rasped: "Emotional immaturity. A sub-rational adolescent craving for adventure and excitement. There's still a few like him who can't throw the old brain completely off. After two hundred years you'd think -"
"Is that it?" Boynton demanded. "You have some non-adult desire to go up and see the surface?"
"Perhaps," Harl admitted, flushing a little.
"You can't come," Ed Boynton stated emphatically. "It's far too dangerous. We're not going up there for romantic adventure. It's a job – a grim, hard, exacting job. The saps are getting wary. It's becoming more and more difficult to bring back a full load. We can't spare any of our eggs for whatever romantic foolishness -"
"I know it's getting hard," Harl interrupted. "You don't have to convince me that it's almost impossible to round up a whole load." Harl looked up defiantly at Turner and his father. He chose his words carefully. "And I know that's why the Directorate considers private raids a major crime against the State."
Silence.
Finally, Ed Boynton sighed, a reluctant admiration in his stare. He looked his son slowly up and down. "Okay, Harl," he said. "You win."
Turner said nothing. His face was hard.
Harl got quickly to his feet. "Then it's all settled. I'll return to my quarters and get prepared. As soon as you're ready to go, notify me at once. I'll join you at the launching stage on the first level."
The elder Boynton shook his head. "We're not leaving from the first level. It would be too risky." His voice was heavy. "There are too many Directorate guards prowling around. We have the ship down here at fifth level, in one of the warehouses."
"Where shall I meet you, then?"
Ed Boynton stood up slowly. "We'll notify you, Harl. It will be soon, I promise you. In a couple of periods, at the most. Be at our vocational quarters."
"The surface is completely cool, isn't it?" Harl asked. "There aren't any radioactive areas left?"
"It's been cool for fifty years," his father assured him.
"Then I won't have to worry about a radiation shield," Harl said. "One more thing, Dad. What language will we have to use? Can we speak our regular -"
Ed Boynton shook his head. "No. The saps never mastered any of the rational semantic systems. We'll have to revert to the old traditional forms."
Harl's face fell. "I don't know any of the traditional forms. They're not being taught anymore."
Ed Boynton shrugged. "It doesn't matter."
"How about their defenses? What sort of weapons should I bring? Will a screen and blast rifle be sufficient?"
"Only the screen is of vital importance," the elder Boynton said. "When the saps see us they scatter in all directions. One look at us and off they go."
"Fine," Harl said. "I'll have my screen checked over." He moved toward the door. "I'll go back up to the third level. I'll be expecting your signal. I'll have my equipment ready."
"All right," Ed Boynton said.
The two men watched the door slide shut after the youth.
"Quite a boy," Turner muttered.
"Turning out to be something, after all," Ed Boynton murmured. "He'll go a long way." He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. "But I wonder how he'll act up on the surface during the raid."
Harl met with his group leader on the third level, an hour after he left his father's office.
"Then it's all settled?" Fashold asked, looking up from his report spools.
"All settled. They're going to signal me as soon as the ship is ready."
"By the way." Fashold put down the spools, pushing the scanner back. "I've learned something about the saps. As a YL leader I have access to the Directorate files. I've learned something virtually no one else knows."
"What is it?" asked Harl.
"Harl, the saps are related to us. They're a different species, but they're very closely related to us."
"Go on," Harl urged.
"At one time there was only the one species – the saps. Their full name is homo sapiens. We grew out of them, developed from them. We're biogenetic mutants. The change occurred during the Third World War, two and a half centuries ago. Up to that time there had never been any technos
."
"Technos?"
Fashold smiled. That's what they called us at first. When they thought of us only as a separate class, and not as a distinct race. Technos. That was their name for us. That was how they always referred to us."
"But why? It's a strange name. Why technos, Fashold?"
"Because the first mutants appeared among the technocratic classes and gradually spread throughout all other educated classes. They appeared among scientists, scholars, field workers, trained groups, all the various specialized classes."
"And the saps didn't realize -"
"They thought of us only as a class, as I've just told you. That was during the Third World War and after. It was during the Final War that we fully emerged as recognizably and profoundly different. It became evident that we weren't just another specialized offshoot of homo sapiens. Not just another class of men more educated than the rest, with higher intellectual capacities."
Fashold gazed off into the distance. "During the Final War we emerged and showed ourselves for what we really were – a superior species supplanting homo sapiens in the same way that homo sapiens had supplanted Neanderthal man."
Harl considered what Fashold had said. "I didn't realize we were so closely related to them. I had no idea we had emerged so lately."
Fashold nodded. "It was only two centuries ago, during the war that ravaged the surface of the planet. Most of us were working down in the big underground laboratories and factories under the different mountain ranges – the Urals, the Alps, and the Rockies. We were down underground, under miles of rock and dirt and clay. And on the surface homo sapiens slugged it out with the weapons we designed."
"I'm beginning to understand. We designed the weapons for them to fight the war. They used our weapons without realizing -"
"We designed them and the saps used them to destroy themselves," Fashold interjected. "It was Nature's crucible, the elimination of one species and the emergence of another. We gave them the weapons and they destroyed themselves. When the war ended the surface was fused, and nothing but ash and hydroglass and radioactive clouds remained.
"We sent out scouting parties from our underground labs and found nothing but a silent, barren waste. It had been accomplished. They were gone, wiped out. And we had come to take their place."