whatever law he couldfind away from Dorchin's synthetic empire, and telling his story.Surely the corporations who paid Dorchin for test results had nonotion of the ghoul's technique he used; Dorchin would have to keepit from them, for the breath of publicity would put a stop to it.Walking out meant death, perhaps--but at that moment in hispseudo-life, death was no terror for Burckhardt.
There was no one in the corridor. He found a window and stared out ofit. There was Tylerton--an ersatz city, but looking so real andfamiliar that Burckhardt almost imagined the whole episode a dream. Itwas no dream, though. He was certain of that in his heart and equallycertain that nothing in Tylerton could help him now.
It had to be the other direction.
It took him a quarter of an hour to find a way, but he foundit--skulking through the corridors, dodging the suspicion offootsteps, knowing for certain that his hiding was in vain, forDorchin was undoubtedly aware of every move he made. But no onestopped him, and he found another door.
It was a simple enough door from the inside. But when he opened it andstepped out, it was like nothing he had ever seen.
First there was light--brilliant, incredible, blinding light.Burckhardt blinked upward, unbelieving and afraid.
He was standing on a ledge of smooth, finished metal. Not a dozenyards from his feet, the ledge dropped sharply away; he hardly daredapproach the brink, but even from where he stood he could see nobottom to the chasm before him. And the gulf extended out of sightinto the glare on either side of him.
* * * * *
No wonder Dorchin could so easily give him his freedom! From thefactory, there was nowhere to go--but how incredible this fantasticgulf, how impossible the hundred white and blinding suns that hungabove!
A voice by his side said inquiringly, "Burckhardt?" And thunder rolledthe name, mutteringly soft, back and forth in the abyss before him.
Burckhardt wet his lips. "Y-yes?" he croaked.
"This is Dorchin. Not a robot this time, but Dorchin in the flesh,talking to you on a hand mike. Now you have seen, Burckhardt. Now willyou be reasonable and let the maintenance crews take over?"
Burckhardt stood paralyzed. One of the moving mountains in theblinding glare came toward him.
It towered hundreds of feet over his head; he stared up at its top,squinting helplessly into the light.
It looked like--
Impossible!
The voice in the loudspeaker at the door said, "Burckhardt?" But hewas unable to answer.
A heavy rumbling sigh. "I see," said the voice. "You finallyunderstand. There's no place to go. You know it now. I could have toldyou, but you might not have believed me, so it was better for you tosee it yourself. And after all, Burckhardt, why would I reconstruct acity just the way it was before? I'm a businessman; I count costs. Ifa thing has to be full-scale, I build it that way. But there wasn'tany need to in this case."
From the mountain before him, Burckhardt helplessly saw a lesser cliffdescend carefully toward him. It was long and dark, and at the end ofit was whiteness, five-fingered whiteness....
"Poor little Burckhardt," crooned the loudspeaker, while the echoesrumbled through the enormous chasm that was only a workshop. "It musthave been quite a shock for you to find out you were living in a townbuilt on a table top."
VI
It was the morning of June 15th, and Guy Burckhardt woke up screamingout of a dream.
It had been a monstrous and incomprehensible dream, of explosions andshadowy figures that were not men and terror beyond words.
He shuddered and opened his eyes.
Outside his bedroom window, a hugely amplified voice was howling.
Burckhardt stumbled over to the window and stared outside. There wasan out-of-season chill to the air, more like October than June; butthe scent was normal enough--except for the sound-truck that squattedat curbside halfway down the block. Its speaker horns blared:
"Are you a coward? Are you a fool? Are you going to let crookedpoliticians steal the country from you? NO! Are you going to put upwith four more years of graft and crime? NO! Are you going to votestraight Federal Party all up and down the ballot? YES! _You just betyou are!_"
Sometimes he screams, sometimes he wheedles, threatens, begs, cajoles ...but his voice goes on and on through one June 15th after another.
--FREDERIK POHL
* * * * *
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends