“Doug, it’s Jinx.”
Then I remembered she had insisted upon meeting me here. Uncertainly, I went over. She reached across the seat and opened the door and the interior lights flashed on.
“You really look as if you’ve had it,” she said, laughing.
Which reminded me it had been two days since I’d had any sleep. And I could feel a numbing fatigue undermining even the horrifying comprehensions of that impossible day.
“Rough afternoon,” I said, climbing in beside her.
I glanced into her face and was instantly impressed with the change that had come over her. During the past few days I had only
imagined
she was attractive. I saw now that she was. For all that while her elegant features had been laden with the effects of terrifying knowledge. Now it was clear that she had been relieved of that burden. In place of her troubled expression was a winsome cast of loveliness.
“In that case,” she said with a spritelike smile that was reminiscent of the fifteen-year-old Jinx’s effervescence, “we’ll cancel plan number one and settle for the alternative.”
The car rose skyward in a swift, swaying motion that almost put me to sleep as the brilliance of the city fanned out all around us.
“We were going to go back to that little restaurant,” she explained. “But not now. You need a quiet evening at home.”
I had to act perfectly natural, Collingsworth had suggested. If, by chance, They brought me under surveillance I would have to convince Them I was still an unsuspecting part of the illusion. Even now that Real World Operator could be studying me through Jinx’s eyes, listening to me through her ears.
“Sounds fine,” I agreed, with perhaps exaggerated enthusiasm. “In its domestic simplicity, the evening could be a taste of things to come.”
“Why, Mr. Hall!” she said coyly. “That sounds like a left-handed proposal.”
I moved closer, took her hand and caressed it. If that Operator were looking in now, I was determined, suspicion over my actions would be the last thing that would occur to Him.
She put together a light supper—nothing elaborate, nothing conventional—and we ate in the kitchen as though we were old hands at domestic informality.
Only once during the meal did I drift off into abstraction. That was to peck away stubbornly at the one remaining inconsistency: Why hadn’t They reoriented me at the moment They saw I might come into possession of Fuller’s “basic discovery”? They had meticulously reprogrammed Jinx, deleting from her retentive circuits all data that had any bearing on the forbidden knowledge. But They hadn’t stopped her from coming into contact with the one ID unit who might lead her back to awareness of the fatal information—me.
“Doug, you
are
exhausted, aren’t you?”
I sat up alertly. “I suppose I am.”
She took my hand and led me into the study, over to the inviting leather couch. I lay with my head in her lap and she stroked my temple with a delicate, tender motion.
“I could sing something gentle,” she proposed, joking.
“You do,” I said for the benefit of Whoever might be watching and listening, “whenever you talk.”
Then, unwittingly, I rang the curtain down on my special performance as I stared up into her vivid, intense eyes. I brought her head down and kissed her and, for a moment that was an eternity in itself, I forgot all about simulectronic mockeries, an Upper Reality, an Omnipotent Operator, a world of nothingness. Here was something tangible, a mooring buoy in a lashing sea.
Eventually sleep came. But only under a pall of fear that the Operator would decide to run another spot check on my convictions before I could flush out His Contact Unit.
Halfway to Reactions the next morning I punched in a new destination on the air car’s control panel. The craft nosed around, then headed for the great, towering hulk of Babel Central, which rose haughtily above the layer of puffball clouds that it wore like a peplum.
I felt a sort of trivial pride over the fact that I had not yet run amuck, as had Cau No in his own counterfeit world. Even as I had awakened in Jinx’s study, I had wondered whether I might manage to bury Fuller’s discovery deep in my mind—so deep that it wouldn’t be detectable during an empathic coupling.
But
could
I settle back into a normal pattern, knowing what I knew? Could I bury my head in the sand and merely accept whatever fate the Higher Powers programmed into Their simulator for me? Of course not. I had to find the Contact Unit in this world, if there was one. And Siskin was as good a starting point as any.
The car fell into a hovering pattern while waiting for two other vehicles to cushion off from Babel Central’s landing shelf.
Absently, my gaze went out to the haze-shrouded countryside east of the city. And I recalled the night I had ridden with Jinx to the fringe of a terrifying, infinite nothingness—and witnessed the creation of half a universe. I realized now that here was another inconsistency which defied explanation. Unless—
Of course! A simulectronic world depends upon the Gestalt principle for its verisimilitude—the presence of a sufficient number of items in a pattern to suggest the entire pattern. The cognitive whole is greater than the sum of its perceptible parts. The missing landscape had simply been one of the “gaps” in reality. Gaps that wouldn’t
normally
be encountered by reactional units.
Even in Fuller’s simulator, the possibility existed that an ID unit might come upon an unfinished bit of “scenery.” Such a discovery, however, triggered automatic reprogramming circuits that not only immediately “created” the needed item, but also stripped from the reactional entity the memory of having encountered a missing prop.
For my benefit, the road and countryside had been “filled in” on the spot. But why hadn’t I been reoriented to believe there had been nothing wrong in the first place?
The car landed and I made my way along a hedge-lined flagstone lane that led directly to Siskin’s office. There his receptionist scanned me with the superior stare that personnel of the Inner Establishment reserved for those of the Outer and announced me.
Siskin himself strode out and took me by the arm to lead me back inside. He was exuberant as he perched on the desk, legs dangling.
“I was just going to call you,” he said. “You may not have to dress up the Siskin image too much, after all, when you program it into our machine. I’ve been accepted as a member of the party’s Central Committee!”
He seemed only slightly disappointed that I didn’t gape over the development. But that didn’t discourage him.
“And what’s more, Doug, there’s already speculation on my having a shot at the governor’s seat!”
Thoughtfully, he added, “But, of course, I won’t be satisfied with anything like that. Sixty-four, you know. Can’t live forever. Got to move fast.”
In a moment of precipitous decision, I stepped squarely in front of him. “All right, Siskin. You can put aside the mask.
I know!
”
Starting, he drew back from the severity in my stare. He glanced frantically at the intercom, the ceiling, back into my eyes.
“You
know?
” His voice quaked as I had expected the Contact Unit’s would when I finally confronted him.
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t eventually figure it out?”
“How did you find out? Did Heath tell you? Dorothy?”
“They both know too?”
“Well, they had to, didn’t they?”
My fingers worked restlessly. I had to verify the identification. Then I had to kill him before he could report to the Simulectronicist in that Upper Reality that I had slipped my puppet strings.
“You mean,” I asked, “that there are
three
Contact Units?”
He raised an eyebrow. “What in hell are we talking about?”
I wasn’t so sure now. “Suppose you tell me.”
“Doug, I had to do it—for my own protection. You realize that, of course. When Dorothy told me you intended to betray me and the party, I had to take countermeasures.”
All the tenseness drained out of me. We hadn’t been talking about the same thing after all.
“Sure, I brought in Heath,” he continued, “in case you became intractable and had to be dumped. You can’t blame me for protecting my own interest.”
“No,” I managed.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I like you. It’s just unfortunate you can’t see everything my way. But it’s not too late. As I said, Heath is merely my ace in the hole. I don’t
want
to use him.”
Disinterested, I headed for the door, aware that locating the Contact Unit might not be as simple as I had imagined.
“What are you going to do, son?” he asked softly, following after me. “Don’t try anything stupid. I’ve got a lot of strings handy. But I wouldn’t relish pulling them—not against you.”
I turned and faced him. It was more than evident now that he wasn’t the Contact Unit. The ambiguity in our conversation, at the outset, had struck close enough to home to have flushed him out if he had been. Moreover, a Contact Unit would know infinite frustration. He would be endlessly appalled over the futility of all things. He would be withdrawn, philosophical. Siskin? Never. He was too motivated by the material-wealth, possessiveness, ambition.
“I haven’t given up on you, Doug. You can reinstate yourself. Just say the word and I’ll drop Heath. I’ll even call off Dorothy. All you have to do is prove you’ve changed your mind about me.”
“How?” I asked superficially.
“Go before my own notarypsych with me for a complete affirmation probe.”
More as a means of getting away than for any other reason, I said, “I’ll think about it.”
On the way back to REIN, I gave only passing attention to what had happened in Siskin’s office. It was obvious he was merely executing a delaying movement. He was holding out the promise of forgiveness and acceptance only as a means of discouraging me from making a public issue of his political schemes.
But if I posed such a threat, why didn’t he simply pull his police strings and have me arrested for Fuller’s murder? True, that would deprive the simulator of many refinements Fuller and I had planned together. But certainly he must have guessed by now that the system was equal to the task of mapping foolproof political strategy even without further improvement.
Then, as the car began its descent along the vertical control beam nearest Reactions, Inc., I tensed under the impact of fresh, disconcerting suspicion. Was
Siskin
manipulating the police—to prevent me from betraying him? Or were the police actually an unwitting agency of
the Higher Existence,
poised to arrest me for Fuller’s murder the moment the Operator became aware I had learned the true nature of reality?
I sank miserably back against the seat. I was hopelessly confused, squeezed between the calculating malevolence of two worlds, so utterly confounded that I couldn’t recognize whether any particular assault was coming from one or the other.
And all the while I had to maintain my composure. For the simplest demonstration of the fact that I knew about the existence of the Real World might result in my being immediately yanked into the oblivion of total deprogramming.
At Reactions, I found Marcus Heath seated at my desk, pouring over two stacks of memoranda he had rifled from the drawers.
I studded the door closed and he looked up through his bifocals. There was no uneasiness in his intense eyes. It was clear he didn’t consider that he had been caught red-handed.
“Yes?” he said impatiently.
“What are you doing here?”
“This is my office now. Orders straight from the Inner Establishment. For the time being you’ll find desk space with Mr. Whitney in the function generating department.”
Understandably indifferent to so prosaic a development, I turned to leave. At the door, however, I hesitated. Now was as good a time as any for finding out whether
he
was the Contact Unit.
“What do you want?” he asked irritably.
I returned to the desk and scanned his frozen features, wondering whether I was finally about to prove I didn’t exist. Then I rebelled against the utter incongruity of that thought. I
had
to exist! Cartesian philosophy provided ample refutation of my self-doubt:
Cogito ergo sum:
I think, therefore I am.
“Don’t waste my time,” Heath said, annoyed. “I’ve got to get this simulator ready for public demonstration within a week.”
Sweeping irresolution aside, I straightened. “You can quit acting. I know you’re an agent for that other simulator.”
He only remained rigid. But there had been an inner upheaval. I could tell by the sudden ferocity in his eyes. Then I realized that at this very moment he might be coupled empathically with his Operator in that Upper Reality!
Calmly, he asked, “What did you say?”
Now he wanted me to repeat it for the benefit of the Operator! Already my delay had been fatal!
I lunged across the desk, reaching out desperately for him. But he lurched back out of range and his hand came up from the drawer with a laser gun.
The broad crimson beam fanned out at my arms, my chest, my abdomen and I slumped across the desk, instantly deprived of all muscular control from waist to neck.
It was simple for him to haul me upright and set me upon my feet. Then he forced me backwards towards a chair and shoved me into it. With the laser gun he sprayed my legs.
I sat there slumped sideways, able to move only my head. Frantically, I tried to work my arm to determine how complete the paralysis was. Only my index finger twitched. That meant I’d be immobile for hours. And all he needed was minutes. I could but sit there and await deprogramming.
“When will it happen?” I asked hopelessly.
He didn’t answer. After a moment he studded home the locks on both doors. Then he leaned against the edge of the desk.
“How did you find it out, Hall?”
I hadn’t spent a conscious minute over the past day without wondering how I would react on finding myself trapped in just such a final confrontation. Now that it was here, I wasn’t nearly as terrified as I had imagined I would be.
“From Fuller,” I said.
“But how could he have known?”
“He’s the one who found out. You must know that much.”
“Why should I?”
“Then there’s more than one agent?”
“If there is, they’ve kept it a damned good secret from me.”
He glanced at the intercom, then back at me. It was evident he was troubled over something. But I couldn’t imagine what. He had surely discharged his function creditably, as far as the Higher Reality was concerned.
Then he smiled as he returned and seized a handful of my hair. He forced my head back and sprayed my throat lightly.
Again I was perplexed. If I was going to be yanked at any moment, why was he temporarily paralyzing my vocal cords?
He ran a comb through his hair and straightened his coat. Settling back in his chair, he spoke softly into the intercom:
“Miss Ford, will you please get Mr. Siskin on video? And put the call on a security circuit.”
I couldn’t see the screen. But Siskin’s voice was unmistakable as he asked, “Any trouble over there, Marcus?”
“No. Everything’s in hand. Horace, you’ve given me a damned nice setup here and things are going to be profitable for both of us because we see eye to eye—on all matters.” Heath hesitated.
“Yes?”
“That’s important, Horace—the fact that we
do
see eye to eye. About the party and everything else. I’m stressing that point because tomorrow I want to appear with you before a notarypsych.”
I was becoming more confused. Not only had I not been deprogrammed, but this conversation was completely irrelevant.
“Now hold on,” Siskin protested. “I don’t see why I should have to validate anything I said to you.”
“You don’t.” Heath’s features were heavy with sincerity and subservience. “It’s I who must convince you that henceforth I’ll be the most loyal cog in your organization. It’s not only that I appreciate a good deal when it’s dumped in my lap. The main reason is that you and I belong together—on the same side.”
“You’re not making much sense, Marcus. What’s on your Blind?”
“Simply this: I came over here as an agent for that other simulator project.”
“Barnfeld?”
Heath nodded. “I’ve been in their pay right along. I was supposed to steal all of Reaction’s secrets, so Barnfeld could perfect a simulator that would rival yours.”
Even in the grip of laserparalysis, I finally understood. Once more I had leaped recklessly at an ambiguity. Heath had been an inside simulectronic agent, all right, but only for a rival simulator in
this
world.
“And did you?” Siskin asked, interested.
“No, Horace. And I never intended to. Not since the second discussion I had with you about coming here. The notarypsych will verify that.”
Siskin remained silent.
“Don’t you see, Horace? I
want
to be loyal to you. Almost from the beginning I’ve wanted to serve you in whatever capacity I can. It was only a matter of deciding when to make a clean breast and ask for a notarypsych probe.”
“And what decided you?”
“When Hall burst in here a few minutes ago to say he knew about my connections with Barnfeld and to threaten to expose me.”
There was amusement hanging on Siskin’s words as he said, “And you’re ready to verify all this before a psych?”
“Any time. Right now if you want.”
“Tomorrow will be soon enough.” Then Siskin laughed delightedly. “Barnfeld planting an agent here! Can you imagine that? Very well, Marcus. You’ll stay on—if the notary gives us an affirmative, of course. And you’ll supply Barnfeld with all the supposedly secret information he wants. Only, we’ll see that it’s the type of false data that will bust him completely.”