the sun in speed-up action.
"But what about the others? The stars?"
Click-pause-click. "There are no stars."
"The planets?"
Click-pause-click. "There is the earth." A picture or the revolving earth
appeared.
"The other planets? Mars? Jupiter? Saturn..."
Click-pause-click. "There are no other planets."
"The moon?"
Click-pause-click. "There is no moon."
Reich took a deep trembling breath. "We'll try it again. Go back to the sun."
The sun appeared again in the crystal. "The sun is the largest collection of
matter known to astronomers," the canned voice began. Suddenly it stopped.
Click-pause-click. The picture of the sun began to fade slowly. The voice spoke.
"There is no sun."
The model disappeared, leaving behind it an afterimage that looked up at
Reich... looming, silent, horrible... The Man With No Face.
Reich howled. He leaped to his feet, knocking the desk chair backward. He picked
it up and smashed it down on that frightful image. He turned and blundered out
of the library into the lab, and thence to the corridor. At the Vertical
Pneumatique, he punched STREET. The door opened, he staggered in and was dropped
57 stories to the Main Hall of Monarch's Science-city.
It was filled with early workers hurrying to their offices. As Reich pushed past
them, he caught the astonished glances at his cut and bleeding face. Then he was
aware of a dozen uniformed Monarch guards closing in on him. He ran down the
hall and with a frantic burst of speed and dodged the guards. He slipped into
the revolving doors and whirled through to the footway. There he jerked to a
stop as though he had ran into white hot iron. There was no sun.
The street lights were lit; the skyways twinkled; Jumper eyes floated up and
down; the shops were blazing... And overhead there was nothing... nothing but a
deep, black, fathomless infinity.
"The sun!" Reich shouted. "The sun!"
He pointed upward. The office workers regarded him with suspicious eyes and
hurried on. No one looked up.
"The sun! Where's the sun? Don't you understand, you fools? The sun!" Reich
plucked at their arms, shaking his fist at the sky. Then the first of the guards
came through the revolving door and he took to his heels.
He went down the footway, turned sharp to his right and sprinted through an
arcade of brilliant, busy shops. Beyond the arcade was the entrance of a
Vertical Pneumatique to the skyway. Reich leaped in. As the door closed behind
him, he caught sight of the pursuing guards less than twenty yards off. Then he
was lofted seventy stories and emerged on the skyway.
There was a small car-park alongside him, shelved onto the face of Monarch
Tower, with a runway leading into the skyway. Reich ran in, flung credits to the
attendant and got into a car. He pressed GO. The car went. At the foot of the
runway he pressed LEFT. The car turned left and continued. That was all the
control he had. Left, right; stop, go. The rest was automatic. Moreover, cars
were strictly limited to the skyways. He might spend hours racing in circles
high over the city, trapped like a dog in a revolving cage.
The car needed no attention. He glanced alternately over his shoulder and up at
the sky. There was no sun... and they went about their business as though there
had never been a sun. He shuddered. Was this more of the one-eye kick? Suddenly
the car slowed and stopped; and he was marooned in the middle of the skyway,
halfway between Monarch Tower and the giant Visiphone & Visigraph Building.
Reich hammered on the control studs. There was no response. He leaped out and
raised the tail hood to inspect the pick-up. Then he saw the guards far down the
skyway, running toward him, and he understood. These cars were powered by
broadcast energy. They'd cut the transmission off at the car-park and were
coming after him. Reich turned tail and sprinted toward the V & V Building.
The skyway tunneled through the building and was lined with shops, restaurants,
a theater---and there was a travel office! A sure out. He could grab a ticket,
get into a one-man capsule and have himself slotted to any of the take-off
fields. He needed a little time to reorganize... reorient... and he had a house
in Paris. He leaped across the center island, dodged past cars and ran into the
office.
It looked like a miniature bank. A short counter. A grilled window protected by
burglar-proof plastic. Reich went to the window, pulling money from his pocket.
He slapped credits down on the counter and shoved them under the grille.
"Ticket to Paris," he said. "Keep the change. Which way to the capsules? Jet,
man! Jet!"
"Paris?" came the reply. "There is no Paris."
Reich stared through the cloudy plastic and saw... looking, looming, silent...
The Man With No Face. He spun around twice, heart pounding, skull pounding,
located the door and ran out. He ran blindly onto the skyway, shied feebly from
an oncoming car, and was struck down into enveloping darkness---
ABOLISH.
DESTROY.
DELETE.
DISBAND.
(MINERALOGY, PETROLOGY, GEOLOGY, PHYSIOGRAPHY)
DISPERSE.
(METEOROLOGY, HYDROLOGY, SEISMOLOGY)
ERASE.
(XOY³ d:Space/d:Time)
EFFACE.
THE SUBJECT WILL BE---
"---will be what?"
THE SUBJECT WILL BE---
"---will be what? What? WHAT?"
A hand was placed over his mouth. Reich opened his eyes. He was in a small tiled
room, an emergency police station. He was lying on a white table. Around him
were grouped the guards, three uniformed police, unidentified strangers. All
were writing carefully in report books, murmuring, shifting confusedly.
The stranger removed his hand from Reich's mouth and bent over him. "lt's all
right," he said gently.
"Easy. I'm a doctor..."
"A peeper?"
"What?"
"Are you a peeper? I need a peeper. I need somebody inside my head to prove I'm
right. My God! I've got to know I'm right. I don't care about the price. I---"
"What's he want?" a policeman asked.
"I don't know. He said a peeper." The doctor turned back to Reich. "What d'you
mean by that? Just tell us. What's a peeper?"
"An Esper! A mind reader. A ---"
The doctor smiled. "He's joking. Show of high spirits. Many patients do that.
They simulate sang froid after accidents. We call it Gallows Humor..."
"Listen," Reich said desperately. "Let me up. I want to say something..."
They helped him up.
To the police, he said: "My name is Ben Reich. Ben Reich of Monarch. You know
me. I want to confess. I want to confess to Lincoln Powell, the police prefect.
Take me to Powell."
"Who's Powell?"
"And what y'want to confess?"
"The D'Courtney murder. I murdered Craye D'Courtney last month. In Maria
Beaumont's house... Tell Powell. I killed D'Courtney."
The police looked at each other in surprise. One of them drifted to a corner and
picked up an old-fashioned hand phone: "Captain? Got a character here. Calls
himself Ben Reich of Monarch. Wants to confess to some prefect named Powell.
Claims he killed a party named Craye D'Courtney last month." After a pause, the
policeman called to Reich: "How do you spell that?"
"D'Courtney! Capital D apostrophe Capital C-O-U-R-T-N-E-Y."
The policeman spelled it out and waited. After another pause, he grunted and
hung up. "A nut," be said and stowed his notebook in a pocket.
"Listen---" Reich began.
"Is he all right?" the policeman asked the doctor without looking at Reich.
"Just shaken a little. He's all right."
"Listen!" Reich shouted.
The policeman yanked him to his feet and propelled him toward the door of the
station. "All right, buddy. Out!"
"You've got to listen to me! I---"
"You listen to me, buddy. There ain't no Lincoln Powell in the service. There
ain't no D'Courtney killing in the books. And we ain't takin' no slok from your
kind. Now... Out!" And he hurled Reich into the street.
The pavement was strangely broken. Reich stumbled, then regained his balance and
stood still, numb, lost. It was darker... eternally darker. A few street lights
were lit. The skyways were extinguished. The Jumpers had disappeared. There were
great gaps shorn in the skyline.
"I'm sick," Reich moaned. "I'm sick. I need help..."
He began to lurch down the broken streets with arms clutching his belly.
"Jumper!" he yelled. "Jumper? Isn't there anything in this God-forsaken city?
Where is everything? Jumper!"
There was nothing.
"I'm sick... sick. Got to get home. I'm sick..." Again he shouted: "Isn't there
anybody who can hear me? I'm sick. I need help... Help!... Help!" There was
nothing.
He moaned again. Then he tittered... weakly, inanely. He sang in a broken voice:
"Eight, sir... Five, sir... One, sir... Tenser said Tensor... Tension...
'prehension... 'ssention have begun..."
He called plaintively: "Where is everybody? Maria! Lights! Ma-ri-aaa! Stop this
crazy Sardine game!" He stumbled.
"Come back," Reich called. "For God's sake, come back! I'm all alone."
No answer.
He was searching for 9 Park South, looking for the Beaumont Mansion, the site of
D'Courtney's death... and Maria Beaumont, shrill, decadent, reassuring.
There was nothing.
A black tundra. Black sky. Unfamiliar desolation.
Nothing.
Reich shouted once... a hoarse, inarticulate yell of rage and fright.
No answer. Not even an echo.
"For God's sake!" he cried. "Where is everything? Bring it all back! There's
nothing but space..."
Out of the enveloping desolation, a figure gathered and grew, familiar, ominous,
gigantic... A figure of black shadows, looking, looming, silent... The Man With
No Face. Reich watched it, paralyzed, transfixed.
Then the figure spoke: "There is no space. There is nothing."
And there was a screaming in Reich's ears that was his voice, and a hammering
pulse that was his heart. He was running down a yawning alien path, devoid of
life, devoid of space, running before it was too late, too late, too late...
running while there was still time, time, time---
He ran headlong into a figure of black shadows. A figure without a face. A
figure that said: "There is no time. There is nothing."
Reich backed away. He turned. He fell. He crawled feebly through eternal
emptiness shrieking: "Powell! Duffy! Quizzard! Tate! Oh Christ! Where is
everybody? Where is everything? For the love of God..."
And he was face to face with the Man With No Face who said: "There is no God.
There is nothing."
And now there was no longer escape. There was only a negative infinity and Reich
and the Man With No Face. And fixed, frozen, helpless in that matrix, Reich at
last raised his eyes and stared deep into the face of his deadly enemy... the
man he could not escape... the terror of his nightmares... the destroyer of his
existence...
It was...
Himself.
D'Courtney.
Both.
Two faces, blending into one. Ben D'Courtney. Craye Reich. D'Courtney-Reich.
D'R.
He could make no sound. He could make no move. There was neither time nor space
nor matter. There was nothing left but dying thought.
"Father?"
"Son."
"You are me?"
"We are us."
"Father and son?"
"Yes."
"I can't understand... What's happened?"
"You lost the game, Ben."
"The Sardine Game?"
"The Cosmic Game."
"I won, I won. I owned every bit of the world. I---"
"And therefore you lose. We lose."
"Lose what?"
"Survival."
"I don't understand. I can't understand."
"My part of us understands, Ben. You would understand too if you hadn't driven
me from you."
"How did I drive you from me?"
"With every rotten, distorted corruption in you."
"You say that? You... betrayer, who tried to kill me?"
"That was without passion, Ben. That was to destroy you before you could destroy
us. That was for survival. It was to help you lose the world and win the game,
Ben."
"What game? What Cosmic Game?"
"The maze... the labyrinth... all the universe, created as a puzzle for us to
solve. The galaxies, the stars, the sun, the planets... the world as we knew it.
We were the only reality. All the rest was make-believe... dolls, puppets,
stage-settings... pretended passions. It was a make-believe reality for us to
solve."
"I conquered it. I owned if."
"And you failed to solve it. We'll never know what the solution is, but it's not
theft, terror, hatred, lust, murder, rapine. You failed, and it's all been
abolished, disbanded..."
"But what's to become of us?"
"We are abolished too. I tried to warn you. I tried to stop you. But we failed
the test."
"But why? Why? Who are we? What are we?"
"Who knows? Did the seed know who or what it was when it failed to find fertile
soil? Does it matter who or what we are? We have failed. Our test is ended. We
are ended."
"No!"
"Perhaps if we had solved it, Ben, it might have remained real. But it is ended.