get some rather oddball convictions out of the mess. You can hardly stuff people into a machine without starting to wonder about the basic nature of both machines and people.”
The discussion was getting far afield. I tried to steer it back on course. “I won’t buy your assumption on Fuller’s ‘basic discovery.’ Because I think the discovery is the same thing Lynch was trying to tell me about.”
“Lynch? Who’s that?”
I drew back. Then I smiled, realizing that somehow he must have heard Jinx Fuller say she had never heard of Lynch. And now he was having his own little joke.
“Seriously,” I went on, “if I hadn’t believed Lynch’s story about Fuller’s ‘secret,’ I wouldn’t have gone to the police.”
“Lynch? The police? What’s this all about?”
I began to suspect that he might be serious. “Avery, I’m not in the mood for horseplay. I’m talking about Morton Lynch! ”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Don’t know the man.”
“Lynch!” I half shouted. “In charge of security at REIN!” I pointed to a bronze loving cup behind the bar. “ That Lynch! The one whose name is on that trophy for beating you in the ballistoboard tournament last year!”
Collingsworth beckoned across the bar and Limpy came over. “Will you tell Mr. Hall who has been chief of internal security at his establishment for the past five years?”
Limpy jerked his thumb toward a sour-faced, middle-aged man seated on the end stool.
“Joe Gadsen.”
“Now, Limpy, hand Mr. Hall that trophy.” I read the inscription: Avery Collingsworth— — June, 2033.
The room lurched and whirled and the acrid smell of tobacco smoke seemed to surge up and envelope me like a fog. The music faded and the last thing I remembered was reaching out to steady myself with a grip on the bar.
I must not have passed out completely, though. For my next experience was that of bumping into someone on the staticstrip near the slowest pedestrian belt. I rebounded and leaned against a building—several blocks away from the smoke-easy.
It must have been another seizure—but one during which I had apparently remained in possession of myself. Avery probably hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong. And here I was, suddenly conscious again, confounded and trembling, staring profoundly up into the early evening sky.
I thought helplessly of Lynch, his name on the trophy, Fuller’s drawing. Had they all actually vanished? Or had I only fancied those occurrences? Why did order and reason seem suddenly to be tumbling down all around me?
Confounded, I crossed the pedistrip transfer platform and started for the opposite side of the street. Traffic was negligible and there were no air cars letting down on the nearby central landing island. That is, not until I got within twenty feet of it.
Then a vehicle came plunging out of the gathering dusk, emergency siren screaming. Apparently out of control, it shuddered fiercely as it slipped completely out of the down-guide beam, heading straight for me.
I dived for the high-speed pedistrip. The sudden motion of the belt almost hurled me back under the plummeting car. But I stuck, and managed, eventually, to sit up and glance back.
The car cushioned itself automatically with an emergency air blast that finally checked its momentum within an inch of the roadway.
If I had not gotten out of the way, the inner vanes would have left little in the way of identifiable remains.
4
A succession of nightmares in which everything I reached for crumbled in my grip blocked restful slumber until the early morning hours. Consequently I overslept and had to skip breakfast.
Flying downtown, however, I avoided the heavy traffic levels, at the expense of additional delay, while my thoughts stalled on the near accident of the night before. Did it fit into the general pattern? Had the air car purposely gone out of control?
I shrugged off my suspicion. The accident couldn’t have been intentional. On the other
The discussion was getting far afield. I tried to steer it back on course. “I won’t buy your assumption on Fuller’s ‘basic discovery.’ Because I think the discovery is the same thing Lynch was trying to tell me about.”
“Lynch? Who’s that?”
I drew back. Then I smiled, realizing that somehow he must have heard Jinx Fuller say she had never heard of Lynch. And now he was having his own little joke.
“Seriously,” I went on, “if I hadn’t believed Lynch’s story about Fuller’s ‘secret,’ I wouldn’t have gone to the police.”
“Lynch? The police? What’s this all about?”
I began to suspect that he might be serious. “Avery, I’m not in the mood for horseplay. I’m talking about Morton Lynch! ”
He shook his head stubbornly. “Don’t know the man.”
“Lynch!” I half shouted. “In charge of security at REIN!” I pointed to a bronze loving cup behind the bar. “ That Lynch! The one whose name is on that trophy for beating you in the ballistoboard tournament last year!”
Collingsworth beckoned across the bar and Limpy came over. “Will you tell Mr. Hall who has been chief of internal security at his establishment for the past five years?”
Limpy jerked his thumb toward a sour-faced, middle-aged man seated on the end stool.
“Joe Gadsen.”
“Now, Limpy, hand Mr. Hall that trophy.” I read the inscription: Avery Collingsworth— — June, 2033.
The room lurched and whirled and the acrid smell of tobacco smoke seemed to surge up and envelope me like a fog. The music faded and the last thing I remembered was reaching out to steady myself with a grip on the bar.
I must not have passed out completely, though. For my next experience was that of bumping into someone on the staticstrip near the slowest pedestrian belt. I rebounded and leaned against a building—several blocks away from the smoke-easy.
It must have been another seizure—but one during which I had apparently remained in possession of myself. Avery probably hadn’t even noticed anything was wrong. And here I was, suddenly conscious again, confounded and trembling, staring profoundly up into the early evening sky.
I thought helplessly of Lynch, his name on the trophy, Fuller’s drawing. Had they all actually vanished? Or had I only fancied those occurrences? Why did order and reason seem suddenly to be tumbling down all around me?
Confounded, I crossed the pedistrip transfer platform and started for the opposite side of the street. Traffic was negligible and there were no air cars letting down on the nearby central landing island. That is, not until I got within twenty feet of it.
Then a vehicle came plunging out of the gathering dusk, emergency siren screaming. Apparently out of control, it shuddered fiercely as it slipped completely out of the down-guide beam, heading straight for me.
I dived for the high-speed pedistrip. The sudden motion of the belt almost hurled me back under the plummeting car. But I stuck, and managed, eventually, to sit up and glance back.
The car cushioned itself automatically with an emergency air blast that finally checked its momentum within an inch of the roadway.
If I had not gotten out of the way, the inner vanes would have left little in the way of identifiable remains.
4
A succession of nightmares in which everything I reached for crumbled in my grip blocked restful slumber until the early morning hours. Consequently I overslept and had to skip breakfast.
Flying downtown, however, I avoided the heavy traffic levels, at the expense of additional delay, while my thoughts stalled on the near accident of the night before. Did it fit into the general pattern? Had the air car purposely gone out of control?
I shrugged off my suspicion. The accident couldn’t have been intentional. On the other
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