5
It was a wild, nightmarish journey. At every step, Harry's sensesbetrayed him: his wrist watch turned into a brilliant blue-green snakethat snapped at his wrist; the air was full of snarling creatures thatthreatened him at every step. But he fought them off, knowing that theywould harm him far less than panic would. He had no idea where to hunt,nor whom to try to reach, but he knew they were there in the New City,and somehow he knew they would help him, if only he could find them.
He got off the moving strip as soon as the lights of the center of thecity were clear below, and stepped into the self-operated lift thatsped down to ground level. From the elevator, he moved on to one of thelong, honeycombed concourses, filled with passing shoppers who stared atthe colorful, enticing three-dimensional displays.
At one of the intersections ahead, he spotted a visiphone station, anddropped onto the little seat before the screen. There had been a number,if only he could recall it. But as he started to dial, the silveryscreen shattered into a thousand sparkling glass chips, showering thefloor with crystal and sparks.
Harry cursed, grabbed the hand instrument, and jangled frantically forthe operator. Before she could answer, the instrument grew warm in hishand, then hot and soft, like wax. Slowly, it melted and ran down hisarm.
He bolted out into the stream of people, trying desperately to draw somecomfort from the crowd around him.
He felt utterly alone; he _had_ to contact the not-men who were in thecity, warn them, before they spotted him, of the attack he carried withhim. If he were leading his pursuer, he could expect no mercy from theones whose help he sought. He knew the lengths to which they would go toremain undetected in the society around them. Yet he had to find them.
In the distance, he saw a figure waiting, back against one of the showwindows. Harry stopped short, ducked into a doorway, and peered outfearfully. Their eyes locked for an instant; then the figure moved on.Harry felt a jolt of horror surge through him. Dr. Webber hunting him inperson!
He ducked out of the doorway, turned and ran madly in the oppositedirection, searching for an up escalator he could catch. Behind him heheard shots, heard the angry whine of bullets past his ear.
He breathed in great, gasping sobs as he found an almost emptyescalator, and bounded up it four steps at a time. Below, he could seeWebber coming too, his broad shoulders forcing their way relentlesslythrough the mill of people.
Panting, Harry reached the top, checked his location against a wall map,and started down the long ramp which led toward the building he hadtried to call.
Another shot broke out behind him. The wall alongside powdered away,leaving a gaping hole. On impulse, he leaped into the hole, runningthrough to the rear of the building as the weakened wall swayed andcrumbled into a heap of rubble just as Webber reached the place Harryhad entered.
Harry breathed a sigh of relief and raced up the stairs of the buildingto reach a ramp on another level. He turned his eyes toward the tallbuilding at the end of the concourse. There he could hide and relax andtry, somehow, to make a contact.
Someone fell into step beside him and took his arm gently but firmly.Harry jerked away, turning terrified eyes to the one who had joined him.
"Quiet," said the man, steering him over toward the edge of theconcourse. "Not a sound. You'll be all right."
Harry felt a tremor pass through his mind, the barest touching of mentalfingertips, a recognition that sent a surge of eager blood through hisheart.
He stopped short, facing the man. "I'm being followed," he gasped. "Youcan't take me anywhere you don't want Webber to follow, or you'll be interrible danger."
The stranger shrugged and smiled briefly. "You're not here. You're in apsycho-integrator. It can hurt you, if you let it. But it can't hurtme." He stepped up his pace slightly, and in a moment they turnedabruptly into a darkened cul-de-sac.
Suddenly, they were moving _through_ the wall of the building into thebrilliantly lit lobby of the tall building. Harry gasped, but thestranger led him without a sound toward the elevator, stepped aboardwith him, and sped upward, the silence broken only by thewhish-whish-whish of the passing floors. Finally they stepped out into aquiet corridor and down through a small office door.
A man sat behind the desk in the office, his face quiet, his eyes verywide and dark. He hardly glanced at Harry, but turned his eyes to theother man.
"Set?" he asked.
"Couldn't miss now."
The man nodded and looked at last at Harry. "You're upset," he murmured."What's bothering you?"
"Webber," said Harry hoarsely. "He's following me here. He'll spot you.I tried to warn you before I came, but I couldn't."
The man at the desk smiled. "Webber again, eh? Our old friend Webber.That's all right. Webber's at the end of his tether. There's nothing hecan do to stop us. He's trying to attack with force, and he fails torealize that time and thought are on our side. The time when force wouldhave succeeded against us is long past. But now there are many of us,almost as many as not."
Harry stared shrewdly at the man behind the desk. "Then why are you soafraid of Webber?" he asked.
"Afraid?"
"You know you are. Long ago you threatened me, if I reported to him. Youwatched me, played with me. Why are you afraid of him?"
The man sighed. "Webber is premature. We are stalling for time, that'sall. We wait. We have grown from so very few, back in the 1940s and 50s,but the time for quiet usurpation of power has not quite arrived. Butmen like Webber force our hand, discover us, try to expose us."
Harry Scott's face was white, his hands shaking. "And what do you do tothem?"
"We--deal with them."
"And those like me?"
The man smiled lopsidedly. "Those like Paulus and Wineberg and therest--they're happy, really, like little children. But one like you isso much more useful." He pointed almost apologetically to the smallscreen on his desk.
Harry looked at it, realization dawning. He watched the huge,broad-shouldered figure moving down the hallway toward the door.
"Webber was dangerous to you?"
"Unbelievably dangerous. So dangerous we would use any means to traphim."
Suddenly the door burst open and there stood Webber, a triumphantWebber, face flushed, eyes wide, as he stared at the man behind thedesk.
The man smiled back and said, "Come on in, George. We've been waitingfor you."
Webber stepped through the door. "Manelli, you fool!"
There was a blinding flash as he crossed the threshold. A faint crackleof sound reached Harry's ears; then the world blacked out....
* * * * *
It might have been minutes, or hours, or days. The man who had beenbehind the desk was leaning over Harry, smiling down at him, gentlybandaging the trephine wounds at his temples.
"Gently," he said, as Harry tried to sit up. "Don't try to move. You'vebeen through a rough time."
Harry peered up at him. "You're--not Dr. Webber."
"No. I'm Dr. Manelli. Dr. Webber's been called away--an accident. He'llbe some time recovering. I'll be taking care of you."
Vaguely, Harry was aware that something was peculiar, something notquite as it should be. The answer slowly dawned on him.
"The statistical analysis!" he exclaimed. "I was supposed to get somedata from Dr. Webber about an analysis, something about rising insanityrates."
Dr. Manelli looked blank. "Insanity rates? You must be mistaken. Youwere brought here for an immunity examination, nothing more. But youcan check with Dr. Webber, when he gets back."
6
George Webber sat in the little room, trembling, listening, his eyeswide in the thick, misty darkness. He knew it would be a matter of timenow. He couldn't run much farther. He hadn't seen them, true. Oh, theyhad been very clever, but they thought they were dealing with a fool,and they weren't. He _knew_ they'd been following him; he'd known it fora long time now.
It was just as he had been telling the man downstairs the n
ight before:they were everywhere--your neighbor upstairs, the butcher on the corner,your own son or daughter, maybe even the man you were talkingto--_everywhere_!
And of course he had to warn as many people as he possibly could before_they_ caught him, throttled him off, as they had threatened to if hetalked to anyone.
If only the people would _listen_ to him when he told them how cleverlyit was all planned, how it would only be a matter of months, maybe onlyweeks or days before the change would happen, and the world would bequietly, silently taken over by the _other_ people, the different peoplewho could walk through walls and think in impossibly complex channels.And no one would know the difference, because business would go on asusual.
He shivered, sinking down lower on the bed. If only people would listento him--
It wouldn't be long now. He had heard the stealthy footsteps on thelanding below his room some time ago. This was the night they had chosento make good their threats, to choke off his dangerous voice once andfor all. There were footsteps on the stairs now, growing louder.
Wildly he glanced around the room as the steps moved down the halltoward his door. He rushed to the window, threw up the sash andscreamed hoarsely to the silent street below: "Look out! They're here,all around us! They're planning to take over! Look out! Look out!"
The door burst open and there were two men moving toward him,grim-faced, dressed in white; tall, strong men with sad faces and strongarms.
One was saying, "Better come quietly, mister. No need to wake up thewhole town."
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