It Could Be Anything Page 3

and mismatched glass andoxidizing aluminum, dusty windows and cluttered displays of cardboard, afaded sign that read TODAY ONLY--PRICES SLASHED. To Brett's left thesidewalk stretched, empty. To his right the crowd was packed close, theshout rising and falling. Now a rank of blue-suited policemen followedthe majorettes, swinging along silently. Behind them, over them, a pieceof paper blew along the street. Brett turned to the man on his right.

  "Pardon me. Can you tell me the name of this town?"

  The man ignored him. Brett tapped the man's shoulder. "Hey! What town isthis?"

  The man took off his hat, whirled it overhead, then threw it up. Itsailed away over the crowd, lost. Brett wondered briefly how people whothrew their hats ever recovered them. But then, nobody he knew wouldthrow his hat ...

  "You mind telling me the name of this place?" Brett said, as he took theman's arm, pulled. The man rotated toward Brett, leaning heavily againsthim. Brett stepped back. The man fell, lay stiffly, his arms moving, hiseyes and mouth open.

  "Ahhhhh," he said. "Whum-whum-whum. Awww, jawww ..."

  Brett stooped quickly. "I'm sorry," he cried. He looked around. "Help!This man ..."

  Nobody was watching. The next man, a few feet away, stood close againsthis neighbor, hatless, his jaw moving.

  "This man's sick," said Brett, tugging at the man's arm. "He fell."

  The man's eyes moved reluctantly to Brett. "None of my business," hemuttered.

  "Won't anybody give me a hand?"

  "Probably a drunk."

  Behind Brett a voice called in a penetrating whisper: "Quick! You! Getinto the alley...!"

  He turned. A gaunt man of about thirty with sparse reddish hair,perspiration glistening on his upper lip, stood at the mouth of a narrowway like the one Brett had come through. He wore a grimy pale yellowshirt with a wide-flaring collar, limp and sweat-stained, dark greenknee-breeches, soft leather boots, scuffed and dirty, with limp topsthat drooped over his ankles. He gestured, drew back into the alley. "Inhere."

  Brett went toward him. "This man ..."

  "Come on, you fool!" The man took Brett's arm, pulled him deeper intothe dark passage. Brett resisted. "Wait a minute. That fellow ..." Hetried to point.

  "Don't you know yet?" The red-head spoke with a strange accent. "Golems... You got to get out of sight before the--"

  * * *

  The man froze, flattened himself against the wall. Automatically Brettmoved to a place beside him. The man's head was twisted toward the alleymouth. The tendons in his weathered neck stood out. He had a three-daystubble of beard. Brett could smell him, standing this close. He edgedaway. "What--"

  "Don't make a sound! Don't move, you idiot!" His voice was a thin hiss.

  Brett followed the other's eyes toward the sunny street. The fallen manlay on the pavement, moving feebly, eyes open. Something moved up tohim, a translucent brownish shape, like muddy water. It hovered for amoment, then dropped on the man like a breaking wave, flowed around him.The body shifted, rotating stiffly, then tilted upright. The sun struckthrough the fluid shape that flowed down now, amber highlightstwinkling, to form itself into the crested wave, flow away.

  "What the hell...!"

  "Come on!" The red-head turned, trotted silently toward the shadowy bendunder the high grey walls. He looked back, beckoned impatiently, passedout of sight around the turn--

  Brett came up behind him, saw a wide avenue, tall trees with chartreusespringtime leaves, a wrought-iron fence, and beyond it, rolling greenlawns. There were no people in sight.

  "Wait a minute! What is this place?!"

  His companion turned red-rimmed eyes on Brett. "How long have you beenhere?" he asked. "How did you get in?"

  "I came through a gate. Just about an hour ago."

  "I knew you were a man as soon as I saw you talking to the golem," saidthe red-head. "I've been here two months; maybe more. We've got to getout of sight. You want food? There's a place ..." He jerked his thumb."Come on. Time to talk later."

  * * *

  Brett followed him. They turned down a side street, pushed through thedoor of a dingy cafe. It banged behind them. There were tables, stoolsat a bar, a dusty juke box. They took seats at a table. The red-headgroped under the table, pulled off a shoe, hammered it against the wall.He cocked his head, listening. The silence was absolute. He hammeredagain. There was a clash of crockery from beyond the kitchen door. "Nowdon't say anything," the red-head said. He eyed the door behind thecounter expectantly. It flew open. A girl with red cheeks and untidyhair, dressed in a green waitress' uniform appeared, swept up to thetable, pad and pencil in hand.

  "Coffee and a ham sandwich," said the red-head. Brett said nothing. Thegirl glanced at him briefly, jotted hastily, whisked away.

  "I saw them here the first day," the red-head said. "It was a piece ofluck. I saw how the Gels started it up. They were big ones--not like thetidiers-up. As soon as they were finished, I came in and tried the samething. It worked. I used the golem's lines--"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," Brett said. "I'm going to askthat girl--"

  "Don't say anything to her; it might spoil everything. The wholesequence might collapse; or it might call the Gels. I'm not sure. Youcan have the food when it comes back with it."

  "Why do you say 'when "it" comes back'?"

  "Ah." He looked at Brett strangely. "I'll show you."

  Brett could smell food now. His mouth watered. He hadn't eaten fortwenty-four hours.

  "Care, that's the thing," the red-head said. "Move quiet, and stay outof sight, and you can live like a County Duke. Food's the hardest, buthere--"

  The red-cheeked girl reappeared, a tray balanced on one arm, a heavy cupand saucer in the other hand. She clattered them down on the table.

  "Took you long enough," the red-head said. The girl sniffed, opened hermouth to speak--and the red-head darted out a stiff finger, jabbed herunder the ribs. She stood, mouth open, frozen.

  Brett half rose. "He's crazy, miss," he said. "Please accept--"

  "Don't waste your breath." Brett's host was looking at him triumphantly."Why do I call it 'it'?" He stood up, reached out and undid the topbuttons of the green uniform. The waitress stood, leaning slightlyforward, unmoving. The blouse fell open, exposing round whitebreasts--unadorned, blind.

  "A doll," said the red-head. "A puppet; a golem."

  * * *

  Brett stared at her, the damp curls at her temple, the tip of her tonguebehind her teeth, the tiny red veins in her round cheeks, and the whiteskin curving ...

  "That's a quick way to tell 'em," said the red-head. "The teat issmooth." He rebuttoned the uniform, then jabbed again at the girl'sribs. She straightened, patted her hair.

  "No doubt a gentleman like you is used to better," she said carelessly.She went away.

  "I'm Awalawon Dhuva," the red-head said.

  "My name's Brett Hale." Brett took a bite of the sandwich.

  "Those clothes," Dhuva said. "And you have a strange way of talking.What county are you from?"

  "Jefferson."

  "Never heard of it. I'm from Wavly. What brought you here?"

  "I was on a train. The tracks came to an end out in the middle ofnowhere. I walked ... and here I am. What is this place?"

  "Don't know." Dhuva shook his head. "I knew they were lying about theFire River, though. Never did believe all that stuff. Religious hokum,to keep the masses quiet. Don't know what to believe now. Take the roof.They say a hundred kharfads up; but how do we know? Maybe it's athousand--or only ten. By Grat, I'd like to go up in a balloon, see formyself."

  "What are you talking about?" Brett said. "Go where in a balloon? Seewhat?"

  "Oh, I've seen one at the Tourney. Big hot-air bag, with a basket underit. Tied down with a rope. But if you cut the rope...! But you can betthe priests will never let that happen, no, sir." Dhuva looked at Brettspeculatively. "What about your county: Fession, or whatever you calledit. How high do they tell you it i
s there?"

  "You mean the sky? Well, the air ends after a few miles and space justgoes on--millions of miles--"

  Dhuva slapped the table and laughed. "The people in Fesseron must besome yokels! Just goes on up; now who'd swallow that tale?" He chuckled.

  "Only a child thinks the sky is some kind of tent," said Brett. "Haven'tyou ever heard of the Solar