It Could Be Anything Read online

think you'rereal."

  The fat man blinked again. "What's that?" he snapped. He had a highpetulant voice.

  "You're not like the rest of them. I think I can talk to you. I thinkyou're another outsider."

  The fat man looked down at his rumpled suit. "I ... ah ... was caught alittle short today. Didn't have time to change. I'm a busy man. And whatbusiness is it of yours?" He clamped his jaw shut, eyed Brett warily.

  "I'm a stranger here," Brett said. "I want to find out what's going onin this place--"

  "Buy an amusement guide. Lists all the shows--"

  "I don't mean that. I mean these dummies all over the place, and theGels--"

  "What dummies? Jells? Jello? You don't like Jello?"

  "I love Jello. I don't--"

  "Just ask the waiter. He'll bring you your Jello. Any flavor you like.Now if you'll excuse me ..."

  "I'm talking about the brown things; they look like muddy water. Theycome around if you interfere with a scene."

  The fat man looked nervous. "Please. Go away."

  "If I make a disturbance, the Gels will come. Is that what you're afraidof?"

  "Now, now. Be calm. No need for you to get excited."

  "I won't make a scene," Brett said. "Just talk to me. How long have youbeen here?"

  "I dislike scenes. I dislike them intensely."

  "When did you come here?"

  "Just ten minutes ago. I just sat down. I haven't had my dinner yet.Please, young man. Go back to your table." The fat man watched Brettwarily. Sweat glistened on his bald head.

  "I mean this town. How long have you been here? Where did you comefrom?"

  "Why, I was born here. Where did I come from? What sort of question isthat? Just consider that the stork brought me."

  "You were born here?"

  "Certainly."

  "What's the name of the town?"

  * * *

  "Are you trying to make a fool of me?" The fat man was getting angry.His voice was rising.

  "Shhh," Brett cautioned. "You'll attract the Gels."

  "Blast the Jilts, whatever that is!" the fat man snapped. "Now, getalong with you. I'll call the manager."

  "Don't you know?" Brett said, staring at the fat man. "They're alldummies; golems, they're called. They're not real."

  "Who're not real?"

  "All these imitation people at the tables and on the dance floor. Surelyyou realize--"

  "I realize you're in need of medical attention." The fat man pushed backhis chair and got to his feet. "You keep the table," he said. "I'll dineelsewhere."

  "Wait!" Brett got up, seized the fat man's arm.

  "Take your hands off me--" The fat man went toward the door. Brettfollowed. At the cashier's desk Brett turned suddenly, saw a fluid brownshape flicker--

  "Look!" He pulled at the fat man's arm--

  "Look at what?" The Gel was gone.

  "It was there: a Gel."

  The fat man flung down a bill, hurried away. Brett fumbled out a ten,waited for change. "Wait!" he called. He heard the fat man's feetreceding down the stairs.

  "Hurry," he said to the cashier. The woman sat glassy-eyed, staring atnothing. The music died. The lights flickered, went off. In the gloomBrett saw a fluid shape rise up--

  He ran, pounding down the stairs. The fat man was just rounding thecorner. Brett opened his mouth to call--and went rigid, as a translucentshape of mud shot from the door, rose up to tower before him. Brettstood, mouth half open, eyes staring, leaning forward with handsoutflung. The Gel loomed, its surface flickering--waiting. Brett caughtan acrid odor of geraniums.

  A minute passed. Brett's cheek itched. He fought a desire to blink, toswallow--to turn and run. The high sun beat down on the silent street,the still window displays.

  Then the Gel broke form, slumped, flashed away. Brett tottered backagainst the wall, let his breath out in a harsh sigh.

  Across the street he saw a window with a display of camping equipment,portable stoves, boots, rifles. He crossed the street, tried the door.It was locked. He looked up and down the street. There was no one insight. He kicked in the glass beside the latch, reached through andturned the knob. Inside he looked over the shelves, selected a heavycoil of nylon rope, a sheath knife, a canteen. He examined a Winchesterrepeating rifle with a telescopic sight, then put it back and strappedon a .22 revolver. He emptied two boxes of long rifle cartridges intohis pocket, then loaded the pistol. He coiled the rope over his shoulderand went back out into the empty street.

  * * *

  The fat man was standing in front of a shop in the next block, pickingat a blemish on his chin and eyeing the window display. He looked upwith a frown, started away as Brett came up.

  "Wait a minute," Brett called. "Didn't you see the Gel? the one thatcornered me back there?"

  The fat man looked back suspiciously, kept going.

  "Wait!" Brett caught his arm. "I know you're real. I've seen you belchand sweat and scratch. You're the only one I can call on--and I needhelp. My friend is trapped--"

  The fat man pulled away, his face flushed an even deeper red. "I'mwarning you, you maniac: get away from me...!"

  Brett stepped close, rammed the fat man hard in the ribs. He sank to hisknees, gasping. The panama hat rolled away. Brett grabbed his arm,steadied him.

  "Sorry," he said. "I had to be sure. You're real, all right. We've gotto rescue my friend, Dhuva--"

  The fat man leaned against the glass, rolling terrified eyes, rubbinghis stomach. "I'll call the police!" he gasped.

  "What police?" Brett waved an arm. "Look. Not a car in sight. Did youever see the street that empty before?"

  "Wednesday afternoon," the fat man gasped.

  "Come with me. I want to show you. It's all hollow. There's nothingbehind these walls--"

  "Why doesn't somebody come along?" the fat man moaned.

  "The masonry is only a quarter-inch thick," Brett said. "Come on; I'llshow you."

  "I don't like it," said the fat man. His face was pale and moist."You're mad. What's wrong? It's so quiet ..."

  "We've got to try to save him. The Gel took him down into this pit--"

  "Let me go," the man whined. "I'm afraid. Can't you just let me lead mylife in peace?"

  "Don't you understand? The Gel took a man. They may be after you next."

  "There's no one after me! I'm a business man ... a respectable citizen.I mind my own business, give to charity, go to church. All I want is tobe left alone!"

  * * *

  Brett dropped his hands from the fat man's arms, stood looking at him:the blotched face, pale now, the damp forehead, the quivering jowls. Thefat man stooped for his hat, slapped it against his leg, clamped it onhis head.

  "I think I understand now," said Brett. "This is your place, thisimitation city. Everything's faked to fit your needs--like in the hotel.Wherever you go, the scene unrolls in front of you. You never see theGels, never discover the secret of the golems--because you conform. Younever do the unexpected."

  "That's right. I'm law-abiding. I'm respectable. I don't pry. I don'tnose into other people's business. Why should I? Just let me alone ..."

  "Sure," Brett said. "Even if I dragged you down there and showed you,you wouldn't believe it. But you're not in the scene now. I've taken youout of it--"

  Suddenly the fat man turned and ran a few yards, then looked back to seewhether Brett was pursuing him. He shook a round fist.

  "I've seen your kind before," he shouted. "Troublemakers."

  Brett took a step toward him. The fat man yelped and ran another fiftyfeet, his coat tails bobbing. He looked back, stopped, a fat figurealone in the empty sunny street.

  "You haven't seen the last of me!" he shouted. "We know how to deal withyour kind." He tugged at his vest, went off along the sidewalk. Brettwatched him go, then started back toward the hollow building.

  * * * * *

  The jagged fragments of masonry Brett had
knocked from the wall lay ashe had left them. He stepped through the opening, peered down into themurky pit, trying to judge its depth. A hundred feet at least. Perhaps ahundred and fifty.

  He unslung the rope from his shoulder, tied one end to the brass stump,threw the coil down the precipitous side. It fell away into