Somehow it was ironic. Siskin himself was responsible for the mass attitude. He had manipulated the people out there even more effectively, through psychological appeal, than the Operator could through simulectronic processes.
For in order to change that overwhelming bulwark of public opinion, the simulectronicists would have to reprogram almost
every
reactor. It was too enormous a job. It would be easier to wipe all circuits clean and start over.
Then I drew erect and turned toward Jinx, my mouth hanging open in sudden realization.
She gripped my arm. “Doug! Is it—
him?
”
“No. Jinx, I think I have a plan!”
“For what?”
“Maybe we can
save
this world!”
She sighed hopelessly. “There’s nothing
we
can do down here.”
“Maybe there
is.
It’s a slim chance. But it’s
something.
This world—the Operator’s simulator—is beyond salvation because the people, the reactors, insist on having
their own
simulator at any cost. Right?”
She nodded. “He can’t change their convictions and attitudes short of complete reprogramming.”
“
He
can’t. But maybe
I
can! Those people out there are all for Siskin because they believe his simulator is going to transform their world.
“But suppose they learn what his real motives are. Suppose they find out he only wants to become their absolute ruler. That he and the party are conspiring against them. That he doesn’t plan to use Simulacron-3
at all
as a means of lighting the way to social progress!”
She frowned and I couldn’t tell whether she was confused by my suggestion or whether she was preparing to offer an argument.
“Don’t you see?” I went on. “They would destroy the simulator themselves! They would be so disillusioned that they would even turn on Siskin! They might bring about the end of the party too!”
Still, she showed no enthusiasm.
“They would create an atmosphere in which Fuller’s simulator could never be reintroduced. It would be simple, then, for the Operator up there to reorient a few reactional units like Siskin and Heath and Whitney. He could rechannel their interests away from simulectronics altogether.”
“But that wouldn’t free you, Doug. Don’t you see? Even if you
did
save this world, you’d only be giving the Operator an unlimited future to apply all the simulectronic torture he can— ”
“We can’t be concerned with what happens to
me!
There are thousands of people out there who don’t even suspect what’s about to happen to them!”
But I could understand her viewpoint. My sympathy for the reactional units must certainly run deeper than hers. I was one of them.
Soberly, she asked, “How are you going to orient them to the facts about Siskin? There
can’t
be much time left.”
“I’ll just go out there and tell them. Maybe the Operator will see what’s happening. Then he’ll realize he doesn’t have to destroy this creation after all.”
She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, uninspired.
“You won’t have a chance to tell them anything,” she said. “Siskin has the whole police force looking for you. They’ll spray you down the moment they see you!” I seized her wrist and headed for the door. But she pulled back, almost desperately. “Even if you succeed, darling—even if you
aren’t
sprayed down and do convince everybody out there—they’ll only look on you as part of Siskin’s plot. They’ll tear you apart!”
I drew her across the room. “Come on. I’ll need you anyway.”
Outside, the belts were packed with persons pedistripping in the direction of REIN as I mounted the low-speed conveyor and tugged Jinx aboard. Before we reached the end of the block we had crossed over to the medium-paced strip. There was no room for us on the express belt.
Up ahead, a rumble of cheering voices rose like a wave. It was punctuated by the staccato of applause. In the next minute, Siskin’s private car soared powerfully from the landing island in front of Reactions and headed for Babel Central.
Eventually I recognized the inconsistency in the crowd about me: There were no reaction monitors. Their absence, I realized, signified that ARM had abandoned its function—and that, consequently, the upper world’s simulator was left without its response-seeking system.
Jinx rode the belt silently beside me, her eyes trained straight ahead, her face severe in detachment from the things about us.
I, too, was preoccupied with distant thoughts—thoughts that reached beyond the constricted infinity of my existence. I tried to imagine what the Operator was doing. Since our worlds were on a time-equivalent basis, he would certainly be awake by now.
He might be meeting with his advisory council at this very minute. That he had not yet coupled himself with me indicated as much. I had no doubt, however, that he would eagerly forge his simulectronic bond between us as soon as the formality of that session was over. And that would signify the end was near.
Under the great weight of their burdens, the pedistrips had slowed to a snail’s pace. To my right, riders were stepping without difficulty off the express belt and pouring into the clogged traffic lanes to continue converging on REIN, two blocks away.
Jinx gripped my hand more firmly. “Any sign of him?”
“Not yet. I suppose he’s still with the council.”
But even as I denied it, I realized that he
was
coupled empathically with me. I could sense his presence now, much more subtly than it had ever been before, however.
The coupling this time was not generating the piercing, mocking pain that it had on previous occasions. Somehow I knew that for once he was merely observing impassively. If he intended torment, he was delaying it for some reason.
I glanced to the left, bringing Jinx into my field of vision. And I could sense his tenseness on intercepting that visual impression. Then I knew he was boring into my recent experiences, filling himself in on what had happened.
There was no mistaking his amused reaction, his sadistic surprise on learning that Jinx had committed herself fatally to his simulectronic rack.
Puzzled, I wondered why he hadn’t started torturing me yet, why he hadn’t thrown the coupling modulator out of phase. Then the answer became clear: One of the most pernicious forms of torment is letting the victim know anguish is imminent but forestalling it.
In response to that thought, the psychic component of his malicious laughter came through with almost audible force. I saw I could waste no more time, not knowing how much I had left. And, from that new anxiety, he seemed to derive an increment of pleasure.
We left the pedistrip and pushed ahead on foot, shouldering through the mass of people.
Hall?
I thought.
There was no answer. Then I remembered the coupling was a one—way arrangement.
Hall—I think I can
save
this simulectronic complex for you.
Not even a suggestion of amused reaction. Was he listening? But, of course, he must already know what I planned to do. He
must
have seen it in my background thoughts.
I’m going to make this crowd attack Siskin’s machine. I don’t care what happens to me.
How much delight was he drawing from the halting fear and humiliation I felt in addressing him directly, presumptuously?
I’m going to arrange it so that nobody will tolerate Siskin’s simulator. They’ll even destroy it. Which is exactly what you want. But that’s not necessary. Believe me. For we can have
both
Siskin’s machine
and
your reaction monitors down here. All we have to do is see that REIN is used only for research into sociological problems.
Still no indication he was considering, or even listening to what I was saying.
I think I can turn public opinion
against
Siskin. They’ll take their anger out on Simulacron-3. I won’t be able to stop that. But
you
can. It would be simple. A violent thunderstorm—
—
just after I get them riled up—
—
would scatter them.
In the meantime, you could reprogram a few reactors. Wipe Siskin out financially. Plant a move for public acquisition of his machine. They would see that it was used for nothing but research into human relations. The justification for reaction monitors in this world wouldn’t be reduced a bit.
Was he toying with me? Was his continued silence intended only to add to my anxiety? Or Was he preoccupied with anticipation of my being sighted by police, or with how the mob would handle me when I shattered their delusions?
I searched the sky for indication that he had ordered up the thunderstorm I had proposed. But there wasn’t a cloud in sight.
We were now in the final block before Reactions. And the street was so congested that I could hardly lead Jinx through.
Ahead fluttered the gaudy banner Siskin had festooned across the front of his building:
Of course it was a fraud. Heath hadn’t had time to re-program the simulator for a new function. Siskin would eventually give the people some kind of idealistic double talk—possibly in preparation for a new legislative assault on the reaction monitors—after he let them cool their heels for a few hours.
The crowd lurched forward, carrying us along. And I was thankful for Siskin’s “demonstration.” There were thousands on hand to hear what I would have to say.
Jinx turned tensely toward me. “Surely he must have established empathy by now!”
But I was directing my thoughts intensely at the Operator in a final, unabashed plea:
Hall—
—
if you’re considering what I’m saying, there are just a couple more things. Dorothy Ford deserves better than she’s had. You can wipe the sordid stuff through reorientation. Whitney will do a better job of supervising sociological research than Heath. And—find some way to get Jinx out of this. I can’t.
We had reached the final intersection and I felt like a man who had been praying. The uncertainty that followed my shameless petition was perhaps analogous to divine supplication in at least one respect: You don’t expect an oral answer from God either.
Then I felt it—the growing vertigo, the impact of roaring sound that wasn’t sound at all, the nausea, the lapping of unreal flames against all of my senses.
He had thrown the modulator out of phase. And, through welling torment, came the empathically transferred impression of his wild laughter.
He had heard me. But my abject submission had only delighted him into a frenzy of anticipation.
Then it occurred to me that perhaps he had never
wanted
to save his world. Maybe, all along, he had looked forward to reveling in the horror of thousands of reactors as they watched their universe crumble beneath them.
The knot of humanity in which we were trapped surged ahead, then flowed to the left. Like a current sweeping around a piling, it parted to course past a pedistrip transfer platform.
Hurled into the waist-high structure, I put my arm out to break Jinx’s impact with the metal ledge. Nearby, two policemen were trying to restore some semblance of order.
Hoisting Jinx onto the platform, I stepped upon the broken, twisted edge of a severed pedistrip and climbed up beside her. Twice we were almost pushed off before we could work our way back to the control superstructure.
Then, standing in the V-shaped recess, I evaluated our position. With steel behind us and on either side, we were exposed only from the front as we overlooked the surging tide of humanity that stretched out to the Reactions building across the street.
I gripped Jinx’s shoulder and turned her toward me. “I wouldn’t want to do it this way. But there’s no choice.”
Drawing the gun from my pocket, I twisted her around in front of me like a shield and held her about the waist. Then I brandished the laser weapon and shouted above the din for attention.
A woman saw the gun and screamed, “Watch out! He’s armed!” She sprang off the platform.
Three men followed, one shouting in midleap. “It’s Hall! It’s that guy Hall!”
In the next second the transfer platform was evacuated, except for Jinx and myself. We were left standing alone in the forward recess of the superstructure.
I lowered the empty gun and brought it around in front of me, aiming its intensifier at her side.
The nearer policeman fought through the press of bodies to the edge of the platform and drew his weapon.
“Don’t try to stun us!” I warned. “If you spray me, my reflex will kill her!”
He lowered his weapon and looked uncertainly at the other officer who had finally arrived at his side.
“You’re all wrong about protecting Siskin’s simulator!” I shouted. “He isn’t going to use it to improve the human race!”
There were general outbursts of catcalls and someone hooted, “Get him down from there!”
Four more policemen forced their way to the platform and began spreading out around it. But they could go only so far without being blocked off visually by the superstructure.
“I don’t think it’s going to work, Doug,” Jinx said fearfully. “They won’t listen.”
After the derisive response had quieted, I went on, “You’re
suckers—
—all of you! Siskin’s using you like sheep! You’re only protecting his simulator from the reaction monitors!”
I was drowned out in a chorus of “Lie! Lie!”
One of the officers tried to climb upon the platform. I pulled Jinx closer and thrust my gun more firmly against her ribs.
He dropped back and stared in frustration at his own weapon. It was choked down to fully concentrated, lethal intensity.
I started to address the people again, but I only stood there trembling as the Operator turned his coupling modulator further out of phase. Frantically, I fought the thunderous roaring, the searing heat that raged in my head.
“Doug, what is it?” Jinx demanded.
“Nothing.”
“Is it the Operator?”
“No.” It wasn’t necessary that she know about the coupling.
I felt her tenseness drain off. It was almost as though she were disappointed that my torment hadn’t started.
The crowd quieted and I hurled out more frantic words:
“Would I be risking my life to tell you this if it weren’t true? Siskin only wants your sympathy
so
ARM can’t fight him! His simulator won’t help anybody but Siskin!”
The upper Hall’s modulator slipped further out of resonance and the inner roaring was a ravening torture. It was relieved only by the reflected impression of his brutal laughter.
I glanced up. There wasn’t the merest suggestion of a cloud. Either he actually
wanted
to destroy his simulectronic creation or he didn’t think I could reorient his thousands of reactors.
“Siskin only wants to rule the country!” I shouted desperately. “He’s conspiring with the party!
Against you!
”
Again I had to wait for the vocal rumbling to subside before I could go on:
“With the simulator calling the shots for his political strategy, he’ll be elected to any office he wants!”
Some were listening now. But the great majority was again trying to shout me down.
A score of policemen had surrounded the platform. Several were working their way around the rear of the superstructure. One was shouting something into his transmitter. It wouldn’t be long before an air car would show up. And I wouldn’t be shielded from its occupants by Jinx.
Across the street, several persons were moving about on the Reactions building roof. I recognized two of them—Dorothy Ford and the new technical director, Marcus Heath.
Anxiously, I turned back to the mass below. “I know about Siskin’s plans because I was part of the conspiracy! If you don’t believe me now, you’ll be proving you’re the suckers Siskin thinks you are!”
On the roof Heath raised a voice amplifier to his lips. His frantic words boomed down:
“Don’t listen to him! He’s lying! He’s only saying that because he was kicked out of the Establishment by Mr. Siskin and the party and—”
He stopped abruptly, evidently realizing what he had said. He could have covered his slip by continuing, ”—and the party and Mr. Siskin have no connection whatsoever.”
But he didn’t. He panicked. And, by fleeing back into the building, he helped prove my point.
That alone might have been sufficient. But Dorothy came through too. She picked up the voice amplifier and spoke calmly into it:
“What Douglas Hall said is true. I’m Mr. Siskin’s private secretary. I can prove every word of it.”
I slumped with relief and watched the mob surge toward the building. But then I shouted in anguish as the Operator, obviously displeased with my success, dealt out the full throes of faulty coupling.
Jinx exclaimed, “He’s tuned in!”
Distraught, I nodded.
Then the pencil-sharp beam of a laser gun speared into my shoulder from above. As I fell, I saw the policeman clinging to his perch atop the superstructure.
I reached out to push Jinx away, but my hand went through nothing. She was gone. She had finally withdrawn to her own world.
Her disappearance startled the cordon of police, but only momentarily. Then another laser beam lanced out, spearing my chest. A third sliced me across the abdomen. A fourth hewed away half my jaw.
Blood spewing from the wounds, I rolled over and plunged into an abyss.
When awareness returned there was the feel of soft leather under my body, the pressure of something heavy, tight upon my head.