"Just a minute, Mr. Klang," I said, "I don't think you're being fair to
the press."
"I know it," the deputy said, "and I'm sorry, but I really cannot spare
the time."
I said: "So we report to fifteen million readers that time can't be
spared these days--"
He stared at me, only I'd been doing some staring myself and I knew I
had to get him to agree to give us a release.
I said: "Have a heart. If anything's big enough to upset the stability
of the chief stabilizer, we ought to get a look-in."
That worried him, and I knew it would. Fifteen million people would be
more than slightly unnerved to read that the C-S had been in a dither.
"Listen," I said. "What goes on? What were you talking about upstairs?"
He said: "All right. Come down to my office with me. We'll prepare a
release."
Only I didn't go out with the rest of them. Because, you see, while I'd
been nudging the deputy I'd noticed that all of them had rushed out so
fast they'd forgotten to close the office door. It was the first time
I'd seen it unlocked and I knew I was going to go through it this time.
That was why I'd wheedled that release out of the deputy. I was going
to get upstairs into the Prog Building because everything played into
my hands. First, the door being left open. Second, the man from the
_Trib_ not being there.
Why? Well, don't you see? The opposition papers always paired off. The
_Ledger_ and the _Record_ walked together and the _Journal_ and the
_News_ and so on. This way I was alone with no one to look for me and
wonder what I was up to. I pushed around in the crowd a little as they
followed the deputy out, and managed to be the last one in the room. I
slipped back behind the door jamb, waited a second and then streaked
across to the office door. I went through it like a shot and shut it
behind me. When I had my back against it I took a breath and whispered:
"Hyperman, here I come!"
* * * * *
I was standing in a small hall that had synthetic walls with those
fluorescent paintings on them. It was pretty short, had no doors
anywhere, and led toward the foot of a white staircase. The only way I
could go was forward, so I went. With that door locked behind me I knew
I would be slightly above suspicion--but only slightly, my friends,
only slightly. Sooner or later someone was going to ask who I was.
The stairs were very pretty. I remember them because they were the
first set I'd ever seen outside the Housing Museum. They had white even
steps and they curved upward like a conic section. I ran my fingers
along the smooth stone balustrade and trudged up expecting anything
from a cobra to one of Tex Richard's Fighting Robots to jump out at me.
I was scared to death.
I came to a square railed landing and it was then I first sensed the
vibrations. I'd thought it was my heart whopping against my ribs with
that peculiar _bam-bam-bam_ that takes your breath away and sets a
solid lump of cold under your stomach. Then I realised this pulse came
from the Prog Building itself. I trotted up the rest of the stairs on
the double and came to the top. There was a sliding door there. I took
hold of the knob and thought: "Oh, well, they can only stuff me and put
me under glass"--so I shoved the door open.
Boys, this was it--that nucleus I told you about. I'll try to give you
an idea of what it looked like because it was the most sensational
thing I've ever seen--and I've seen plenty in my time. The room took up
the entire width of the building and it was two stories high. I felt
as though I'd walked into the middle of a clock. Space was literally
filled with the shimmer and spin of cogs and cams that gleamed with the
peculiar highlights you see on a droplet of water about to fall. All of
those thousands of wheels spun in sockets of precious stone--just like
a watch only bigger--and those dots of red and yellow and green and
blue fire burned until they looked like a painting by that Frenchman
from way back. Seurat was his name.
The walls were lined with banks of Computation Integraphs--you could
see the end-total curves where they were plotted on photoelectric
plates. The setting dials for the Integraphs were all at eye level
and ran around the entire circumference of the room like a chain of
enormous white-faced periods. That was about all of the stuff I could
recognize. The rest just looked complicated and bewildering.
That _bam-bam-bam_ I told you about came from the very center of the
room. There was a crystal octahedron maybe ten feet high, nipped
between vertical axes above and below. It was spinning slowly so that
it looked jerky, and the vibration was the sound of the motors that
turned it. From way high up there were shafts of light projected at it.
The slow turning facets caught those beams and shattered them and sent
them dancing through the room. Boys--it was really sensational.
* * * * *
I took a couple of steps in and then a little old coot in a white
jacket bustled across the room, saw me, nodded, and went about his
business. He hadn't taken more than another three steps when he stopped
and came back to me. It was a real slow take.
He said: "I don't quite--" and then he broke off doubtfully. He had a
withered, faraway look, as though he'd spent all his life trying to
remember he was alive.