* * * * *
"THE FOURTH ILLUSION," said the voice.
He was racing madly down the Indianapolis Speedway, bobbing along at
nearly 150 miles an hour in a flimsy-looking little racing auto. Blurs
whizzed by on all sides.
Ahead of him he saw a car suddenly swerve into the embankment and burst
into a mass of flames. With desperate urgency he yanked on the wheel,
tried to avoid the pileup--
And failed. He felt his car going end over end into the air, and shut
his eyes, waiting for the explosion that would follow.
"THE FIFTH ILLUSION," the voice said.
He was in a prehistoric jungle; strange stumpy trees were all around,
lush vegetation. A slow-moving beast of immense size was thundering
away from him, its tiny head close to the ground snapping up vegetation
without cease. Overhead a leather-winged flying reptile moved through
the air in jerky swoops.
There was sudden thunder behind him. He turned.
Through a haze of giant mosquitoes he saw a mountain of a beast
advancing toward him, tiny forepaws clutching the air, vast head
opening to reveal foot-long teeth.
He started to run, but even as he did so he knew it was fruitless.
In the steamy jungle sweat poured down him like summer rain. The hot
breath of the tyrannosaur was only feet behind him.
Hendriks turned, looked up. The mighty jaws were opening; the
knife-like teeth beckoned.
"No!" he screamed "No!"
Suddenly all went blank.
* * * * *
He sat in numbed silence for an instant, realizing he was back in the
theater.
The voice in his ear said, "There will be a brief intermission before
proceeding with the remaining half of the program. Please remain in
your seats to avoid confusion. Thank you."
Hendriks shook his head wearily; he was dizzy, utterly exhausted. His
stiff white shirt had lost all its starch. He was bathed in sweat.
His hands shook. His fingernails, he noticed, had been chewed to the
quick. He felt as if he had been to hell and back.
He finally mustered enough strength to look over at his wife. She was
sitting back in her plush chair, utterly beaten. He glanced around the
theater. The other first-nighters were sitting in attitudes ranging
from glassy-eyed exhaustion to complete nervous breakdown.
"The second part of the program will begin in three minutes," the
pleasant voice said.
"Oh, no it won't!" Hendriks muttered out loud. His voice sounded like a
harsh croak in his ears. He seized his wife by the hand; she felt cold,
clammy.
"Let's go, Dot. Let's get out of here."
She came to life and nodded in silent agreement. Weakly they tottered
down the vast aisle, past the pretty near-nude usherettes, through the
huge vestibule, out into the coolness of the night air and the relative
peace of the city.
There were still some people gathered outside.
"How is it? Real nice?"
"Is it over?"
"Hey, you leavin' so soon?"
Hendriks ignored them. He hailed a jetcab, helped his wife in,
staggered in himself. He gave the driver his address.
"You comin' from the Ultrarama show?" the driver asked.
Hendriks nodded.
"Swell thing, ain't it? It's supposed to be _real_, and I mean real!"
"It sure is," Hendriks agreed. He leaned back and tried to relax. His
nerves were still quivering like overtaut harp strings.
"It's quite a thing," he said. "But not for me. I'm going home. I'm
going to take a nice calming shower, a sedative, and get in bed. Then
I'm going to read a nice quiet book. How about you, Dot?"
She nodded. "_That's_ real enough for me," she said.