"Then you should dye it. It's the wrong color. Bass doesn't have blond
hair. And why is your name still Gerald? Don't you ever want to be
Bass?"
Gerald looked slapped. "I tried. Honest, I really did. But you know
there's a limit, and the man at the bureau said there were too many
Basses already." His face brightened. "But my parents call me Bass all
the time."
"Oh."
Gerald shuffled his feet. Gingerly he sat down.
"Uh, did you see them last night?" he asked.
"Of course. I always see them, except when my mother does something
stupid."
Quickly Amanda excused herself and went to the Food Center. She leaned
against the counter, trying to overhear their conversation.
They spoke in broken murmurs momentarily, then were silent.
Kippie cleared her throat irritably.
"Uh, nice weather," Gerald said loudly.
"I haven't been out."
They were silent again. She tried to make her fingers stop picking at a
spot on the counter surface.
Suddenly Kippie emerged hurriedly from the Wall room, looking put upon.
"Where are you going?" Amanda demanded.
"He can't talk like Bass, even when he tries. And his hair is the wrong
color, and he has blue eyes."
"But Kathryn--Kippie, those are external characteristics! You can't
judge a person by the color of his hair and his eyes. You must get
acquainted with him."
"I won't do it. I don't love him. I love Bass!" She cocked her head,
Kippie-like. "And besides, he loves the real Kippie. And I'll never
have dimples. I'm going to call Replacements."
Amanda seized her arm. "Call them, and I'll break the new Wall too.
I'll break every Wall you bring into this house. Don't you understand
what's happening?"
"Quit being stupid."
"I'll break every Wall you have installed."
"And every time you do it, I'll order a new one." She broke loose and
ran to the communicator.
* * * * *
She had to do something. She wondered briefly, must I do something? It
could only be the survival instinct driving her. Perhaps, she thought
wryly, she was the only person who still possessed that particular
instinct.
She could never break every Wall in the world, no matter how she tried.
She picked up the magazine Kippie had thrown down that morning. Running
her finger over the cover, she poked it through Bass's penetrating eye.
She poked Kippie in the nose.
She flipped the magazine open and went through it, mutilating the
pages. "There's a hole in your head, Lester....
"One less eye for you, Alice....
"Poor little Kippie, I tore your chin. Right through the dimple. Will
Bass love you now, Kippie?
"Goodby, Bass." She crumpled him into a ball and threw him at the sink.
On the next page was a print of a restaurant. She read the caption.
"For two hours each evening, while filmed sequences are shown to the
home audience, the stars retire to Antola's for sandwiches, drinks and
shop talk."
She tried to stop her thoughts as they went to the sleeping alcove and
the old gun in the top shelf of the built-ins. Dell hadn't bothered to
unload it since he'd cleaned it last.
She dropped the magazine and went to the top shelf of the built-ins.
The gun was there.
* * * * *
It didn't take her long to drive downtown. There were no other cars on
the streets, and the current to the traffic lights had been cut three
years before. She passed only a prowling squad car, and the two police
stared at her curiously.
She parked a block from Antola's. Leaving the car, she slung her purse,
heavy with the gun, over her arm. Briskly she walked down the deserted
street.
Antola, standing behind the bar, was tall, thin and red-headed. He
stared at her incredulously, wiping his hands repeatedly on his long
white apron.
She went past the bar to a small table.
Antola continued to wipe his hands, as if they would not quite come
dry. "You want something?"
"Yes, bring me a bacon and tomato sandwich and milk."
"Don't have bacon and tomato. Kippie, she likes tuna. Bass hamburg.
Lester and Alice, they both take grilled cheese. Which do you want?"
"Bring me tuna and milk."
"Kippie, she says milk don't go with tuna. Makes a big blob inside."
"I said tuna and milk."
"Okay, if you want a blob inside. Kippie don't." He ambled away.
Not knowing how long she might have to wait, she nibbled at her
sandwich.
Soon she heard voices approaching the restaurant. She snaked her hand
toward the purse, opened it and clutched the gun.
Alice entered first, her hair a disciplined halo of red-gold, her eyes
vivid green. She was quarreling with Bass, who cheerfully ignored her,
his penetrating eyes staring greedily at the bottles behind the bar.
Small, precocious-seeming Kippie followed, her dark hair ruffled by the
wind. She stared lovingly up into Lester's eyes.
When the door had closed behind them, Amanda stood and raised the gun.
They hadn't noticed her, they'd been too anxious to mount the bar
stools. Ducks in a shooting gallery, she thought.
Alice was sitting nearer her, combing her hair with her fingers.
Holding the gun out before her with both hands, Amanda aimed it at
Alice's hair. She pulled the trigger.
At the sound, they all tried to duck, except Alice, who folded quietly
to the floor. Amanda aimed again, and this time Lester crumpled.
Ducks in a shooting gallery, she thought. See if you can make that big
drake, Bass, fall off his stool.
Bass fell. Kippie screamed, banishing her dimples, and fell beside him.
Antola had disappeared. It didn't matter. She returned the gun to her
purse. She hadn't decided what to do next. Suddenly feeling hungry, she
sat down to finish her sandwich.
* * * * *
When she was through, she rose, slung her purse over her arm again and
stepped past the four bodies. They hardly seemed real, lying in their
separate pools of crimson.
The two policemen came in, staring at her again.
"Catch her!" Antola cried from beneath the bar. "She done it! She
killed them all! Poor little Kippie!"
The florid policeman locked his hand about her wrist, while the other
cried for Antola to come out.
Her wrists were quickly handcuffed, and the florid policeman escorted
her to the police car. He shoved her into the back seat.
She didn't move, didn't think. The world seemed frozen.
It didn't begin to thaw again until the second squad car and the
ambulances arrived. They came slowly, without sirens or flashing
lights. She wondered why they came so casually.
The florid policeman returned to the car. "All dead," he said. "Even
poor little Kippie."
Silently they drove the deserted streets. She looked out at the
buildings, knowing the people inside them soon would be shocked by
the news of the stars' deaths.
When they reached police headquarters, she had to run to keep up with
the florid policeman as he pulled her up the stone steps. They walked
endless corridors, gray and gloomy, until they emerged into a small,
dim room.
A man in a tweed coat, who smoked a pipe and spoke suavely, stepped
from the group of men in street clothes.
"Did you kill them?" he asked. "Don't be afraid to tell me. I only want
to know if you killed them."