Alfred Bester - The Demolished Man

The car needed no attention. He glanced alternately over his shoulder and up at the sky. There was no sun... and they went about their business as though there had never been a sun. He shuddered. Was this more of the one-eye kick? Suddenly the car slowed and stopped; and he was marooned in the middle of the skyway, halfway between Monarch Tower and the giant Visiphone & Visigraph Building.

Reich hammered on the control studs. There was no response. He leaped out and raised the tail hood to inspect the pick-up. Then he saw the guards far down the skyway, running toward him, and he understood. These cars were powered by broadcast energy. They'd cut the transmission off at the car-park and were coming after him. Reich turned tail and sprinted toward the V & V Building.

The skyway tunneled through the building and was lined with shops, restaurants, a theater---and there was a travel office! A sure out. He could grab a ticket, get into a one-man capsule and have himself slotted to any of the take-off fields. He needed a little time to reorganize... reorient... and he had a house in Paris. He leaped across the center island, dodged past cars and ran into the office.

It looked like a miniature bank. A short counter. A grilled window protected by burglar-proof plastic. Reich went to the window, pulling money from his pocket. He slapped credits down on the counter and shoved them under the grille.

"Ticket to Paris," he said. "Keep the change. Which way to the

capsules? Jet, man! Jet!" "Paris?" came the reply. "There is no Paris." Reich stared through the cloudy plastic and saw... looking, looming,

silent... The Man With No Face. He spun around twice, heart pounding, skull pounding, located the door and ran out. He ran blindly onto the skyway, shied feebly from an oncoming car, and was struck down into enveloping darkness---

ABOLISH.

DESTROY.

DELETE.

DISBAND.

(MINERALOGY, PETROLOGY, GEOLOGY, PHYSIOGRAPHY)

DISPERSE.

(METEOROLOGY, HYDROLOGY, SEISMOLOGY)

ERASE.

(X??Y? d:Space/d:Time)

EFFACE.

THE SUBJECT WILL BE---

"---will be what?"

THE SUBJECT WILL BE---

"---will be what? What? WHAT?"

A hand was placed over his mouth. Reich opened his eyes. He was in a small tiled room, an emergency police station. He was lying on a white table. Around him were grouped the guards, three uniformed police, unidentified strangers. All were writing carefully in report books, murmuring, shifting confusedly.

The stranger removed his hand from Reich's mouth and bent over him. "lt's all right," he said gently.

"Easy. I'm a doctor..."

"A peeper?"

"What?"

"Are you a peeper? I need a peeper. I need somebody inside my head to prove I'm right. My God! I've got to know I'm right. I don't care about the price. I---"

"What's he want?" a policeman asked.

"I don't know. He said a peeper." The doctor turned back to Reich. "What d'you mean by that? Just tell us. What's a peeper?"

"An Esper! A mind reader. A ---"

The doctor smiled. "He's joking. Show of high spirits. Many patients do that. They simulate sang froid after accidents. We call it Gallows Humor..."

"Listen," Reich said desperately. "Let me up. I want to say something..."

They helped him up.

To the police, he said: "My name is Ben Reich. Ben Reich of Monarch. You know me. I want to confess. I want to confess to Lincoln Powell, the police prefect. Take me to Powell."

"Who's Powell?"

"And what y'want to confess?"

"The D'Courtney murder. I murdered Craye D'Courtney last month. In Maria Beaumont's house... Tell Powell. I killed D'Courtney."

The police looked at each other in surprise. One of them drifted to a corner and picked up an old-fashioned hand phone: "Captain? Got a character here. Calls himself Ben Reich of Monarch. Wants to confess to some prefect named Powell. Claims he killed a party named Craye D'Courtney last month." After a pause, the policeman called to Reich: "How do you spell that?"

"D'Courtney! Capital D apostrophe Capital C-O-U-R-T-N-E-Y."

The policeman spelled it out and waited. After another pause, he grunted and hung up. "A nut," be said and stowed his notebook in a pocket.

"Listen---" Reich began.

"Is he all right?" the policeman asked the doctor without looking at Reich.

"Just shaken a little. He's all right."

"Listen!" Reich shouted.

The policeman yanked him to his feet and propelled him toward the door of the station. "All right, buddy. Out!"

"You've got to listen to me! I---"

"You listen to me, buddy. There ain't no Lincoln Powell in the service. There ain't no D'Courtney killing in the books. And we ain't takin' no slok from your kind. Now... Out!" And he hurled Reich into the street.

The pavement was strangely broken. Reich stumbled, then regained his balance and stood still, numb, lost. It was darker... eternally darker. A few street lights were lit. The skyways were extinguished. The Jumpers had disappeared. There were great gaps shorn in the skyline.

"I'm sick," Reich moaned. "I'm sick. I need help..."

He began to lurch down the broken streets with arms clutching his belly.

"Jumper!" he yelled. "Jumper? Isn't there anything in this God-forsaken city? Where is everything? Jumper!"

There was nothing.

"I'm sick... sick. Got to get home. I'm sick..." Again he shouted: "Isn't there anybody who can hear me? I'm sick. I need help... Help!... Help!" There was nothing.

He moaned again. Then he tittered... weakly, inanely. He sang in a broken voice: "Eight, sir... Five, sir... One, sir... Tenser said Tensor... Tension... 'prehension... 'ssention have begun..."

He called plaintively: "Where is everybody? Maria! Lights! Ma-ri-aaa! Stop this crazy Sardine game!" He stumbled.

"Come back," Reich called. "For God's sake, come back! I'm all alone."

No answer.

He was searching for 9 Park South, looking for the Beaumont Mansion, the site of D'Courtney's death... and Maria Beaumont, shrill, decadent, reassuring.

There was nothing.

A black tundra. Black sky. Unfamiliar desolation.

Nothing.

Reich shouted once... a hoarse, inarticulate yell of rage and fright.

No answer. Not even an echo.

"For God's sake!" he cried. "Where is everything? Bring it all back! There's nothing but space..."

Out of the enveloping desolation, a figure gathered and grew, familiar, ominous, gigantic... A figure of black shadows, looking, looming, silent... The Man With No Face. Reich watched it, paralyzed, transfixed.

Then the figure spoke: "There is no space. There is nothing."

And there was a screaming in Reich's ears that was his voice, and a hammering pulse that was his heart. He was running down a yawning alien path, devoid of life, devoid of space, running before it was too late, too late, too late... running while there was still time, time, time---

He ran headlong into a figure of black shadows. A figure without a face. A figure that said: "There is no time. There is nothing."

Reich backed away. He turned. He fell. He crawled feebly through eternal emptiness shrieking: "Powell! Duffy! Quizzard! Tate! Oh Christ! Where is everybody? Where is everything? For the love of God..."

And he was face to face with the Man With No Face who said: "There is no God. There is nothing."

And now there was no longer escape. There was only a negative infinity and Reich and the Man With No Face. And fixed, frozen, helpless in that matrix, Reich at last raised his eyes and stared deep into the face of his deadly enemy... the man he could not escape... the terror of his nightmares... the destroyer of his existence...

It was...

Himself.

D'Courtney.

Both.

Two faces, blending into one. Ben D'Courtney. Craye Reich.

D'Courtney-Reich. D'R. He could make no sound. He could make no move. There was neither time