Second Variety and Other Stories (47 page)

The street light changed. Nobody else was crossing. Ed crossed alone. He hopped up on the
curb on the far side -

And stopped, rigid.

The sun had winked off. One moment it was beaming down. Then it was gone. Ed looked up
sharply. Gray clouds swirled above him. Huge, formless clouds. Nothing more. An ominous, thick haze
that made everything waver and dim. Uneasy chills plucked at him. What was it?

He advanced cautiously, feeling his way through the mist. Everything was silent. No sounds -- not
even the traffic sounds. Ed peered frantically around, trying to see through the rolling haze. No people.
No cars. No sun. Nothing.

The office building loomed up ahead, ghostly. It was an indistinct gray. He put out his hand
uncertainly -

A section of the building fell away. It rained down, a torrent of particles. Like sand. Ed gaped
foolishly. A cascade of gray debris, spilling around his feet. And where he had touched the building, a
jagged cavity yawned -- an ugly pit marring the concrete.

Dazed, he made his way to the front steps. He mounted them. The steps gave way underfoot.
His feet sank down. He was wading through shifting sand, weak, rotted stuff that broke under his weight.

He got into the lobby. The lobby was dim and obscure. The overhead lights flickered feebly in
the gloom. An unearthly pall hung over everything.

He spied the cigar stand. The seller leaned silently, resting on the counter, toothpick between his
teeth, his face vacant. And gray. He was gray all over.

"Hey," Ed croaked. "What's going on?"

The seller did not answer. Ed reached out toward him. His hand touched the seller's gray arm -and
passed right through.

"Good God," Ed said.

The seller's arm came loose. It fell to the lobby floor, disintegrating into fragments. Bits of gray
fiber. Like dust. Ed's senses reeled.

"Help!" he shouted, finding his voice.

No answer. He peered around. A few shapes stood here and there: a man reading a newspaper,
two women waiting at the elevator.

Ed made his way over to the man. He reached out and touched him.

The man slowly collapsed. He settled into a heap, a loose pile of gray ash. Dust. Particles. The
two women dissolved when he touched them. Silently. They made no sound as they broke apart.

Ed found the stairs. He grabbed hold of the banister and climbed. The stairs collapsed under him.
He hurried faster. Behind him lay a broken path -- his footprints clearly visible in the concrete. Clouds of
ash blew around him as he reached the second floor.

He gazed down the silent corridor. He saw more clouds of ash. He heard no sound. There was
just darkness -- rolling darkness.

He climbed unsteadily to the third floor. Once, his shoe broke completely through the stair. For a
sickening second he hung, poised over a yawning hole that looked down into a bottomless nothing.

He climbed unsteadily to the third floor. Once, his shoe broke completely through the stair. For a
sickening second he hung, poised over a yawning hole that looked down into a bottomless nothing.

DOUGLAS AND BLAKE, REAL ESTATE.

The hall was dim, gloomy with clouds of ash. The overhead lights flickered fitfully. He reached
for the door handle. The handle came off in his hand. He dropped it and dug his fingernails into the door.
The plate glass crashed past him, breaking into bits. He tore the door open and stepped over it, into the
office.

Miss Evans sat at her typewriter, fingers resting quietly on the keys. She did not move. She was
gray, her hair, her skin, her clothing. She was without color. Ed touched her. His fingers went through her
shoulder, into dry flakiness.

He drew back, sickened. Miss Evans did not stir.

He moved on. He pushed against a desk. The desk collapsed into rotting dust. Earl Hendricks
stood by the water cooler, a cup in his hand. He was a gray statue, unmoving. Nothing stirred. No
sound. No life. The whole office was gray dust -- without life or motion.

Ed found himself out in the corridor again. He shook his head, dazed. What did it mean? Was he
going out of his mind? Was he -- ?

A sound.

Ed turned, peering into the gray mist. A creature was coming, hurrying rapidly. A man -- a man in
a white robe. Behind him others came. Men in white, with equipment. They were lugging complex
machinery.

"Hey --" Ed gasped weakly.

The men stopped. Their mouths opened. Their eyes popped.

"Look!"

"Something's gone wrong!"

"One still charged."

"Get the de-energizer."

"We can't proceed until --"

The men came toward Ed, moving around him. One lugged a long hose with some sort of nozzle.
A portable cart came wheeling up. Instructions were rapidly shouted.

Ed broke out of his paralysis. Fear swept over him. Panic. Something hideous was happening.
He had to get out. Warn people. Get away.

He turned and ran, back down the stairs. The stairs collapsed under him. He fell half a flight,
rolling in heaps of dry ash. He got to his feet and hurried on, down to the ground floor.

The lobby was lost in the clouds of gray ash. He pushed blindly through, toward the door.
Behind him, the white-clad men were coming, dragging their equipment and shouting to each other,
hurrying quickly after him.

He reached the sidewalk. Behind him the office building wavered and sagged, sinking to one
side, torrents of ash raining down in heaps. He raced toward the corner, the men just behind him. Gray
cloud swirled around him. He groped his way across the street, hands outstretched. He gained the
opposite curb -

The sun winked on. Warm yellow sunlight streamed down on him. Cars honked. Traffic lights
changed. On all sides men and women in bright spring clothes hurried and pushed: shoppers, a blue-clad
cop, salesmen with briefcases. Stores, windows, signs... noisy cars moving up and down the street...

And oyerhead was the bright sun and familiar blue sky.

Ed halted, gasping for breath. He turned and looked back the way he had come. Across the
street was the office building -- as it had always been. Firm and distinct. Concrete and glass and steel.

He stepped back a pace and collided with a hurrying citizen. "Hey," the man grunted. "Watch it."

"Sorry." Ed shook his head, trying to clear it. From where he stood, the office building looked
like always, big and solemn and substantial, rising up imposingly on the other side of the street.

like always, big and solemn and substantial, rising up imposingly on the other side of the street.

Maybe he was out of his mind. He had seen the building crumbling into dust. Building -- and
people. They had fallen into gray clouds of dust. And the men in white -- they had chased him. Men in
white robes, shouting orders, wheeling complex equipment.

He was out of his mind. There was no other explanation. Weakly, Ed turned and stumbled along
the sidewalk, his mind reeling. He moved blindly, without purpose, lost in a haze of confusion and terror.

The Clerk was brought into the top-level Administrative chambers and told to wait.

He paced back and forth nervously, clasping and wringing his hands in an agony of apprehension.
He took off his glasses and wiped them shakily.

Lord. All the trouble and grief. And it wasn't his fault. But he would have to take the rap. It was
his responsibility to get the Summoners routed out and their instructions followed. The miserable
flea-infested Summoner had gone back to sleep -- and he would have to answer for it.

The doors opened. "All right," a voice murmured, preoccupied. It was a tired, care-worn voice.
The Clerk trembled and entered slowly, sweat dripping down his neck and into his celluloid collar.

The Old Man glanced up, laying aside his book. He studied the Clerk calmly, his faded blue eyes
mild -- a deep, ancient mildness that made the Clerk tremble even more. He took out his handkerchief
and mopped his brow.

"I understand there was a mistake," the Old Man murmured. "In connection with Sector T137.
Something to do with an element from an adjoining area."

"That's right." The Clerk's voice was faint and husky. "Very unfortunate."

"What exactly occurred?"

"I started out this morning with my instruction sheets. The material relating to T137 had top
priority, of course. I served notice on the Summoner in my area that an eight-fifteen summons was
required."

"Did the Summoner understand the urgency?"

"Yes, sir." The Clerk hesitated. "But --"

"But what?"

The Clerk twisted miserably. "While my back was turned the Summoner crawled back in his
shed and went to sleep. I was occupied, checking the exact time with my watch. I called the moment -but
there was no response."

"You called at eight-fifteen exactly?"

"Yes, sir! Exactly eight-fifteen. But the Summoner was asleep. By the time I managed to arouse
him it was eight-sixteen. He summoned, but instead of A Friend with a Car we got -- A Life Insurance
Salesman." The Clerk's face screwed up with disgust. "The Salesman kept the element there until almost
nine-thirty. Therefore he was late to work instead of early."

For a moment the Old Man was silent. "Then the element was not within T137 when the
adjustment began."

"No. He arrived about ten o'clock."

"During the middle of the adjustment." The Old Man got to his feet and paced slowly back and
forth, face grim, hands behind his back. His long robe flowed out behind him. "A serious matter. During a
Sector Adjustment all related elements from other Sectors must be included. Otherwise, their orientations
remain out of phase. When this element entered T137 the adjustment had been in progress fifty minutes.
The element encountered the Sector at its most de-energized stage. He wandered about until one of the
adjustment teams met him."

"Did they catch him?"

"Unfortunately, no. He fled, out of the Sector. Into a nearby fully energized area."

"What -- what then?"

The Old Man stopped pacing, his lined face grim. He ran a heavy hand through his long white
hair. "We do not know. We lost contact with him. We will reestablish contact soon, of course. But for
the moment he is out of control."

the moment he is out of control."

"He must be contacted and contained. He must be brought up here. There's no other solution."

"Up here!"

"It is too late to de-energize him. By the time he is regained he will have told others. To wipe his
mind clean would only complicate matters. Usual methods will not suffice. I must deal with this problem
myself."

"I hope he's located quickly," the Clerk said.

"He will be. Every Watcher is alerted. Every Watcher and every Summoner." The Old Man's
eyes twinkled. "Even the Clerks, although we hesitate to count on them."

The Clerk flushed. "I'll be glad when this thing is over," he muttered.

Ruth came tripping down the stairs and out of the building, into the hot noonday sun. She lit a
cigarette and hurried along the walk, her small bosom rising and falling as she breathed in the spring air.

"Ruth." Ed stepped up behind her.

"Ed!" She spun, gasping in astonishment. "What are you doing away from -- ?"

"Come on." Ed grabbed her arm, pulling her along. "Let's keep moving."

"But what -- ?"

"I'll tell you later." Ed's face was pale and grim. "Let's go where we can talk. In private."

"I was going down to have lunch at Louie's. We can talk there." Ruth hurried along breathlessly.
"What is it? What's happened? You look so strange. And why aren't you at work? Did you -- did you
get fired?"

They crossed the street and entered a small restaurant. Men and women milled around, getting
their lunch. Ed found a table in the back, secluded in a corner. "Here." He sat down abruptly. "This will
do." She slid into the other chair.

Ed ordered a cup of coffee. Ruth had salad and creamed tuna on toast, coffee and peach pie.
Silently, Ed watched her as she ate, his face dark and moody.

"Please tell me," Ruth begged him.

"You really want to know?"

"Of course I want to know!" Ruth put her small hand anxiously on his. "I'm your wife."

"Something happened today. This morning. I was late to work. A damn insurance man came by
and held me up. I was half an hour late."

Ruth caught her breath. "Douglas fired you."

"No." Ed ripped a paper napkin slowly into bits. He stuffed the bits in the half-empty water glass.
"I was worried as hell. I got off the bus and hurried down the street. I noticed it when I stepped up on the
curb in front of the office."

"Noticed what?"

Ed told her. The whole works. Everything.

When he had finished, Ruth sat back, her face white, hands trembling. "I see," she murmured.
"No wonder you're upset." She drank a little cold coffee, the cup rattling against the saucer. "What a
terrible thing."

Ed leaned intently toward his wife. "Ruth. Do you think I'm going crazy?"

Ruth's red lips twisted. "I don't know what to say. It's so strange..."

"Yeah. Strange is hardly the word for it. I poked my hands right through them. Like they were
clay. Old dry clay. Dust. Dust figures." Ed lit a cigarette from Ruth's pack. "When I got out I looked
back and there it was. The office building. Like always."

"You were afraid Mr Douglas would bawl you out, weren't you?"

"Sure. I was afraid -- and guilty." Ed's eyes flickered. "I know what you're thinking. I was late
and I couldn't face him. So I had some sort of protective psychotic fit. Retreat from reality." He stubbed
the cigarette out savagely. "Ruth, I've been wandering around town since. Two and a half hours. Sure,
I'm afraid. I'm afraid like hell to go back."