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I could waste no more time, not knowing how much I had left.
And, from that new anxiety, he seemed to derive an increment of
pleasure.
We left the pedistrip and pushed ahead on foot, shouldering
through the mass of people.
Hall? I thought.
There was no answer. Then I remembered the coupling was a
one-way arrangement.
Hall I think I can save this simulectronic complex for you.
Not even a suggestion of amused reaction. Was he listening?
But, of course, he must already know what I planned to do. He
must have seen it in my background thoughts.
Simulacron Three 170
I'm going to make this crowd attack Siskin's machine. I don't care
what happens to me.
How much delight was he drawing from the halting fear and
humiliation I felt in addressing him directly, presumptuously?
I'm going to arrange it so that nobody will tolerate Siskin's
simulator. They'll even destroy it. Which is exactly what you
want. But that's not necessary. Believe me. For we can have
both Siskin's machine and your reaction monitors down here. All
we have to do is see that REIN is used only for research into
sociological problems.
Still no indication he was considering, or even listening to what I
was saying.
I think I can turn public opinion against Siskin. They'll take their
anger out on Simulacron-3. I won't be able to stop that. But you
can. It would be simple. A violent thunderstorm just after I get
them riled up would scatter them.
In the meantime, you could reprogram a few reactors. Wipe
Siskin out financially. Plant a move for public acquisition of his
machine. They would see that it was used for nothing but
research into human relations. The justification for reaction
monitors in this world wouldn't be reduced a bit.
Was he toying with me? Was his continued silence intended only
to add to my anxiety? Or was he preoccupied with anticipation of
my being sighted by police, or with how the mob would handle
me when I shattered their delusions?
I searched the sky for indication that he had ordered up the
thunderstorm I had proposed. But there wasn't a cloud in sight.
We were now in the final block before Reactions. And the street
was so congested that I could hardly lead Jinx through.
Ahead fluttered the gaudy banner Siskin had festooned across
the front of his building:
HISTORIC OCCASION
PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION TODAY
(COURTESY OF HORACE P. SISKIN)
REIN WILL SOLVE ITS FIRST PROBLEM
IN HUMANISM
Simulacron Three 171
Of course it was a fraud. Heath hadn't had time to reprogram the
simulator for a new function. Siskin would eventually give the
people some kind of idealistic double talk possibly in
preparation for a new legislative assault on the reaction
monitors after he let them cool their heels for a few hours.
The crowd lurched forward, carrying us along. And I was thankful
for Siskin's "demonstration." There were thousands on hand to
hear what I would have to say.
Jinx turned tensely toward me. "Surely he must have established
empathy by now!"
But I was directing my thoughts intensely at the Operator in a
final, unabashed plea:
Hall if you're considering what I'm saying, there are just a
couple more things. Dorothy Ford deserves better than she's
had. You can wipe the sordid stuff through reorientation. Whitney
will do a better job of supervising sociological research than
Heath. And find some way to get Jinx out of this. I can't.
We had reached the final intersection and I felt like a man who
had been praying. The uncertainty that followed my shameless
petition was perhaps analogous to divine supplication in at least
one respect: You don't expect an oral answer from God either.
Then I felt it the growing vertigo, the impact of roaring sound that
wasn't sound at all, the nausea, the lapping of unreal flames
against all of my senses.
He had thrown the modulator out of phase. And, through welling
torment, came the empathically transferred impression of his wild
laughter.
He had heard me. But my abject submission had only delighted
him into a frenzy of anticipation.
Then it occurred to me that perhaps he had never wanted to
save his world. Maybe, all along, he had looked forward to
reveling in the horror of thousands of reactors as they watched
their universe crumble beneath them.
The knot of humanity in which we were trapped surged ahead,
then flowed to the left. Like a current sweeping around a piling, it
parted to course past a pedistrip transfer platform.
Hurled into the waist-high structure, I put my arm out to break
Jinx's impact with the metal ledge. Nearby, two policemen were
trying to restore some semblance of order.
Simulacron Three 172
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