LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

was puzzled. He was beginning to make little sniffing motions with his nose. “Do you—smell anything?”

      Lantry sniffed. “No. Why?”

      “I smell something.”

      Lantry took hold of the knife in his pocket. He waited.

      “I remember once when I was a kid,” said the man. “And we found a cow lying dead in the field. It had been there two days in the hot sun. That’s what this smell is. I wonder what it’s from?”

      “Oh, I know what it is,” said Lantry quietly. He held out his hand. “Here.”

      “What?”

      “Me, of course.”

      “You?”

      “Dead several hundred years.”

      “You’re an odd joker.” The Attendant was puzzled.

      “Very.” Lantry took out the knife. “Do you know what this is?”

      “A knife.”

      “Do you ever use knives on people any more?”

      “How do you mean?”

      “I mean—killing them, with knives or guns or poison?”

      “You are an odd joker!” The man giggled awkwardly.

      “I’m going to kill you,” said Lantry.

      “Nobody kills anybody,” said the man.

      “Not any more they don’t. But they used to, in the old days.”

      “I know they did.”

      “This will be the first murder in three hundred years. I just killed your friend. I just shoved him into the fire lock.”

      That remark had the desired effect. It numbed the man so completely, it shocked him so thoroughly with its illogical aspects that Lantry had time to walk forward. He put the knife against the man’s chest. “I’m going to kill you.”

      “That’s silly,” said the man, numbly. “People don’t do that.”

      “Like this,” said Lantry. “You see?”

      The knife slid into the chest. The man stared at it for a moment. Lantry caught the falling body.

      III

      The Salem flue exploded at six that morning. The great fire chimney shattered into ten thousand parts and flung itself into the earth and into the sky and into the houses of the sleeping people. There was fire and sound, more fire than autumn made burning in the hills.

      William Lantry was five miles away at the time of the explosion. He saw the town ignited by the great spreading cremation of it. And he shook his head and laughed a little bit and clapped his hands smartly together.

      Relatively simple. You walked around killing people who didn’t believe in murder, had only heard of it indirectly as some dim gone custom of the old barbarian races. You walked into the control room of the Incinerator and said, “How do you work this Incinerator?” and the control man told you, because everybody told the truth in this world of the future, nobody lied, there was no reason to lie, there was no danger to lie against. There was only one criminal in the world, and nobody knew HE existed yet.

      Oh, it was an incredibly beautiful setup. The Control Man had told him just how the Incinerator worked, what pressure gauges controlled the flood of fire gases going up the flue, what levers were adjusted or readjusted. He and Lantry had had quite a talk. It was an easy, free world. People trusted people. A moment later Lantry had shoved a knife in the Control Man also and set the pressure gauges for an overload to occur half an hour later, and walked out of the Incinerator halls, whistling.

      Now even the sky was palled with the vast black cloud of the explosion.

      “This is only the first,” said Lantry, looking at the sky. “I’ll tear all the others down before they even suspect there’s an unethical man loose in their society. They can’t account for a variable like me. I’m beyond their understanding. I’m incomprehensible, impossible, therefore I do not exist. My God, I can kill hundreds of thousands of them before they even realize murder is out in the world again. I can make it look like an accident each time. Why, the idea is so huge, it’s unbelievable!”

      The fire burned the town. He sat under a tree for a long time, until morning. Then, he found a cave in the hills, and went in, to sleep.

      He awoke at sunset with a sudden dream of fire. He saw himself pushed into the flue, cut into sections by flame, burned away to nothing. He sat up on the cave floor, laughing at himself. He had an idea.

      He walked down into the town and stepped into an audio booth. He dialed OPERATOR. “Give me the Police Department,” he said.

      “I beg your pardon?” said the operator.

      He tried again. “The Law Force,” he said.

      “I will connect you with the Peace Control,” she said, at last.

      A little fear began ticking inside him like a tiny watch. Suppose the operator recognized the term Police Department as an anachronism, took his audio number, and sent someone out to investigate? No, she wouldn’t do that. Why should she suspect? Paranoids were nonexistent in this civilization.

      “Yes, the Peace Control,” he said.

      A buzz. A man’s voice answered. “Peace Control. Stephens speaking.”

      “Give me the Homicide Detail,” said Lantry, smiling.

      “The what?”

      “Who investigates murders?”

      “I beg your pardon, what are you talking about?”

      “Wrong number.” Lantry hung up, chuckling. Ye gods, there was no such a thing as a Homicide Detail. There were no murders, therefore they needed no detectives. Perfect, perfect!

      The audio rang back. Lantry hesitated, then answered.

      “Say,” said the voice on the phone. “Who are you?”

      “The man just left who called,” said Lantry, and hung up again.

      He ran. They would recognize his voice and perhaps send someone out to check. People didn’t lie. He had just lied. They knew his voice. He had lied. Anybody who lied needed a psychiatrist. They would come to pick him up to see why he was lying. For no other reason. They suspected him of nothing else. Therefore—he must run.

      Oh, how very carefully he must act from now on. He knew nothing of this world, this odd straight truthful ethical world. Simply by looking pale you were suspect. Simply by not sleeping nights you were suspect. Simply by not bathing, by smelling like a—dead cow?—you were suspect. Anything.

      He must go to a library. But that was dangerous, too. What were libraries like today? Did they have books or did they have film spools which projected books on a screen? Or did people have libraries at home, thus eliminating the necessity of keeping large main libraries?

      He decided to chance it. His use of archaic terms might well make him suspect again, but now it was very important he learn all that could be learned of this foul world into which he had come again. He stopped a man on the street. “Which way to the library?”

      The man was not surprised. “Two blocks east, one block north.”

      “Thank you.”

      Simple as that.

      He walked into the library a few minutes later.

      “May I help you?”

      He looked at the librarian. May I help you, may I help you. What a world of helpful

Скачать книгу