in a
soundless pantomime of pursuit: a lion padding after an inaudible quarry
through a silent jungle.
After several turnings, they entered an area of luxury apartment buildings.
The figure turned in at the main entrance of one of these buildings.
Hansard, reluctant to follow him inside (for he might have joined more
of his confederates within), waited in the doorway of the building opposite.
An hour passed.
With misgivings -- for he had never till now intruded upon the private
lives of dwellers in the Real World -- Hansard began his own exploration
of the building, starting at the top floor and working his way down
through the ceilings. He encountered families at dinner, or stupefied
before the television; witnessed soundless quarrels, and surprised
people in yet more private moments: A suspicion of his quarry's intent in
coming here grew in Hansard's mind, and in Apartment 4-E this suspicion
was confirmed.
Hansard found him in the apartment of an attractive and evidently
newlywed couple. In the twilit room, the man was sitting upon their bed
and pretending to guide, with his intangible touch, the most intimate
motions of their love. While the voyeur's attention was thus directed
toward the lovers Hansard approached him from behind, slipped his tie
around the man's throat and tightened the slip-knot. The voyeur fell
backward off the bed, and Hansard saw now for the first time who his
enemy had been -- Colonel Willard Ives.
Hansard dragged Ives, choking, out of the bedroom. He wrested away the
man's canteen and drank greedily from it. He had been all day without water.
While Hansard was drinking from the canteen the colonel attempted to escape.
Two evenings ago, in Ives's office, it would have been unthinkable that
he should ever have occasion to assault his superior officer. But now the
circumstances were exceptional, and Hansard performed that unthinkable
action with scarcely a scruple. Afterward he gave Ives his handkerchief
to stop the bleeding of his nose.
"I'll have you court-marshaled for this," Ives snuffled, without much
conviction. "I'll see that you -- I'll teach you to -- "
Hansard, whose character had been made somewhat unpliable by fourteen
years of military life, was not without retroactive qualms. "Accept my
apologies, Colonel. But I can hardly be expected to regard you in the
light of my superior at the moment -- when I see you obeying the orders
of a corporal."
Ives looked up, eyes wide with emotion. "You called me Colonel . Then,
you know me. . . back there?"
"I was talking with you in your office only two nights ago, Colonel.
Surely you remember?"
"No. No, not with me." Ives bit his lower lip, and Hansard realized that
this was not, in fact, the same man. This Ives was a good seventy-five
pounds lighter than his double in the Real World, and there were innumerable
other details -- the shaggy hair, the darker complexion, the cringing
manner -- that showed him to be much changed from his old (or would
it be his other?) self. "I was never a colonel. I was only a major
when I went through the manmitter two years ago. Sometimes he brings
me to my office -- to the Colonel's office -- and humiliates me there,
in front of him. That's the only reason he wants me alive -- so he can
humiliate me. Starve me and humiliate me. If I had any courage, I'd . . .
I'd . . . kill myself. I would. I'd go outside the dome . . . and . . ."
Choking with pity for himself, he was obliged to stop speaking.
"He?" Hansard asked.
"Worsaw. The one you killed in the manmitter. I wish you'd killed all
three of him, instead of just the one."
"How many men -- of our sort -- are there in Camp Jackson?"
Ives turned his gaze away from Hansard's. "I don't know."
"Colonel -- or Major, if you prefer -- I should not like to hurt you again."
"Wouldn't you? I doubt that. You're just the same as Worsaw. You're all
the same, all of you. As soon as the discipline is gone you lose all
sense of
soundless pantomime of pursuit: a lion padding after an inaudible quarry
through a silent jungle.
After several turnings, they entered an area of luxury apartment buildings.
The figure turned in at the main entrance of one of these buildings.
Hansard, reluctant to follow him inside (for he might have joined more
of his confederates within), waited in the doorway of the building opposite.
An hour passed.
With misgivings -- for he had never till now intruded upon the private
lives of dwellers in the Real World -- Hansard began his own exploration
of the building, starting at the top floor and working his way down
through the ceilings. He encountered families at dinner, or stupefied
before the television; witnessed soundless quarrels, and surprised
people in yet more private moments: A suspicion of his quarry's intent in
coming here grew in Hansard's mind, and in Apartment 4-E this suspicion
was confirmed.
Hansard found him in the apartment of an attractive and evidently
newlywed couple. In the twilit room, the man was sitting upon their bed
and pretending to guide, with his intangible touch, the most intimate
motions of their love. While the voyeur's attention was thus directed
toward the lovers Hansard approached him from behind, slipped his tie
around the man's throat and tightened the slip-knot. The voyeur fell
backward off the bed, and Hansard saw now for the first time who his
enemy had been -- Colonel Willard Ives.
Hansard dragged Ives, choking, out of the bedroom. He wrested away the
man's canteen and drank greedily from it. He had been all day without water.
While Hansard was drinking from the canteen the colonel attempted to escape.
Two evenings ago, in Ives's office, it would have been unthinkable that
he should ever have occasion to assault his superior officer. But now the
circumstances were exceptional, and Hansard performed that unthinkable
action with scarcely a scruple. Afterward he gave Ives his handkerchief
to stop the bleeding of his nose.
"I'll have you court-marshaled for this," Ives snuffled, without much
conviction. "I'll see that you -- I'll teach you to -- "
Hansard, whose character had been made somewhat unpliable by fourteen
years of military life, was not without retroactive qualms. "Accept my
apologies, Colonel. But I can hardly be expected to regard you in the
light of my superior at the moment -- when I see you obeying the orders
of a corporal."
Ives looked up, eyes wide with emotion. "You called me Colonel . Then,
you know me. . . back there?"
"I was talking with you in your office only two nights ago, Colonel.
Surely you remember?"
"No. No, not with me." Ives bit his lower lip, and Hansard realized that
this was not, in fact, the same man. This Ives was a good seventy-five
pounds lighter than his double in the Real World, and there were innumerable
other details -- the shaggy hair, the darker complexion, the cringing
manner -- that showed him to be much changed from his old (or would
it be his other?) self. "I was never a colonel. I was only a major
when I went through the manmitter two years ago. Sometimes he brings
me to my office -- to the Colonel's office -- and humiliates me there,
in front of him. That's the only reason he wants me alive -- so he can
humiliate me. Starve me and humiliate me. If I had any courage, I'd . . .
I'd . . . kill myself. I would. I'd go outside the dome . . . and . . ."
Choking with pity for himself, he was obliged to stop speaking.
"He?" Hansard asked.
"Worsaw. The one you killed in the manmitter. I wish you'd killed all
three of him, instead of just the one."
"How many men -- of our sort -- are there in Camp Jackson?"
Ives turned his gaze away from Hansard's. "I don't know."
"Colonel -- or Major, if you prefer -- I should not like to hurt you again."
"Wouldn't you? I doubt that. You're just the same as Worsaw. You're all
the same, all of you. As soon as the discipline is gone you lose all
sense of
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