Tour hundred against, thirty-five in favor," von Stern stated. The proposal has been defeated." He tossed the tabulation cards down and picked up his agenda. "We'll continue with the next business."
Behind Hull, Packman broke off suddenly, his skull-like head cocked on one side. His deep-sunk eyes glittered and the trace of a smile twitched across his lips. "Defeated? Not even all the grays voted for you, Hull. Now maybe you'll listen to what I have to say."
Hull turned away from the hall. The robant lowered its arm. "It's over," Hull said.
"Come on." Julia moved uneasily away from Packman. "Let's get out of here."
"You see," Packman continued relentlessly, "you have potentials that could be developed into something. When I was your age I had the same idea you have. I thought if people could see the moral issues involved, they would respond. But people aren't like that. You have to be realistic, if you want to get somewhere. People..."
Hull scarcely heard the dry, raspy voice whispering away. Defeat. Worldcraft, the world bubbles, would continue. The Contest Parties: bored, restless men and women with too much time, drinking and dancing, comparing worlds, building up to the climax -- then the orgy of breaking and smashing. Over and over. Endlessly.
drinking and dancing, comparing worlds, building up to the climax -- then the orgy of breaking and smashing. Over and over. Endlessly.
Bart Longstreet came rapidly out of the shadows. "You still here?" he said to Packman.
"I lost," Hull said. The vote --"
"I know. I heard it. But it doesn't matter." Longstreet pushed past Packman and his robant. "Stay here. I'll join you in a second. I have to see von Stern."
Something in Longstreet's voice made Hull look up sharply. "What is it? What's happened?"
"Why doesn't it matter?" Julia demanded. Longstreet stepped up on the platform and made his way to von Stern. He handed him a message plate and then retired to the shadows.
Von Stern glanced at the plate -
And stopped talking. He got to his feet slowly, the plate gripped tightly. "I have an announcement to make." Von Stern's voice was shaking, almost inaudible. "A dispatch from Spaceways' check station on Proxima Centauri." An excited murmur rushed through the hall. "Exploring ships in the Proxima system have contacted trading scouts from an extra-galactic civilization. An exchange of messages has already occurred. Spaceways ships are moving toward the Arcturan system with the expectation of finding --" Shouts, a bedlam of sound. Men and women on their feet, screaming in wild joy. Von Stern stopped reading and stood, his arms folded, his gray face calm, waiting for them to quiet.
Forrest Packman stood unmoving, his withered hands pressed together, his eyes shut. His robant sent support braces around him, catching him in a shield of protecting metal.
"Well?" Longstreet shouted, pushing back to them. He glanced at the frail, withered figure held up by the robant's supports, then at Hull and Julia. "What do you say, Hull? Let's get out of here -- so we can celebrate."
"I'll fly you home," Hull said to Julia. He looked around for an inter-continental cruiser. "Too bad you live so far away. Hong Kong is so damn out of the way."
Julia caught his arm. "You can drive me yourself. Remember? The Pacific Tube is open. We're connected with Asia now."
"That's right." Hull opened the door of his surface car and Julia slid in. Hull got behind the wheel and slammed the door. "I forgot, with all these other things on my mind. Maybe we can see each other more often. I wouldn't mind spending a few days' vacation in Hong Kong. Maybe you'll invite me."
He sent the car out into traffic, moving with the remote-controlled beam. "Tell me more," Julia asked. "I want to know all Bart said."
"Not much more. They've known for some time that something was up. That's why he wasn't too worried about Worldcraft. He knew the bottom would fall out as soon as the announcement was made."
"Why didn't he tell you?"
Hull grinned wryly. "How could he? Suppose the first reports were wrong? He wanted to wait until they were sure. He knew what the results would be." Hull gestured. "Look."
On both sides of the strip a tide of men and women poured out of buildings, up from the underground factories, a seething mass milling everywhere in disordered confusion, shouting and cheering, throwing things in the air, tossing paper out of windows, carrying each other on their shoulders.
"They're working it off," Hull said. "The way it should be. Bart says Arcturus is supposed to have seven or eight fertile planets, some of them inhabited, some just forests and oceans. The extra-galactic traders say that most systems have at least one usable planet. They visited our system a long time ago. Our early ancestors may have traded with them."
"Then there's plenty of life in the galaxy?"
Hull laughed. "If what they say is true. And the fact that they exist is proof enough."
"No more Worldcraft."
"No." Hull shook his head. No more Worldcraft. Stock was already being dumped. Worthless. Probably the State would absorb the bubbles already in existence and seal them off, leaving the inhabitants free to determine their own futures.
inhabitants free to determine their own futures.
Julia laughed, leaning against Hull. "Now we can take it easy. Sure, you're invited to stay. We can take out permanent cohabitation papers if you want to --"
Hull leaned forward suddenly, his body rigid. "Where's the Tube?" he demanded. The strip should be hitting it any minute."
Julia peered ahead, frowning. "Something's wrong. Slow down."
Hull slowed the car. An obstruction signal was flashing ahead. Cars were stopping on all sides, shifting into emergency retard lanes.
He ground the car to a halt. Rocket cruisers were sweeping overhead, exhaust tubes shattering the evening silence. A dozen uniformed men ran across a field, directing a rumbling robot derrick.
"What the hell --" Hull muttered. A soldier stepped up to the car, swinging a communication flare.
"Turn around. We need the whole strip."
"But -"
"What happened?" Julia asked.
"The Tube. Earthquake, someplace halfway out. Broke the Tube in ten sections." The soldier hurried off. Construction robots rushed past in a hand cart, assembling equipment as they went.
Julia and Hull stared at each other wide-eyed. "Good Lord," Hull muttered. "Ten places. And the Tube must have been full of cars."
A Red Cross ship landed, its ports grating open. Dollies shuttled across to it, loading injured men.
Two relief workers appeared. They opened the door to Hull's car, getting in the back. "Drive us to town." They sank down, exhausted. "We got to get more help. Hurry it."
"Sure." Hull started the car again, gained speed.
"How did it happen?" Julia asked one of the grim-faced exhausted men, who dabbed automatically at the cuts on his face and neck.
"Earthquake."
"But why? Didn't they build it so --"
"Big quake." The man shook his head wearily. "Nobody expected. Total loss. Thousands of cars. Tens of thousands of people."
The other worker grunted. "An act of God."
Hull stiffened suddenly. His eyes flickered.
"What is it?" Julia asked him.
"Nothing."
"Are you sure? Is something wrong?"
Hull said nothing. He was deep in thought, his face a mask of startled, growing horror.
Breakfast at Twilight
"Dad?" Earl asked, hurrying out of the bathroom, "you going to drive us to school today?"
Tim McLean poured himself a second cup of coffee. "You kids can walk for a change. The car's in the garage."
Judy pouted. "It's raining."
"No it isn't," Virginia corrected her sister. She drew the shade back. "It's all foggy, but it isn't raining."