“To remain still is to flow with the will of OMM,” the monk droned on. “The breath of OMM is infinitely slow, yet he breathes. Avail thyselves. Let us pray:
“Unify of mind, unit of thought, unity of behavior. Blessings of the masses. Thou art subjects of the divine.”
Suddenly the light flicked off, leaving nothing but a residual fluorescence from OMM’s gentle face. The monk and camera crews seemed to disappear. Somewhere off in that distance SEN saw a door flung open, letting in a shaft of dust-filled light. The door slammed shut again, echoingly. SEN flinched at the sound.
After a long time in silence and darkness, he began to creep along the wall, staying to the deepest shadows, but edging toward the still-radiating portrait of OMM.
Finally he was there, standing before the sad-eyed, bearded face that loomed five stories above him. The holocameras were clustered around him, their cables littering the floor. Stacked against the pulpit that the monk had used for his sermon were giant cards with huge letters stencilled on them:
BEFORE OMM WAS OMM
AFTER OMM WILL BE OMM
SEN stood trembling beore the portrait.
“I’ve always done what I knew was best—for everybody. I haven’t been like the rest of them: lazy, unthinking, thieves and liars. I’ve used the skills you gave me to lead other men, to make them better, to bring them closer to your perfection…
“I… I’ve just tried to make things easier—not change anything… or hurt you. That’s right, isn’t it? You never said it was wrong… Things don’t seem to make sense.”
Sinking to his knees, “Sometimes things get left out, or they don’t seem to fit… most people can’t see them, or they don’t know what to do. Sometimes just little adjustments can make all the difference.”
The portrait of OMM looked down on him placidly.
“I want to do the right things… I want to go back… I can start again. I can help. I just need to rest for a while.”
A door opened somewhere and footsteps clicked hurriedly on the hard plastistone flooring. Panicky, saucer-eyed, SEN jerked around to see who was coming. Dimly visible in the shadowy cathedral, a chubby little white-robed monk was coming toward him. SEN got to his feet, shaking all over, as the monk approached.
The monk called out, “You there! This is not the place for prayer.” His voice echoed sepulchrally.
“If you want to speak with OMM you must go to a prayer booth, or a unichurch. You know that. We’ve got to tape another holosermon here in fifteen minutes—”
“But I—”
“No, no. The camera crews will be back in a few minutes. Go pray at the proper stations.”
“Yes,” SEN muttered.
“What?” The monk was close enough now for SEN to see his eyes peering at him from under the white cowl. “Are you in any trouble?”
“No, no … I’m all right,” SEN answered hurriedly. “I’m going now.”
The monk put out a hand to stop him. “Where’s your badge? What’s your number and prefix. I’m going to have to put this in your record.”
“No, I’ll just leave.”
Holding him by the shoulder, the monk insisted, “I’m sorry, I have to report all intruders. Where is your identification badge?”
SEN glanced down at his empty lapel. “I lost it.”
“But that’s a violation. I’m going to notify the authorities. This is beyond my jurisdiction.”
The monk turned to head back toward wherever he came from. Frenzied with fear, SEN pounced on his back, knocked the white-robed figure to the floor.
“No! Give… give me time!”
The monk began shouting, struggling. SEN kicked at hun, dropped to all fours on top of him and grabbed at his cowl.
“Time!” he snapped, his voice hoarse with violence and terror. “Time! Time! Time!” And with each word he pounded the monk’s head against the plastistone flooring.
When he stopped, the monk’s white robe was splattered with red and his eyes were staring up sightlessly at OMM’s benign face.
SEN rocked back on his heels, staring in horror at the monk. Slowly he looked up at the portrait.
“OMM… OMM… what have I done?”
He looked back at the body. In the struggle, some pills had spilled from the pocket of the monk’s robe. They were scattered around the floor now, red pills and blue, yellow and white. SEN scooped a handful of them indiscriminately and swallowed them with a huge, hard gulp.
THX sat slumped across the computer desk’s keyboard. He wanted to be dead, but he wasn’t even unconscious… He just stayed there, without the strength or will to move. Destroyed, she was destroyed. And the baby… they’re going to…
Suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder.
He wheeled around. It was SRT, his black face very serious now. “Come on,” he said, “there must be a hundred police robots prowling around here. We’ve got to get out.”
“What difference does it make?”
SRT eyed him. “You want to get caught? Destroyed, maybe?”
Shakily, THX got to his feet. “No… not yet. I have to do something first.”
The Mercicontrol police dispatcher was sitting at a bank of viewscreens very similar to the station of an observer. But his screens showed what a platoon of police robots were seeing. Except that, in the main screen, directly in front of him, he had patched in the observer’s overhead view through the fisheye lens of THX and SRT.
His earphones were alive with calls:
“Both felons located in Computer Central Files, are 621B, Row 44-8-9. Apprehension pending.”
“I have a nonaccidental death in Cathedral 090, Con F. Are there any felons reported in that area?”
“Budget control, we need a cost analysis on the THX 1138 account. Include all interest and inflation percentages.”
“Monetary unit totaclass="underline" 649 and rising.”
“Mercicontrol dispatch, budget control reports expenditure on 1138 prefix THX is 649 and rising.”
The dispatcher nodded absent-mindedly. He was manipulating control switches madly, fingers flying over his keyboard as he tried to coordinate the actions of a full platoon of police robots.
The two fugitives were standing now, starting to move off.
“No, no,” he shouted into his lip mike. “Take the central aisle, 04; 07 take the main left. I want you to make a net. Cover every aisle, surround station 4350…”
The dispatcher was sweating hard.
“They’re heading down the left central aisle in the northward direction. Who’s closest? Take 34, units 09 through 17… cover all the north exits. Full speed!”
“Monetary unit totaclass="underline" 1000 and rising.”
Suddenly Control’s knife-edged voice said in his earphones, “Do you realize that the man with THX 1138 is not SEN 5241?”
“Yessir!” the dispatcher replied instantaneously. “We’re running an identification check on him, sir.”
“Where is SEN 5241?”
“We… we… lost track of him, sir. All observers have been alerted to report his location as soon as he’s spotted, sir.”
“I see.” Control’s voice was like icewater being poured over the dispatcher. Or molten lead.
“Sir?” the dispatcher called, trembling. “Sir, we could use another two platoons of police officers. The Computer Central File area is so big… as you know, sir. And the robots are very slow. But one man can’t handle more than a single platoon, so we’d need at least two more dispatchers…”
“Economically unfeasible within the allotted budget for apprehension of these felons,” Control answered. “You’ll have to get them with the one platoon assigned.”
“But sir…”
“The responsibility is yours,” said Control, with finality.