It Could Be Anything

by Keith Laumer

System, the other planets?"

  "What are those?"

  "Other worlds. They all circle around the sun, like the Earth."

  "Other worlds, eh? Sailing around up under the roof? Funny; I never sawthem." Dhuva snickered. "Wake up, Brett. Forget all those stories. Justbelieve what you see."

  "What about that brown thing?"

  "The Gels? They run this place. Look out for them, Brett. Stay alert.Don't let them see you."

  * * *

  "What do they do?"

  "I don't know--and I don't want to find out. This is a great place--Ilike it here. I have all I want to eat, plenty of nice rooms forsleeping. There's the parades and the scenes. It's a good life--as longas you keep out of sight."

  "How do you get out of here?" Brett asked, finishing his coffee.

  "Don't know how to get out; over the wall, I suppose. I don't plan toleave though. I left home in a hurry. The Duke--never mind. I'm notgoing back."

  "Are all the people here ... golems?" Brett said. "Aren't there any morereal people?"

  "You're the first I've seen. I spotted you as soon as I saw you. A liveman moves different than a golem. You see golems doing things likeknitting their brows, starting back in alarm, looking askance, andstanding arms akimbo. And they have things like pursed lips and knowingglances and mirthless laughter. You know: all the things you read about,that real people never do. But now that you're here, I've got somebodyto talk to. I did get lonesome, I admit. I'll show you where I stay andwe'll fix you up with a bed."

  "I won't be around that long."

  "What can you get outside that you can't get here? There's everythingyou need here in the city. We can have a great time."

  "You sound like my Aunt Haicey," Brett said. "She said I had everythingI needed back in Casperton. How does she know what I need? How do youknow? How do I know myself? I can tell you I need more than food and aplace to sleep--"

  "What more?"

  "Everything. Things to think about and something worth doing. Why, evenin the movies--"

  "What's a movie?"

  "You know, a play, on film. A moving picture."

  "A picture that moves?"

  "That's right."

  "This is something the priests told you about?" Dhuva seemed to beholding in his mirth.

  "Everybody's seen movies."

  Dhuva burst out laughing. "Those priests," he said. "They're the sameeverywhere, I see. The stories they tell, and people believe them. Whatelse?"

  "Priests have nothing to do with it."

  Dhuva composed his features. "What do they tell you about Grat, and theWheel?"

  "Grat? What's that?"

  "The Over-Being. The Four-eyed One." Dhuva made a sign, caught himself."Just habit," he said. "I don't believe that rubbish. Never did."

  "I suppose you're talking about God," Brett said.

  "I don't know about God. Tell me about it."

  "He's the creator of the world. He's ... well, superhuman. He knowseverything that happens, and when you die, if you've led a good life,you meet God in Heaven."

  "Where's that?"

  "It's ..." Brett waved a hand vaguely, "up above."

  "But you said there was just emptiness up above," Dhuva recalled. "Andsome other worlds whirling around, like islands adrift in the sea."

  "Well--"

  "Never mind," Dhuva held up his hands. "Our priests are liars too. Allthat balderdash about the Wheel and the River of Fire. It's just as badas your Hivvel or whatever you called it. And our Grat and your Mud, orGog: they're the same--" Dhuva's head went up. "What's that?"

  "I didn't hear anything."

  * * *

  Dhuva got to his feet, turned to the door. Brett rose. A towering brownshape, glassy and transparent, hung in the door, its surface rippling.Dhuva whirled, leaped past Brett, dived for the rear door. Brett stoodfrozen. The shape flowed--swift as quicksilver--caught Dhuva inmid-stride, engulfed him. For an instant Brett saw the thin figure, legskicking, upended within the muddy form of the Gel. Then the turbid waveswept across to the door, sloshed it aside, disappeared. Dhuva was gone.

  Brett stood rooted, staring at the doorway. A bar of sunlight fellacross the dusty floor. A brown mouse ran along the baseboard. It wasvery quiet. Brett went to the door through which the Gel haddisappeared, hesitated a moment, then thrust it open.

  He was looking down into a great dark pit, acres in extent, its sidesriddled with holes, the amputated ends of water and sewage lines andpower cables dangling. Far below light glistened from the surface of ablack pool. A few feet away the waitress stood unmoving in the dark on anarrow strip of linoleum. At her feet the chasm yawned. The edge of thefloor was ragged, as though it had been gnawed away by rats. There wasno sign of Dhuva.

  Brett stepped back into the dining room, let the door swing shut. Hetook a deep breath, picked up a paper napkin from a table and wiped hisforehead, dropped the napkin on the floor and went out into the street,his suitcase forgotten now. At the corner he turned, walked along pastsilent shop windows crowded with home permanents, sun glasses,fingernail polish, suntan lotion, paper cartons, streamers, plastictoys, vari-colored garments of synthetic fiber, home remedies, beautyaids, popular music, greeting cards ...

  At the next corner he stopped, looking down the silent streets. Nothingmoved. Brett went to a window in a grey concrete wall, pulled himself upto peer through the dusty pane, saw a room filled with tailor's forms,garment racks, a bicycle, bundled back issues of magazines withoutcovers.

  He went along to a door. It was solid, painted shut. The next doorlooked easier. He wrenched at the tarnished brass nob, then stepped backand kicked the door. With a hollow sound the door fell inward, takingwith it the jamb. Brett stood staring at the gaping opening. A fragmentof masonry dropped with a dry clink. Brett stepped through the breach inthe grey facade. The black pool at the bottom of the pit winked aflicker of light back at him in the deep gloom.

  * * *

  Around him, the high walls of the block of buildings loomed insilhouette; the squares of the windows were ranks of luminous blueagainst the dark. Dust motes danced in shafts of sunlight. Far above,the roof was dimly visible, a spidery tangle of trusswork. And below wasthe abyss.

  At Brett's feet the stump of a heavy brass rail projected an inch fromthe floor. It was long enough, Brett thought, to give firm anchor to arope. Somewhere below, Dhuva--a stranger who had befriended him--lay inthe grip of the Gels. He would do what he could--but he neededequipment--and help. First he would find a store with rope, guns,knives. He would--

  The broken edge of masonry where the door had been caught his eye. Theshell of the wall, exposed where the door frame had torn away, waswafer-thin. Brett reached up, broke off a piece. The outer face--theside that showed on the street--was smooth, solid-looking. The back wasporous, nibbled. Brett stepped outside, examined the wall. He kicked atthe grey surface. A great piece of wall, six feet high, broke intofragments, fell on the sidewalk with a crash, driving out a puff ofdust. Another section fell. One piece of it skidded away, clattered downinto the depths. Brett heard a distant splash. He looked at the greatjagged opening in the wall--like a jigsaw picture with a piece missing.He turned and started off at a trot, his mouth dry, his pulse thumpingpainfully in his chest.

  Two blocks from the hollow building, Brett slowed to a walk, hisfootsteps echoing in the empty street. He looked into each store windowas he passed. There were artificial legs, bottles of colored water,immense dolls, wigs, glass eyes--but no rope. Brett tried to think. Whatkind of store would handle rope? A marine supply company, maybe. Butwhere would he find one?

  Perhaps it would be easiest to look in a telephone book. Ahead he saw asign lettered HOTEL. Brett went up to the revolving door, pushed inside.He was in a dim, marble-panelled lobby, with double doors leading intoa beige-carpeted bar on his right, the brass-painted cage of an elevatordirectly before him, flanked by tall urns of sand and an ascendingstaircase. On the left was a
dark mahogany-finished reception desk.Behind the desk a man stood silently, waiting. Brett felt a wild surgeof relief.

  "Those things, those Gels!" he called, starting across the room. "Myfriend--"

  He broke off. The clerk stood, staring over Brett's shoulder, holding apen poised over a book. Brett reached out, took the pen. The man'sfinger curled stiffly around nothing. A golem.

  * * *

  Brett turned away, went into the bar. Vacant stools were ranged before adark mirror. At the tables empty glasses stood before empty chairs.Brett started as