He Who Shapes (16 page)

he grinned.

"Sigmund likes to hunt, too," she observed. "Twice every

year we go up to the North Woods and I turn him loose. He's

gone for days at a time, and he's always quite happy when he

returns. Never says what he's done, but he's never hungry.

Back when I got him I guessed that he would need vacations

from humanity to stay stable. I think I was right."

The lift stopped, the door opened, and they walked out into

the hall, Render guiding her again.

Inside his office, he poked at the thermostat and warm air

sighed through the room. He hung their coats in the inner office

and brought the great egg out from its nest behind the wall.

He connected it to an outlet and moved to convert his desk into

a control panel.

"How long do you think it will take?" she asked, running her

fingertips over the smooth, cold curves of the egg.
 
"The

whole thing, I mean. The entire adaptation to seeing."

He wondered.

"I have no idea," he said, "no idea whatsoever, yet. We got

off to a good start, but there's still a lot of work to be done. I

think I'll be able to make a good guess in another three

months."

She nodded wistfully, moved to his desk, explored the

controls with fingerstrokes like ten feathers.

"Careful you don't push any of those."

"I won't. How long do you think it will take me to learn to

operate one?"

"Three months to learn it. Six, to actually become proficient

enough to use it on anyone; and an additional six under close

supervision before you can be trusted on your own.About a

year altogether."

"Uh-huh." She chose a chair.

Render touched the seasons to life, and the phases of day

and night, the breath of the country, the city, the elements that

raced naked through the skies, and all the dozens of dancing

cues he used to build worlds. He smashed the clock of time and

tasted the seven or so ages of man.

"Okay," he turned, "everything is ready."

It came quickly, and with a minimum of suggestion on

Render's part. One moment there was grayness. Then a dead-

white fog. Then it broke itself apart, as though a quick wind

had arisen, although he neither heard nor felt a wind.

He stood beside the willow tree beside the lake, and she

stood half-hidden among the branches and the lattices of

shadow. The sun was slanting its way into evening.

"We have come back," she said, stepping out, leaves in her

hair. "For a time I was afraid it had never happened, but I see it

all again, and I remember now."

"Good," he said. "Behold yourself." And she looked into the

lake.

"I have not changed," she said. "I haven't changed . . ."

"No."

"But you have," she continued, looking up at him. "You are

taller, and there is something different . . ."

"No," he answered.

"I am mistaken," she said quickly, "I don't understand

everything I see yet. I will though."

"Of course."

"What are we going to do?"

"Watch," he instructed her.

Along a flat, no-colored river of road she just then noticed

beyond the trees, came the car. It came from the farthest

quarter of the sky, skipping over the mountains, buzzing down

the hills, circling through the glades, and splashing them with

the colors of its voicethe gray and the silver of synchronized

potencyand the lake shivered from its sounds, and the car

stopped a hundred feet away, masked by the shrubberies; and

it waited. It was the S-7.

"Come with me," he said, taking her hand. "We're going for

a ride."

They walked among the trees and rounded the final cluster

of bushes. She touched the sleek cocoon, its antennae, its tires,

its windowsand the windows transpared as she did so. She

stared through them at the inside of the car, and she nodded.

"It is your Spinner."

"Yes." He held the door for her. "Get in. We'll return to the

club. The time is now. The memories are fresh, and they should

be reasonably pleasant, or neutral."

"Pleasant," she said, getting in.

He closed the door, then circled the car and entered. She

watched as he punched imaginary coordinates. The car leapt

ahead and he kept a steady stream of trees flowing bythem.He

could feel the rising tension, so he did not vary the scenery. She

swiveled her seat and studied the interior of the car.

"Yes," she finally said, "I can perceive what everything is."

She stared out the window again. She looked at the rushing

trees.
 
Render stared out and looked upon rushing anxiety

patterns. He opaqued the windows.

"Good," she said, "Thank you. Suddenly it was too much to

seeall of it, moving past like a . . ."

"Of course," said Render, maintaining the sensations of

forward motion. "I'd anticipated that. You're getting tougher,

though."

After a moment, "Relax," he said, "relax now," and

somewhere a button was pushed, and she relaxed, and they

drove on, and on and on, and finally the car began to slow, and

Render said, "Just for one nice, slow glimpse now, look out your

window."

She did.

He drew upon every stimulus in the bank which could

promote sensations of pleasure and relaxation, and he dropped

the city around the car, and the windows became transparent,

and she looked out upon the profiles of towers and a block of

monolithic apartments, and then she saw three rapid cafeterias,

an entertainment palace, a drugstore, a medical center of

yellow brick with an aluminum caducous set above its archway,

and a glassed-in high school, now emptied of its pupils, a fifty-

pump gas station, another drugstore, and many more cars,

parked or roaring by them, and people, people moving in and

out of the doorways and walking before the buildings and

getting into the cars and getting out of the cars; and it was

summer, and the light of late afternoon filtered down upon the

colors of the city and the colors of the garments the people wore

as they moved along the boulevard, as they loafed upon the

terraces, as they crossed the balconies, leaned on balustrades

and windowsills, emerged from a corner kiosk, entered one,

stood talking to one another; a woman walking a poodle

rounded a corner; rockets went to and fro in the high sky.

The world fell apart then and Render caught the pieces.

He maintained an absolute blackness, blanketing every

sensation but that of their movement forward.

After a time a dim light occurred, and they were still seated

in the Spinner, windows blanked again, and the air as they

breathed it became a soothing unguent.

"Lord," she said, "the world is so filled. Did I really see all of

that?"

"I wasn't going to do that tonight, but you wanted me to. You

seemed ready."

"Yes," she said, and the windows became transparent again.

She turned away quickly.

"It's gone," he said. "I only wanted to give you a glimpse."

She looked, and it was dark outside now, and they were

crossing over a high bridge. They were moving slowly. There

was no other traffic. Below them were the Flats, where an

occasional smelter flared like a tiny, drowsing volcano, spitting

showers of orange sparks skyward; and there were many stars:

they glistened on the breathing water that went beneath the

bridge; they silhouetted by pinprick the skyline that hovered

dimly below its surface. The slanting struts of the bridge

marched steadily by.

"You have done it," she said, "and I thank you." Then: "Who

are you, really?" (He must have wanted her to ask that.)

"I am Render," he laughed. And they wound their way

through a dark, now-vacant city, coming at last to their club

and entering the great parking dome.

Inside, he scrutinized all her feelings, ready to banish the

world at a moment's notice. He did not feel he would have to,

though.

They left the car, moved ahead. They passed into the club,

which he had decided would not be crowded tonight. They

were shown to their table at the foot of the bar in the small room

with the suit of armor, and they sat down and ordered the same

meal over again.

"No," he said, looking down, "it belongs over there."

The suit of armor appeared once again beside the table, and

he was once again inside his gray suit and black tie and silver

tie clasp shaped like a treelimb.

They laughed.

"I'm just not the type to wear a tin suit, so I wish you'd stop

seeing me that way."

"I'm sorry," she smiled. "I don't know how I did that, or

why."

"I do, and I decline the nomination. Also, I caution you once

again. You are conscious of the fact that this is all an illusion. I

had to do it that way for you to get the full benefit of the thing.

For most of my patients though, it is the real item while they

are experiencing it. It makes a counter-trauma or a' symbolic

sequence even more powerful. You are aware of the parameters

of the game, however, and whether you want it or not this gives

you a different sort of control over it than I normally have to

deal with. Please be careful."