Larry gazed for a long time at the imitation gypsy orchestra; at the bustling waitresses; the chatting ladies; the recessed neon lighting. Numbness crept over him. He sagged.

"What's the matter?" Allison caught his arm crossly. "What's the matter with you?"

"What – what happened?" Larry waved his hand feebly at the interior. "There been an accident?"

"Oh, this. I forgot to tell you. I spoke to Mr O'Mallery about it. Just before I met you last night."

"Mr O'Mallery?"

"He owns this building. He's an old friend of mine. I pointed out how – how dirty and unattractive his little place was getting. I pointed out what a few improvements would do."

Larry made his way outside, onto the sidewalk. He ground his cigarette out with his heel and shoved his hands in his pockets.

Allison hurried after him, her cheeks red with indignation. "Larry! Where are you going?"

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight?" She stared at him in astonishment. "What do you mean?"

"I'm going."

"Going where?"

"Out. Home. To the park. Anywhere." Larry started off down the sidewalk, hunched over, hands in his pockets.

Allison caught up with him, stepping angrily in front of him. "Have you gone out of your mind? Do you know what you're saying?"

"Sure. I'm leaving you; we're splitting up. Well, it was nice. See you sometime."

The two spots in Allison's cheeks glowed like two red coals. "Just a minute, Mr Brewster. I think you've forgotten something." Her voice was hard and brittle.

"Forgotten something? Like what?"

"You can't leave; you can't walk out on me."

Larry raised an eyebrow. "I can't?"

"I think you better reconsider, while you still have time."

"I don't get your drift." Larry yawned. "I think I'll go home to my three room apartment and go to bed. I'm tired." He started past her.

"Have you forgotten?" Allison snapped. "Have you forgotten that you're not completely real! That you exist only as a part of my world?"

"Lord! Are you going to start that again?"

"Better think about it before you walk off. You exist for my benefit, Mr Brewster. This is my world; remember that. Maybe in your own world things are different, but this is my world. And in my world things do as I say."

"So long," Larry Brewster said.

"You're – you're still leaving?"

Slowly, Larry Brewster shook his head. "No," he said. "No, as a matter of fact, I'm not; I've changed my mind. You're too much trouble. You're leaving."

And as he spoke a ball of radiant light gently settled over Allison Holmes, engulfing her in a glowing aura of splendor. The ball of light lifted, carrying Miss Holmes up into the air, raising her effortlessly above the level of the buildings, into the evening sky.

Larry Brewster watched calmly, as the ball of light carried Miss Holmes off. He was not surprised to see her gradually fade and grow indistinct – until all at once there was nothing. Nothing but a faint shimmer in the sky. Allison Holmes was gone.

For a long time Larry Brewster stood, deep in thought, rubbing his jaw reflectively. He would miss Allison Holmes. In some ways he had liked her; for a while, she had been fun. Well, she was off now. In this world, Allison Holmes had not been completely real. What he had known, what Larry had called "Allison Holmes," wasn't any more than a partial appearance of her.

Then he paused, remembering: as the ball of radiant light had carried her away, he had seen a glimpse – a glimpse past her into a different world, one which was obviously her world, her real world, the world she wanted. The buildings were uncomfortably familiar; he could still remember the house…

Then – Allison had been real, after all – existing in Larry's world, until the time came for her to be transported to hers. Would she find another Larry Brewster there – one who saw eye-to-eye with her? He shuddered at the thought.

In fact, the whole experience had been somewhat unnerving.

"I wonder why," he murmured softly. He thought back to other unpleasant events, remembering how they had led him to greater satisfactions for their having happened – richness of experience he could not have appreciated without them. "Ah well," he sighed, "it's all for the best."

He started to walk home slowly, hands in his pockets, glancing up at the sky every now and then, as if for confirmation…

A Surface Raid

Harl left the third level, catching a tube car going North. The tube car carried him swiftly through one of the big junction bubbles and down to the fifth level. Harl caught an exciting, fugitive glimpse of people and outlets, a complex tangle of mid-period business and milling confusion.

Then the bubble was behind him and he was nearing his destination, the vast industrial fifth level, sprawling below everything else like some gigantic, soot-encrusted octopus of the night's misrule.

The gleaming tube car ejected him and continued on its way, disappearing down the tube. Harl bounded agilely into the receiving strip and slowed to a stop, still on his feet, swaying expertly back and forth.

A few minutes later he reached the entrance to his father's office. Harl raised his hand and the code door slid back. He entered, his heart thumping with excitement. The time had come.

Edward Boynton was in the planning department studying the outline for a new robot bore when he was informed that his son had entered the main office.

"I'll be right back," Boynton said, making his way past his policy staff and up the ramp into the office.

"Hello, Dad," Harl exclaimed, squaring his shoulders. Father and son exchanged handclasps. Then Harl sat down slowly. "How are things?" he asked. "I guess you expected me."

Then Edward Boynton seated himself behind his desk. "What do you want here?" he demanded. "You know I'm busy."

Harl smiled thinly across at his father. In his brown industrial-planner uniform, Edward Boynton towered above his young son, a massive man with broad shoulders and thick blond hair. His blue eyes were cold and hard as he returned the young man's level gaze.

"I happened to come into some information." Harl glanced uneasily around the room. "Your office isn't tapped, is it?"

"Of course not," the elder Boynton assured him.

"No screens or ears?" Harl relaxed a little. "I've learned that you and several others from your department are going up to the surface soon." Harl leaned eagerly toward his father. "Up to the surface – on a raid for saps."

Ed Boynton's face darkened. "Where did you hear that?" He gazed intently at his son. "Did anyone in this department -?"

"No," Harl said quickly. "No one informed. I picked up the information on my own, in connection with my educational activities."

Ed Boynton began to understand. "I see. You were experimenting with channel taps, cutting across the confidential channels. Like they teach you to do in communications."

"That's right. I happened to pick up a conversation between you and Robin Turner concerning the raid."

The atmosphere in the room became easier, more friendly. Ed Boynton relaxed, settling back in his chair. "Go on," he urged.

"It was mere chance. I had cut across ten or twelve channels, holding each one for only a second. I was using the Youth League equipment. All at once I recognized your voice. So I stayed on and caught the whole conversation."

"Then you heard most of it."

Harl nodded. "Exactly when are you going up, Dad? Have you set an exact date?"

Ed Boynton frowned. "No," he said, "I haven't. But it will be sometime this week. Almost everything is arranged."

"How many are going?" Harl asked.

"We're taking up one mother ship and about thirty eggs. All from this department."