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skyscrapers are the center we re not getting any closer. If we jootz we could
lose this completely...
| I m all for that, Carol said.
| I don t think we should. There s a significance here.
| Let s call a cab.
She was only half joking. They could make certain features manifest; but under
the present circumstances Martin was reluctant to impose their imaging on the
Country unless it was strictly necessary. It might be possible to compromise,
however; to find a feature they could coax into usefulness.
| Find a subway, he said.
They looked around; no subway station entrances.
The drums persisted like staccato heartbeats.
And he said he was a Brooklyn boy, Carol said, frowning.
| Hasn t lived there in a long time. Maybe we can explore the buildings
again.., go into the basements.
Suggest that there s some method of transportation.
They walked over to what might have been an empty grocery on the first floor
of a two story stone building that ran the length of the block. The inside of
the grocery was more detailed; aisles and shelves, a cash register made of
something that resembled slate more of a sculpture than a machine. Carol
reached over to touch the stone keys.
| There s a door, Martin said. They walked through the middle aisle to the
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rear, pushed through a double swinging door and found themselves looking into
an immense garbage pit buried deep in a cavern. A railed parapet beyond the
door overlooked the pit.
God, Carol said. It s not just garbage. It s bodies. More bones.
Martin again saw piles of shattered crockery faces rather than bones. He had
never observed anything like this in a Country; on the edge of nightmare,
these signs seemed to point to some internal warfare, internal genocide.
| We re not getting anywhere not seeing much Goldsmith, Martin said. We re
just seeing a shell.
| Maybe we re in a trap, Carol said.
| I ve never observed anything deceptive in the Country.
| We ve never observed anything like this, either.
Martin thought about the possibility of a maze. Could Goldsmith s mental
resources have put up barricades against their probe? Goldsmith wouldn t know
what to expect from a probe but his various organons could conceivably set up
resistance to avoid painful self-revelations.
| You might have specked it. Maybe we re looking at a deliberate coverup,
Martin said. A maze with misleading details... Not lies or deceptions but
detours and decoys.
Carol grimaced at the pit. | If this is petty detail, what s the hard stuff
like?
We re not going to find anything useful here.
Back on the street Martin reached down to touch the apparent asphalt. The
pebbled texture at first was unresolved but almost immediately became rough
and totally convincing. He glanced up at Carol. She wavered for the merest
moment before becoming solid.
| I think it s time to exercise some authority, he said.
| About time. What first?
| We need a street that leads directly to the heart of the city. Let s
say over there.
He pointed to the next street crossing, frowned melodramatically to show
intense concentration and gestured with a wave of his hand for her to do
likewise. Nothing visibly changed but such authority was best exercised on
objects or situations out of sight. There was less to overtly restyle that
way. All right. Let s try it.
They walked to the corner and stood facing the distant skyline. Straight as an
arrow the new street pointed toward the city. The drumming sound had stopped;
now all they heard was a distant rustling sound like taffeta skirts or wind
through palm leaves.
| Maybe we haven t changed anything; maybe this Street just happened to go
that way, Carol said.
Martin concentrated again, deciding he would try the next restyling alone. An
engine roared behind them. They turned to see an old diesel bus smoking
noisily toward them.
Martin put his hand out and grasped a bus stop post that he had not noticed
before.
| I m getting the touch again, he said.
The bus pulled up beside the curb and opened its door. The design was late
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