WALL OF CRYSTAL, EYE OF NIGHT
By ALGIS BUDRYS
Illustrated by DICK FRANCIS
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Galaxy Magazine December 1961.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
He was a vendor of dreams, purveying worlds
beyond imagination to others. Yet his doom was this:
He could not see what he must learn of his own!
Soft as the voice of a mourning dove, the telephone sounded at RufusSollenar's desk. Sollenar himself was standing fifty paces away, hisleonine head cocked, his hands flat in his hip pockets, watching thenighted world through the crystal wall that faced out over ManhattanIsland. The window was so high that some of what he saw was dimmed bylow clouds hovering over the rivers. Above him were stars; below himthe city was traced out in light and brimming with light. A fallingstar—an interplanetary rocket—streaked down toward Long IslandFacility like a scratch across the soot on the doors of Hell.
Sollenar's eyes took it in, but he was watching the total scene, notany particular part of it. His eyes were shining.
When he heard the telephone, he raised his left hand to his lips."Yes?" The hand glittered with utilijem rings; the effect was thatof an attempt at the sort of copper-binding that was once used toreinforce the ribbing of wooden warships.
His personal receptionist's voice moved from the air near his deskto the air near his ear. Seated at the monitor board in her office,wherever in this building her office was, the receptionist told him:
"Mr. Ermine says he has an appointment."
"No." Sollenar dropped his hand and returned to his panorama. When hehad been twenty years younger—managing the modest optical factory thathad provided the support of three generations of Sollenars—he had verymuch wanted to be able to stand in a place like this, and feel as heimagined men felt in such circumstances. But he felt unimaginable, now.
To be here was one thing. To have almost lost the right, and regainedit at the last moment, was another. Now he knew that not only could hebe here today but that tomorrow, and tomorrow, he could still be here.He had won. His gamble had given him EmpaVid—and EmpaVid would givehim all.
The city was not merely a prize set down before his eyes. It was adynamic system he had proved he could manipulate. He and the city wereone. It buoyed and sustained him; it supported him, here in the air,with stars above and light-thickened mist below.
The telephone mourned: "Mr. Ermine states he has a firm appointment."
"I've never heard of him." And the left hand's utilijems fell fromSollenar's lips again. He enjoyed such toys. He raised his right hand,sheathed in insubstantial midnight-blue silk in which the silverthreads of metallic wiring ran subtly toward the fingertips. He raisedthe hand, and touched two fingers together: music began to play behindand before him. He made contact between another combination of fingercircuits, and a soft, feminine laugh came from the terrace at the otherside of the room, where connecting doors had opened. He moved towardit. One layer of translucent drapery remained across the doorway,billowing lightly in the breeze from the terrace. Through it, he sawthe taboret with its candle l