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willed it. He was not satisfied, but his small successes would have to do.
Mogart hadn't indicated the time rate for this place, and he couldnt wait
forever in any event. Somewhere in this vast expanse of nothingness was a
demon
'
with a jewel he had to have.
He decided to start walking, but stopped short as he scanned the place from
horizon to horizon and saw nothing to aim for. Last time Mogart had led him
almost to the exact spot. And then he saw it.
It wasn't much, just a dull glow on the horizon to his left. For a moment he
wasn't positive that his imagination wasn't playing tricks on him. But he had
nothing else to aim at, anyway, so he started walking toward the glow.
It took him over an hour to close in on it. But the closer he came, the more
certain he was that this had to be the place, and he became wary.
It was a town, that was for sure. It looked a little like something out of an
old western movie-a couple or three blocks square with a main street of rutted
dirt lined with storefronts and watering troughs and hitching posts. From a
large building that had to be the saloon came the sound of a piano and with it
the sound of human activity, of people being merry.
He wished now that he had a gun, some sort of protection. No telling who or
what was in the town -perhaps a "leftover" of somebody else's practice
session, perhaps even Abaddon himself.
He stood still, visualizing a pistol and holster with gunbelt, and felt the
energy flow and the proper form take place around his waist. The gun
was wrong, though, he decided, too much in the western period
suggested by the town. But what kind of pistol did he want? One
that was accurate, wouldn't easily run out of ammunition, and would
be light and easy to use without kicking like the .45 caliber thing
he held. He tried again, retaining the shape if possible but
otherwise wishing for the properties of a laser-based pistol he'd seen
once in a science-fiction movie. He had no idea if such a thing actually
existed, but that made no difference if he could get his idea across.
The pistol changed. Outwardly it still looked like a .45 circa 1880, but
its barrel was solidly plugged with a screenlike seal, and inside he could
see some sort of rod. It also felt a lot lighter, almost like a plastic toy.
He was still a way from the town. He looked over to his right, materialized a
wooden stake, then took aim and fired. There was a whine and a beam of
ruby-colored light reached out. He missed the stake but managed to use
the beam to bring it quickly to bear. The stake shimmered and
vanished.
He released the trigger and looked again at the pistol. Pretty good. He added
a small lever on it that allowed him to stun if it were up and
disintegrate if it were down, and then holstered the weapon. He was
beginning to enjoy this magic stuff. Satisfied, he walked into the town.
There were torchlights and kerosene lanterns all about; the place was pretty
well lit up in the perma-nent twilight. It sounded busy, too-the sounds of
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an active and living town were all around him. And yet there were no people on
the street, no animals-al-though he heard the occasional sound of a
horse or dog-nothing. Feeling like a character in an old movie, he
headed for the brightly lit saloon from which the sounds of laughter and
lots of people milling about emanated.
As he approached the swinging double doors, though, he could see nothing but
light inside. When he stepped through, all sound stopped, and not because
everyone had turned to see a stranger.
There was no one in the hall. No one at all. Card tables had hands dealt and
money lay on the tables; cigarettes and cigars smoldered in ashtrays as
if put down just a moment before, and half-touched drinks were lining
the bar. A roulette wheel was still turning to his left, and he heard it slow
and the ball drop into its slot.
Now what the hell?
he thought anxiously, looking around.
He walked around the large room looking for someone, anyone. He
walked upstairs and checked the rooms-more still-lit smokes and the
appearance that people had been there only moments earlier, but not a
living thing to be seen.
He walked back down to the deserted bar, confused. Either a deserted or an
active town he could have taken, but one in which there was the
semblance of life without the living was
unnerving indeed.
He returned to the street, and ten steps from the saloon door he heard the
sounds of furious yet normal activity resume there. He was tempted to go back
but decided not to.
There was a sign saying CAFE across the street, and he went over to it and
opened the door.
Again there were no people. Yet on the counter were mugs of coffee and other
beverages that were still hot, and glasses of cooler stuff still felt cold.
Two steaks were sizzling on the open-pit grill; they were not burned to a
crisp but cooking rather nicely, as if someone had just flipped them
over. Blood and juice still oozed from the fork holes.
A sudden whistle startled him. He whirled and drew his gun, but saw that the
noise came from a tea-pot that had just reached the boiling point.
Wait a minute, he told himself nervously.
Just reached the boiling point?
He heard some noise coming from a back room, like water being pumped, and
rushed to it. It stopped just as he pushed through the door. There was a well
pump there, and it was still dripping with the runoff into a bucket hung on
the spout that was now half full. There were no exits from the back room
except a small window that obviously hadn't been opened in a long time.
He walked back into the cafe, shaking his head and trying to get a grip
on himself when he stopped short.
The steaks were on a plate next to the pit now, still sizzling but done. The
water was off the flame and no longer boiling.
Behind him he heard the pump start again.
He walked quickly out into the street once more. He felt more comfortable
there, at least-he could see a greater distance on all sides. He didn't have
the feeling that anyone was watching him, just a sense of isolation from human
contact. It was as if this town lived all around him but not where he was.
He saw a little church at the end of the street, away from the
other buildings a bit, and he walked toward it. It sounded as if some
sort of service were going on, except that instead of hymns, the
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