come
from?"

"Why, I was born here. Where did I come from? What sort of question is
that? Just consider that the stork brought me."

"You were born here?"

"Certainly."

"What's the name of the town?"

* * *

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" The fat man was getting angry.
His voice was rising.

"Shhh," Brett cautioned. "You'll attract the Gels."

"Blast the Jilts, whatever that is!" the fat man snapped. "Now, get
along with you. I'll call the manager."

"Don't you know?" Brett said, staring at the fat man. "They're all
dummies; golems, they're called. They're not real."

"Who're not real?"

"All these imitation people at the tables and on the dance floor. Surely
you realize--"

"I realize you're in need of medical attention." The fat man pushed back
his chair and got to his feet. "You keep the table," he said. "I'll dine
elsewhere."

"Wait!" Brett got up, seized the fat man's arm.

"Take your hands off me--" The fat man went toward the door. Brett
followed. At the cashier's desk Brett turned suddenly, saw a fluid brown
shape flicker--

"Look!" He pulled at the fat man's arm--

"Look at what?" The Gel was gone.

"It was there: a Gel."

The fat man flung down a bill, hurried away. Brett fumbled out a ten,
waited for change. "Wait!" he called. He heard the fat man's feet
receding down the stairs.

"Hurry," he said to the cashier. The woman sat glassy-eyed, staring at
nothing. The music died. The lights flickered, went off. In the gloom
Brett saw a fluid shape rise up--

He ran, pounding down the stairs. The fat man was just rounding the
corner. Brett opened his mouth to call--and went rigid, as a translucent
shape of mud shot from the door, rose up to tower before him. Brett
stood, mouth half open, eyes staring, leaning forward with hands
outflung. The Gel loomed, its surface flickering--waiting. Brett caught
an acrid odor of geraniums.

A minute passed. Brett's cheek itched. He fought a desire to blink, to
swallow--to turn and run. The high sun beat down on the silent street,
the still window displays.

Then the Gel broke form, slumped, flashed away. Brett tottered back
against the wall, let his breath out in a harsh sigh.

Across the street he saw a window with a display of camping equipment,
portable stoves, boots, rifles. He crossed the street, tried the door.
It was locked. He looked up and down the street. There was no one in
sight. He kicked in the glass bes