Manalone Read Free

time or place where the ordinary laws of physics did not quite apply …
    ‘Slow down a moment, Manalone! You’ve gone up a blind alley somewhere.’
    Both propositions were absurd. The cost of faking those scenes to produce that particular effect could easily have cost more than the budget expended on the entire film. As for the second proposition, that was even less likely than the first. Such a system of physics could be reconciled only by setting up a model of the physical world which had characteristics entirely different from those of actuality.
    ‘Which brings the rare conclusion that a film like that could never have been made. So what are you doing watching it, Manalone?’
    With so many questions unanswered, Manalone pondered on the possibility of obtaining a copy of the film. Since it was illegal photo-play, he doubted if a direct approach would be effective. He briefly considered the possibility of snatching a spool and making a run for it. A knowledge of the long stairs outside the door and his unfamiliarity with the dubious streets in the vicinity warned him that he would be unlikely to get away with it.
    ‘Besideswhich, Manalone, you haven’t got the guts!’
    The Breve would obviously enjoy such an excuse to start a rumpus, which might well attract the police. Also a man running through the streets clasping a large reel of film to his chest was unlikely to escape attention. All things considered, he would have to make do with the information he had already collected.
    At length the film was finished and the lights came on. There were no titles and no credits nor any clues as to the age of the film or its origin. He allowed the Breve to go out first, and shuffled as close to the projectors as the seating would allow. The width of the film was unfamiliar to him, and certainly far wider than anything he knew in current use. He made a mental estimate of its width for future reference. Then he was climbing the badly lit stairs, with his pockets bulging with recorded enigma, and a headful of perplexity.
    As he emerged into the dim and unfamiliar streets, he looked around to gain his bearings, feeling uncomfortable and slightly lost. The Breve had moved across the street to form an argumentative congregation around the windows of a small shop. He carefully avoided them, and began to pick his way back towards the lights of Psychedilly. It was now quite late, but apparently the population of the district grew in proportion to the lateness of the hour. Marked by the formality of his dress, he was approached several times by procurers, whom he waved away before they had a chance to relate the peculiar virtues of their wares. Not until he was back under the impersonal cloak of the great lights did he relax and stop to look for a drink. He found a dive-bar which seemed suitably quiet, and climbed down into its artificially ornate warmth.
    It was at this point that Manalone’s own passion for isolation led him to witness an unusual incident. He had found an empty table which was partially under the open staircase which led in from the street outside. Scarcely had he sat down than he became aware that the party of Breve who had been at the cinema-cell had just come down the stairs. He could see their faces quite plainly through the stair treads, as they scanned the area as if expecting to find someone who was not apparent.
    He markedthe incident and thought nothing more of it until the Breve, having failed to find whoever it was for whom they were looking, turned abruptly and with needless noise and clatter headed back out again. As they did so, one of their number halted halfway up the stair and spoke into what was certainly a police wrist-transceiver. He was only a short distance away from Manalone at this point, but his voice was lost in the ambient noise.
    Had he looked downwards, the Breve must certainly have seen Manalone’s eyes watching him interestedly through the intervals between the stairs. Fortunately he