Manalone Read Free Page A

was too intent on watching his own group who were maintaining a noisy diversion in the doorway. Manalone was fascinated. The possibility of a special police team dressed and acting like genuine Breve, was something he had never considered before. The more he thought about it, the more logical it became. For controlling such a rebellious yet formless movement as the Breve, infiltration was obviously a more efficient method than outside observation. He wondered idly what nature of quarry they were hunting, and if it was in any way connected with the illegal photo-play which he had seen earlier.
    ‘They’re looking for you, Manalone,’
he said to himself amusedly.
‘Something terribly subversive … like swearing at the autophone system or dropping toffee papers on the flower beds in Hotham Park. Manalone the terrible … always ready with a damning epithet to quell recalcitrant machinery, and never slow with a vicious sweet-wrapper to demonstrate his rejection of the Establishment. Manalone, you’re a right villain! Curious thing, though. If the police know that film is running, why don’t they close it down? Or could it be they’re leaving it … as a deliberate means of getting to know … precisely whom it attracts …?’

3
Manalone and the Homewards Turning
    Returningto the Hover-rail Terminal, Manalone studied the indicators carefully. He was pleased to find that the five-minute frequency of service to Bognor was being maintained despite the lateness of the hour. Such was the population density of London that even the remote suburb of Bognor pressured the facilities of the unique fast Hover-rail system into the small hours. He approached the autobarrier and dialled his destination, then dropped his ComCredit card into the appropriate slot. The machine read the encoded details on the card, verified his credit with the national credit computer, and issued him with a ticket. This done, the barrier cycled to enable him to pass on to the platform.
    The car was already waiting, a sleek metal bullet sitting astride the feeder-rail, cushion deflated whilst the passengers hurried aboard. Manalone was fortunate in travelling late, inasmuch as he was able to board the first car of his choice. The barrier was programmed to admit only the normal complement of a car to the platform. One could frequently wait for up to six cars before admission was allowed. At this hour he even met the unaccustomed extravagance of finding several empty seats and a car hostess who actually had time to be civil.
    Having a choice of seats, he dropped into his favourite position, fastened his seat-belt, and luxuriated in having room to stretch his legs. Only one other person joined the car after Manalone, and he curiously, opted to stay in the already fully occupied rear of the car. Manalone, always the acutest of observers, noted the fact and then dismissed it. Machinery could be wayward, infuriating and fallible, but at least he could establish a working relationship with it. But people, he could never understand.
    The doors of the car closed with a whisper of air, and the car moved off on its slow mechanical drive down the slightly curved feeder-rail to its pre-insertion position near the highspeed line. Manalone knew that the computers were phasing the car to pick up a vacant position on the high-line as soon as one became available. They did not have long to wait.
    With a suddenboost of the air-cushion, the car rose sharply and lost contact with the feeder-rail. This was the point which always fascinated Manalone. Here they were buoyed on a low-thrust air blanket ready to be inserted on to the high-speed Hover-line which was already carrying speeding cars at a probable interval of twenty seconds. Only computers could make the split-second decisions as to when and how fast the car must accelerate over the rest of the pre-entry section so as to make a safe insertion on to the high-line. For this reason the cars needed no drivers. There was no