ILLUSTRATED BY ORBAN
Sober or drunk, Johnny was seeing things. Like
spider webs in the night sky. But as a newspaper
reporter, Bennet had the job of keeping facts and
fancies separate. He was good at that—too good!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Science Fiction Adventures Magazine, February 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
I found Johnny a few blocks from our hotel in a little bar that wasnearly deserted. He was sitting alone at a table in a dark corner,staring morosely at nothing in particular, his hand limp around analmost-empty glass. He seemed perfectly sober, though his eyes staredglassily ahead.
I sat down beside him. "What do you say we go back to the hotel,Johnny? Tomorrow's another slave day."
His eyes shifted to me and then back to nothing. I wondered if he hadactually seen me.
"We can talk about it over some coffee and a bit to eat."
I suggested, placing my hand on his arm.
"Go to hell," he said quietly and shook me loose. He lifted his glass,drained the last few drops. He held the empty glass to the light, thenset it down, regretfully. "But first buy me a drink."
"You'd better go home," I said. "You've had enough."
He laughed harshly. "Look who's giving me orders. I know things aboutthis cock-eyed old world you never had nightmares about, and you'reordering me around! Bossy newspapermen! Go to hell, then; I'll get myown drink."
He rose unsteadily and managed his way to the bar. He came back withthe glass full.
"You still here. I thought I told you—"
"You'd better lay off that stuff," I said quietly. "You're not used toit."
"Boy, oh boy, you're just full of orders today, aren't you? CharlieBennet, boy crusader! Well, I've got something you can crusade about.Anything else you'd like?"
"That's enough for now."
"You're damn right it is. Now get the hell out of here and leave mealone. Can't you see I'm brooding over the fate of the world?"
"What are you so mad about?"
He looked annoyed, and a little startled. "Brother, if you only knew—"He raised his glass, and then stopped and set it on the table. "Wait aminute. Maybe I ought to tell you. Maybe I ought to let the two of usworry about it, instead of just me. Maybe you should print it in thatnewspaper of yours."
"I'm willing to listen, anyway."
"Sure! Why not? I'm just beginning to experience that rosy sensation,that warm feeling of camaraderie they keep stoppered up in bottles.It's the only place on this planet you can find it."
"Don't be cynical."
"Maybe I should bust out laughing. The whole thing's really funny; it'sthe funniest thing I've ever heard."
"We'd better go."
"Sure, let's go. But first—you want to see something really funny?Here."
He took a pair of glasses from his pocket and handed them to me. Theyseemed like ordinary shell-rimmed glasses, though the lenses weretinted a slight blue.
"Put them on," he prompted. "Go ahead."
"Where'd you get these?"
"Made 'em," he said. "My job is optical research, remember. I wasfooling around in the lab with some invisible light experiments. Theright combination of lenses and coatings—and whammo! This." He tooka drink. "I should have been a lawyer or a plumber or something." Hegrunted. "Or even a newspaperman!"
"What are they supposed to do—see in the dark?"
He laughed humorlessly. "That'd be a boon for a reporter, wouldn't it?No, my friend, much worse than that. Try them on. Go ahead."
I did. "Well?"