Read Ebook: Reality Unlimited by Silverberg Robert

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 125 lines and 6142 words, and 3 pages

And suddenly a voice said, "Welcome to ULTRARAMA."

It was a cultured, soft female voice--and it came from so close to him that he glanced in surprise at his wife. But she was looking at him. She had heard the voice too.

The lights in the theater dimmed--and the vast screen came to life.

It was incredible.

And they were in Africa.

The huge plains of South Africa opened out before them. Hendriks turned his head, looking around in astonishment. The audience seemed to have disappeared. He was alone--alone in a world of yellowing grass and strange thick trees, a flat world where death could strike at any moment.

In the distance he saw four grotesque shapes--giraffes, moving along in their ungainly but yet tremendously rapid way, their long necks projecting stiffly from their bodies. He repressed a chuckle.

And then a low growl made him jump. He backed against a rough-barked tree and felt sweat cascade down his body as a tawny shape sprang from behind a twisted shrub, pounced on one of the giraffes, smashed the fragile neck with a fierce swipe of a paw.

The lioness. Sudden death springing from nowhere, a bright streak that brought violence. Hendriks looked around uneasily. The giraffes had fled; the lioness was dragging her kill into the underbrush. The warm smell of death was in the air--that, and the buzzing of green-eyed flies an inch long. Perched on a scrawny, almost leafless tree were hooded ugly shapes.

A herd of gazelles came bounding out of the background, relieving some of the tension. The lovely creatures seemed to float along, touching the ground only at occasional intervals. Behind them marched the dull-gray bulks of a herd of elephants, shambling with a ponderous gait.

This was Africa. This was the real thing, Hendriks told himself. It wasn't a show. Through some magic the ULTRARAMA people had actually sent him here.

He moved away, investigating. A sluggish black stream wound through the jungle; curious, Hendriks walked toward it. Dark logs lay strewn almost at random in the shallow muddy water at the sides of the stream. But as he watched, one of the logs yawned, showing a double row of deadly teeth, and slid sleepily off into deeper waters.

Crocodiles. Death threatened everywhere in the jungle.

Monkeys chittered overhead; bright-plumaged birds flapped from tree to tree. Hendriks felt the heat, his nostrils drew in the smell. This was real. He wondered if it would ever end, if he would ever return to his neat little city apartment and to his wife and children.

He glanced away from the stream, looked up at the sun blazing in the bright blue sky. And abruptly black death came roaring at him from a tree.

Hendriks had just a moment to recognize it. A leopard, black, sleek, moving with the easy grace of a machine designed for killing. He toppled backward under the impetus of the beast's furious attack, smelled the soft musky smell of the killer.

Then claws reached for his throat. Hot barbs of red pain shot through him. He screamed out, fought, tried to hold the snapping jaws away.

"No! No! It isn't real! Get away from me!"

And in that instant Africa vanished.

"THE SECOND ILLUSION," that soft voice next to his ear said.

He was again alone, in an unfamiliar room. A lady's boudoir, he saw. A satin-covered spread lay over a wide, inviting bed; dressing-tables were laden with perfumes and cosmetics.

Behind him the door opened. A woman entered.

He had never seen her before. She was tall, dressed only in a filmy negligee that barely concealed her long sleek legs, her firm breasts. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman; she awakened desires that had been dead in him for twenty years.

"Hello," she said. Her voice was throbbingly throaty. "I've waited a long time for you, Paul Hendriks."

Then he stopped asking questions. She had glided close to him, stood there, bosom gently rising and falling, looking into his eyes. She was nearly as tall as he. He smelled her enticing perfume.

"Come," she said, taking his hand. She led him toward a chaise lounge.

He frowned. "But my wife ..." he murmured, feeling like seventeen different kinds of idiot as he said the words.

"Your wife is happy where she is. Come to me, Paul."

She drew him down beside her....

What seemed like hours went by. Suddenly he felt a rough hand grab him, awakening him.

A stranger stood there, fully dressed, menace glinting in his eyes. "Who is this man, Louise?" he demanded.

Wide-eyed shock was evident on the woman's face. "But--I didn't expect you until--"

"Of course not." Hendriks watched in horror as the newcomer drew a gun from his pocket. He lifted it; the barrel seemed to point directly at Hendriks' eyes. The finger began to tighten on the trigger--

"THE THIRD ILLUSION," said a soft voice.

And he was holding a billowing net and a strange three-pronged weapon. The sound of a roaring multitude reached his ears. He blinked, orientating himself to the new illusion, and saw that he was in an immense stadium. Curiously-garbed people were staring down at him.

And even as the thought of recognition burst upon him, he saw his opponent advancing over the bloody sand. It was a swarthy, broad-shouldered man in a leather tunic, wielding a thick, short sword.

Swordsman against netman. It was deadly, deadly.

Hendriks knew enough history to be aware of what was expected of him. He had to ensnare the swordsman in the net and kill him with the trident before that fierce sword could pierce his heart. It was anything but an equal contest, but with proper agility--

The sword flashed on high. Desperately Hendriks parried it with the hilt of his trident and whirled the net through the air. The swordsman laughed and leaped back.

Hendriks advanced, looking for an opening. The roars of the crowd were deafening. He swung the net tentatively, readying himself for the cast. Tired muscles throbbed in his arms and thighs.

The swordsman retreated deftly, smiling. He looked confident. Hendriks began the cast.

Suddenly the sword flashed again. It was a lightning-fast attack. Hendriks managed to get the trident up to protect himself; the impact sent pain coursing up his arm, and, numbed, he dropped the three-pronged weapon. Laughing jovially, his opponent kicked the trident far across the stadium and advanced with the sword.

Hendriks knew what he had to do. He dropped to his knees before the advancing swordsman and gestured toward the audience.

The swordsman nodded. He lifted the sword, held it over Hendriks' head, and looked up at the grand dais. Hendriks looked up as well.

The thumbs were down. Emphatically so.

The sword began to descend--

"THE FOURTH ILLUSION," said the voice.

He was racing madly down the Indianapolis Speedway, bobbing along at nearly 150 miles an hour in a flimsy-looking little racing auto. Blurs whizzed by on all sides.

Ahead of him he saw a car suddenly swerve into the embankment and burst into a mass of flames. With desperate urgency he yanked on the wheel, tried to avoid the pileup--

And failed. He felt his car going end over end into the air, and shut his eyes, waiting for the explosion that would follow.

"THE FIFTH ILLUSION," the voice said.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet