The cart groaned as it moved higher. Then a sliding, grating soundbegan and he raised it faster.

With a sound like the stroke of a cracked bell the cube tumbled ontothe bridgeway; it slid forward and to the left. He struck at it with thebar, bearing to the right with all his strength. About half an inch of itcaught against the left edge of the oven frame. The gap between the cube andthe frame was widest at the bottom.

He inserted the bar and heaved his weight against it--three times.

Then it moved forward and came to rest within the Igniter.

He began to laugh. He laughed until he felt weak. He sat on the brokencart, swinging his legs and chuckling to himself, until the sounds comingfrom his throat seemed alien and out of place. He stopped abruptly andslammed the door.

The Broadcast Panel had a thousand eyes, but none of them winked backat him. He made the final adjustments for Transmit, then gave the generatorstheir last check-out.

There was still some daylight to spend, so he moved from window towindow pressing the "Open" button set below each sill.

He ate the rest of his food then, and drank a whole bottle of water andsmoked two cigarettes. Sitting on the stair, he thought of the days when hehad worked with Kelly and Murchison and Djinsky, twisting the tails ofelectrons until they wailed and leapt out over the walls and fled down intothe city.

The clock! He remembered it suddenly--set high on the wall, to the leftof the doorway, frozen at 9:33 (and forty-eight seconds).

He moved a ladder through the twilight and mounted it to the clock. Hewiped the dust away from its greasy face with a sweeping, circular movement.Then he was ready.

He crossed to the Igniter and turned it on. Somewhere theever-batteries came alive, and he heard a click as a thin, sharp shaft wasdriven into the wall of the cube. He raced back up the stairs and spedhand-over-hand up to the catwalk. He moved to a window and waited.

"God," he muttered, "don't let them blow! Please don't--"

Across an eternity of darkness the generators began humming. He heard acrackle of static from the Broadcast Panel and he closed his eyes. The sounddied.

He opened his eyes as he heard the window slide upward. All around himthe hundred high windows opened. A small light came on above the bench inthe work area below him, but he did not see it.

He was staring out beyond the wide drop of the acropolis and down intothe city. His city.

The lights were not like the stars. They beat the stars all to hell.They were the gay, regularized constellation of a city where men made theirhomes: even rows of streetlamps, advertisements, lighted windows in thecheesebox-apartments, a random solitaire of bright squares running up thesides of skyscraper-needles, a searchlight swivelling its luminous antennathrough cloudbanks that hung over the city.

He dashed to another window, feeling the high night breezes comb at hisbeard. Belts were humming below; he heard their wry monologues rattlingthrough the city's deepest canyons. He pictured the people in their homes,in theaters, in bars--talking to each other, sharing a common amusement,playing clarinets, holding hands, eating an evening snack. Sleeping ro-carsawakened and rushed past each other on the levels above the belts; thebackground hum of the city told him its story of production, of function, ofmovement and service to its inhabitants. The sky seemed to wheel overhead,as though the city were its turning hub and the universe its outer rim.

Then the lights dimmed from white to yellow and he hurried, withdesperate steps, to another window.

"No! Not so soon! Don't leave me yet!" he sobbed.

The windows closed themselves and the lights went out. He stood on thewalk for a long time, staring at the dead embers. A smell of ozone reachedhis nostrils. He was aware of a blue halo about the dying generators.

He descended and crossed the work area to the ladder he had set againstthe wall.

Pressing his face against the glass and squinting for a long time hecould make out the position of the hands.

"Nine thirty-five, and twenty-one seconds," Carlson read.

"Do you hear that?" he called out, shaking his fist at anything."Ninety-three seconds! I made you live for ninety-three seconds!"

Then he covered his face against the darkness and was silent.

After a long while he descended the stairway, walked the belt, andmoved through the long hallway and out of the Building. As he headed backtoward the mountains he promised himself--again--that he would never return.