A sharp shrill whistle dug into his brain. He jerked around. Far across the expanse of park a black skycar came whirring, gliding, sliding toward him. The ultrasonic whistle sharpened painfully and he knew this was pursuit. The pilot hadn't been so honest, maybe. But that made no difference now. It had never been anything anyway that would have gone on forever. No matter when the black skycar came for him there would never have been a place to hide. It didn't matter now, not after seeing Glora Delar and Brittain together like this. But before the Guards picked him up-- He ran toward the lake. The skycar was an elongated shadow over the glassy water, over the glossy mechanically moving leaves of the huge water-lilies, over the backs of the clock-work swans. The whistle seemed to split his skull. "Glora!" he shouted. He ran toward them. Evidently they didn't hear him; she didn't turn; Brittain didn't turn. Brooks' shout faded across the lake into the glowing bubble and died. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. Carl Brittain walked on, and Brooks stared into Glora Delar's eyes. A cold shiver went down his neck. What was the matter? Where was the warmth, the love, the passion, the worship, the dark deep longing? There was no recognition, and without that there could never be any of the other things. However the big psychogenic radial projection screens functioned, the Actors and Actresses probably were never aware of the individuals they entertained. They entertained _all_ the Workers. _All the Workers._ "Glora, look at me! I wrote the letters, thousands of fan letters! You answered them. They were addressed to me, personally! Me, Andy Brooks!" She said slowly. "An--dy--Brooks--" Fifty feet away the skycar settled. Swans glided silently across the lake of glass without noticing anything; water-lilies moved in the unchanging breeze. Glora Delar's eyes were on a level with his. "Don't you know me?" Brooks shouted wildly. "You've got to! Andy Brooks!" She repeated his name. "Yes, yes!" Brooks screamed. "Look at me--Andy Brooks! Remember the Lost World of Anghar! Why dream of each other? Why should we fool ourselves with dreams? I'm here now, I'm real, you're real! I've broken a Class-A Law tripley to come here to you. Glora, you've got to see me, talk to me!" "An--ghar--" "Listen to me, Glora! The World of Anghar. The Armies of Vasca. _Our_ dream. I was holding the castle. Vasca's fleets were laying siege. I was guarding the seawall. How could it have gone on so long without you knowing? It was our dream." "Vas--ca--" Sobbing frantically, Brooks turned. Two guards were leaping from their skycar. One of them was shouting, "You there, halt! We've orders to kill you if you resist." "Get back!" Brooks cried. "Stay right there!" He lifted the neurogun. Now he wished he'd brought the blastgun; he'd have blown these Guards and their skycar in a million pieces.