"I'm going out for a walk." He stepped from the machine.
She watched him dress, her look a mixture of curiosity and fright.
When he left it was as though he were leaving an empty room and she watched him as though he were not quite human.
The glow of the city was all around him as he walked toward the corner where the little man stood. The telepathic advertisers reached out from the places of entertainment, pulling at him. The voices enveloped him for a moment so that he almost turned back to them. But then he saw, in his mind, his arms working over the machines, saw them make a wrong motion that smashed a gear, saw the flashing red light and the heavy, expressionless face of the Superfather. He was aware that his memory would be erased and the skies, and the ocean, and the green hills. His name would be gone. Paul would die. And the city would be his tomb.
Quickly he turned down a side street, saw the small figure leaning against the corner of the building.
Walking rapidly toward him, as though he were being chased, he saw the lean, ruddy face smile and the deep, blue eyes look at him; heard the voice gently say:
"Welcome, Paul."
"The last card," said Twenty-three.
The little man handed it to him, quickly. "Good luck. Turn the dials one extra point on the control panel. Our men have made the machine ready. It's time now."
Twenty-three thrust the card into the inner pocket of his jacket. So that was it. They had changed the machine.