The Perfesser ran after it, shouting until his breath gave out. There was junk in the alley and it was crisscrossed by other alleys with traffic on them and the driver dared not approach top speed. The cops shot twice again at the Perfesser, who was running like an antelope.
Minnn felt a crash in the Perfesser's shoulder and the tall body swayed. A bit of lead had entered the clavicle. Minnn strained and the ends of the veins constricted, slowing the loss of blood. The Perfesser's heart and lungs were behaving alarmingly but Minnn kept the body running. He was gaining on the truck.
The truck gained speed and so did the Perfesser. Ancient arteries, brittled with deposits, strained and began to give. The Perfesser's arm raised as he drew alongside the truck. The umbrella-tip neared the driver.
A bullet grazed the Perfesser's side—Minnn suddenly realized they were not shooting to kill: and also the shaky frame he had taken would not be able to run much longer. With a surge of concentration he pushed the body forward. The umbrella-tip touched the driver, Minnn drove himself down the metal ferrule, somewhere an artery burst, and the body of the Perfesser sagged, wobbled, and, still carried forward by momentum, smashed into a wall and toppled over. It lay there on its back. Being front-man for a Ravian had been Perfesser Frye's last falsehood.
The truck got out of the alley, going fast, and kept going fast until it came to the asylum. The driver did not go to the back door—there might be people waiting for him. He walked in the front door, up to the receptionist, and touched her. Then he discovered himself standing there, and walked embarrassedly out again.
The receptionist remained at her desk. A visitor was moving toward her; as he passed, the receptionist touched his hand.
Down a hallway opening into the reception room came a little group of men—three attendants from the hospital and the hospital director; a talking-attendant and Chester Forge, and the truck driver. All were gloved and clad in mento-insulation but the talking-attendant.
"I was standing right here," said the driver excitedly. "Right here in front of this desk."
The talking-attendant rested his hand on the receptionist's forehead. "Not there now," he declared.