Then his expression changed. He placed the heels of his hands over his eyes, blocking out all light. I felt the sharp, terrible pain which ran through Ann's body. She uttered a short cry. For a moment, we almost lost touch.
… And somewhere, still near, I felt the half-familiar presence of the silent one.
Willy Boy took another step forward, another, his power growing as the distance narrowed.
The television set came to life as I activated the control.
Willy Boy kept coming. The pain grew, spread…
I increased the volume and began flipping from channel to channel. In some areas they have an around-the-clock—
Yes!
"—glorious day!"
Matthews froze. He lowered his hands. I let the lighting return to normal.
"—in Jesus' words, 'Blessed be the…'"
Willy Boy turned bright red. His eyes grew very wide. Again the pain was eased. He stared at the impeccably garbed man with the upraised hand and the ingratiating smile.
"Son of a bitch!" he said. He looked wildly at Ann, speaking suddenly as if she were not his victim of the moment. "The damned reporters crucified me! They should get him! I trained that oily Bible-thumper! Kicked him out, too! When his hand wasn't in the collection basket it was in some choirboy's pants! Worthless little whelp!" He gestured toward the set. "Did they ever go after him, though? No. I could have had him up on charges. Did a Christian thing and let him go. I was already in trouble myself. Didn't make that much difference then. Figured they'd get him sooner or later, anyhow. Look at him now, though! Listen to him! They never did. There's no justice. Hunger and thirst after righteousness and you'll wind up on Maalox!"
He rushed up to the set and slammed the button which turned it off. He began to rub his forehead then.
I turned the set back on again, full blast.
"Let us pray—"
"Damn it!" he cried, turning it off again.
I turned it back on.
"… Thy kingdom come—"
He hit the button, and I did it again.
"… on earth as it is in heaven…"
He tried holding it in the Off position then. I overrode him.
"… and forgive us our trespasses…"
He made a loud, bleating, animal noise and dropped to his knees. He crawled forward, reaching, located the plug and pulled at it "… not into temptation…"
He was shaking when he rose, breathing heavily. I began strobing the lights again. I set the stove to buzzing once more. I kicked on the computer's taped greeting. None of these seemed to reach him this time, though. He rushed forward, set his teeth and glared down at Ann.
The pain became excruciating, and then a wave of blackness seemed to roll up through her. I drew her to me and held her as tightly as possible, as if I could somehow keep her alive within my own consciousness.
I knew that her body had died. But she seemed still to be with me.
"Ann?" I said, as I moved back through telephone exchanges.
"Yes?"
I linked with the regional unit, found an area where the traffic was slow.
"We lost," I said.
"I knew that we would. I told you."
… The prospect swirled, racing beads on an infinite abacus…
I'm sorry. I tried."
"I know, Steve. Thank you. If I'd met you sooner… I was always weak. I wish—"
The strange presence was suddenly nearer than it had ever been before, almost palpable, something I seemed just about ready to identify…
"Of course," she said, and I did not understand. She was weak, growing weaker. She had no right to exist at all now, except by this kind of symbiosis. I did not know what I was going to do with her. "Let me go now, Steve."
The presence grew stronger. It was almost intimidating. I held her more tightly, trying to share my strength with her.
"It's all right," she said.
In that moment, I felt that it was, as if she had just been granted some special vision I did not share.
"Really. I must go."
She began disengaging herself from my mental grip.
"It is the big Angra research facility—Number Four—just outside Carlsbad. That's what you want. She's there," she said. "Good luck."
"Ann…"
The sensation, whatever it was, was like a parting kiss. Then she moved toward the stranger, who welcomed her.
I had a vision of them, passing across a sheet-metal plain where roses of aluminum, copper, brass and tin swayed in an ozone breeze beneath a sky lit by an arc of blue sparklight. The figure whose hand she took wore a metal mask, unless of course that was its face…
… I followed the track, back, back, to the clackety-clack, to the ragtime rhythms, quadrupedante putrem sonitu quatit un gula campum, as we rocked, racing, westward, under the Southern moon full-risen, moonlight, night flight, seeming dreaming, track away. Steve, did she say?
Clack.
Chapter 13
I dozed after a time, a light and troubled sleep. Half-consciously, I checked periodically with the computer, keeping track of our distance from Memphis. I believe that I dreamed, but the particulars escaped me. I welcomed the distancing effect that a period of unconsciousness would place between me and the evening's events. Light and broken though it was, my slumber gave this much to me.
The moon had climbed much higher by the time I came fully awake and decided that I could no longer postpone full forethought. I did not want to take the chance of riding all of the way into the railroad yard. Which meant that another unscheduled stop was in order. I was not familiar with Memphis. I did not want to stop too far out of town and simply find myself lost in the middle of the night; and I did not relish the idea of a long walk through unfamiliar territory. I decided on a sudden stop right before the railroad yard, unless something better presented itself along the way.
While I had cleaned up the computer record of this trip so far—back at regional—there was nothing I would be able to do about the memory of two unexplained stops in the minds of the train's crew. The stops would be reported and there would have to be some sort of investigation. When it was seen that the crew's story did not match the record, someone at Angra who must now be hunting transportation anomalies in this direction would be alerted. This coming situation was the necessary result of my present security. It was another reason for my getting off at a late point and not dawdling in the area. I would have to move on as quickly as possible. I began to wonder whether there were any way in which I might provide a false trail for Angra's investigators. I began to consider what little I did know of the geography of the area and to speculate as to what might be quickly available to me.
So, later, when I initiated the braking program, there were all sorts of lights in sight. I crouched before the door, caused it to open and hit the ground before we had come to a complete halt. I headed forward, not wanting the crew to catch sight of me, down off the siding and across a field. I did nothing to the computer this time, other than to order it to shut the door a little later.
When I felt comfortably out of sight I slowed to a walk and caught my breath. I headed toward a row of streetlights beyond darkened houses, crossed some sort of drainage ditch and passed through someone's yard. A dog began barking within the house. It shut up after I made it to the sidewalk and crossed the street.
I walked for about fifteen minutes after that, trying without success to get an idea as to where I was in relation to anything that might be of use to me. It was unfortunate that I had jumped off near a residential area. They are simply too dead after a certain hour to be of much use for the sorts of things I had in mind. I kept my mental ears open for the familiar voices of computers, but the only ones I could hear at all were too somnolent in terms of current activity to be kicked into service, most of them functioning as glorified timers at the moment.
I continued, turning after a time onto a larger thoroughfare. An occasional car passed, but I dismissed the notion of try
ing to flag one down. I did not want to leave anyone with the memory and possible description of a hitchhiker around this place at this time. I stretched my faculties as far as I could reach, casting about in all directions, seeking computer activity.
Faintly, far off to the right, there seemed to be some action. I turned right at the next corner and headed toward it. I kept walking past houses—darkened, for the most part—expecting to hit a commercial area. But I didn't.
Instead, the area remained unchanged but the signal grew stronger, finally reaching the point where I could read it clearly. It was some insomniac gamester engaged in an elaborate four-way contest involving two players in Mississippi and one in Kentucky. There was a light behind drawn curtains in a house across the street, up ahead, which might well be its source. I slowed my pace.
Lickticktertick.
… I passed along the connections without disturbing their play. It was a telephone-line hookup, and the first exchange I got to I departed their circuit. Slowly shifting holes in an enormous piece of luminous Swiss cheese…
I plunged into, out of, along and through a great number of these. I finally got the feeling, jumping from circuit to circuit, for the ones which led to functioning computers as opposed to those in use between people's phones…
After three bad leads, I found my way into the Police Department's main computer. There were security wards, but after my bout with Big Mac I was able to pass through these without slowing down. It was not really the police computer that I had set out to locate, however. Any of a number of others would have done as well. All that I actually wanted was a detailed map of the city…
I studied it for a long while, fixing in my memory the features that I thought I could use. Next, I memorized a few major thoroughfares—east-west and north-south—so that when I finally hit one I would be into a coordinate system…
I was about to disengage from the unit when it occurred to me to seek myself within it.
Ricktatack. Backadaback…
… Donald BelPatri—[description and photo repro code]. Armed and dangerous. Fugitive warrant, Philadelphia. Theft, Angra Corp. Attempted homicide, William Matthews. Auto theft…
I erased it. No sense in leaving things easy for them when the opportunity to meddle is handy.
Still, I'd a feeling I would be back into the machine pretty soon, once my nemesis at Angra got wind of the railroad report. Running that thing down and trying to erase it could take me all night, time I couldn't spare. Besides, by now it was probably already in the system at Angra. In fact… Maybe I had impulsively just provided them with another clue by wiping my record. Well . . shit. Too late now. Think first next time…
Rackadack.
I found myself leaning against a tree. I only dimly recalled having halted. I began walking again, reviewing the street map, trying to fix it more firmly in mind.
Several blocks passed. Small streets. Nothing I was looking for. But up ahead…
An apartment complex, with a big parking lot.
I studied the place for long minutes, to see whether I could spot a guard of any sort, but I couldn't.
I could not start any of those cars mentally, I knew, not when they were cold like that. I needed a little juice in a machine's circuits to play around with.
However…
I entered the lot and began a long, slow stroll. The lighting was not always good, and if anyone saw me I knew that I must look suspicious, peering into car windows that way. Statistically, it just seemed possible that out of all those cars someone might have left the keys in one.
Twenty minutes later, I was beginning to doubt this, right before I located one—a black coupe, electric. I got in quickly, started it, backed it out of the parking place and got out of the lot fast. I didn't breathe easily until I had gone several miles.
I was onto a fairly wide street, which finally took me into a business district. I determined to follow it until I hit one of my coordinates or ten miles, whichever came first. In the later case, I would then turn around and follow it in the other direction backtracking and passing on until I hit one.
I came upon one fairly quickly, however, and turned onto it. Just a couple of miles, after that, I intersected with another. At last I knew where I was.
My mental map now oriented, I headed in the direction of the feature I sought. When the police car came up behind me I almost did something foolish. But prudence ruled and I halted at the stop light rather than flooring it and crashing through. When the light changed, the car passed me and shortly thereafter turned off to the left. I found myself shaking, though I knew that I should have felt a bit secure in the knowledge that there was nothing out on the car yet. I drove very carefully after that.
I saw an open diner. It wasn't on my schedule, but my stomach felt otherwise about it. I could see that the place was nearly deserted. I pulled into the lot, went in and had a club sandwich, a piece of pie and a cup of coffee. I washed up and repaired my self in the rest room, wishing I had a razor as I ran my hand over my now-stubbly chin. I took out my wallet and counted the bills. I generally carry a good amount of cash when I travel—I'm old-fashioned that way. I was pleased to see that I still had several hundred dollars. Good. That would be of help.
Driving again, and feeling much better, I continued along the rough route I had in mind, still wincing whenever I heard a siren.
While I did not know exactly where the place was, I hoped to come across signs as soon as I got into the vicinity. The city thinned out as I drove. Malls and building clusters came and went, and then there were only houses, farther and farther apart. Finally, a sign appeared, and I turned where it indicated.
A light plane came out of the north, circled and descended toward a bright area up ahead, my destination.
I slowed as I approached, locating the entrance drive and turning up it. The place did not seem exceptionally large or busy. It was just one of many small air transport services.
I found a spot in the uncrowded parking lot, turned off the engine, turned off the lights. I coiled then into the computer in the operations building which lay ahead and to my left. I flashed past the flights in progress information and the weather reports. There were eight 'copters on the ground, I learned. Two of them were being serviced and two had just come in recently and had not yet been gone over. Four were out on pads, fully serviced, fully fueled, awaiting use.
I studied what I could see of the field, trying to match eyeball with electronic information. The farthest one, of course, would be mine…
I left the keys in the car, the car in the lot, my footsteps on the lawn, bearing me far to the left, past the building on what appeared to be its blindest side. I kept to the shadows as much as possible, passing along behind a row of small hangars. Someone was in the first one, servicing a light plane.
Emerging near the pad I sought, I simply walked across fifteen meters of concrete and climbed into the pilot's seat in the vehicle I had chosen. There had been no outcry. If anybody had noticed me, perhaps they'd thought I'd some business there. I don't know.
I studied the controls. I had only the vaguest idea of what did what for anything. Still, there ought to be some simple switches for ignition or battery, something that would get some juice into the system.
I strapped myself in and experimented. After half a minute of fumbling, I got the engine to kick over. Simultaneously, the flight computer came to life. I was still vividly fresh on helicopter computers and automatic pilots.
I activated the takeoff program. The sound of the engine increased in intensity and the blades made a bullroaring noise overhead. I followed the operations of the various systems. Everything appeared to be in order.
As I rose, I wondered whether I should have any lights on on the vehicle. I decided against it. Why make things any easier for anyone else, just for a little safety? Of course, they would doubtless try tracking me on their radar, but I intended to get very low very shortly for what I had in mind, and I had hopes of losing them�
��at least for a while.
I didn't cross the field. I headed away from it to the left, constantly scanning the sky for anything incoming, until I felt safely out of range of the place.
And then, to the northwest. I preferred skirting the town to flying over it I kept low as we passed above fields and farms, but high enough to avoid power lines as we chased the falling moon. Finally, the ground began to drop away, gently, and a little later I was given a view of the dark, star-shot river. Again, I reviewed the police map as I drove on toward it, and when I finally came to its bank and passed on out over the water I turned to the left and headed downriver.
There was an empty stretch of road about a mile from the place which I hoped would satisfy my needs. I set it down there, climbing out quickly, got out of the way and sent it aloft again. Having checked out a variety of pre-planned flight programs it possessed, I directed it to fly to Oklahoma City, maintaining a low altitude for the first twenty miles and then following its normal programming for the balance of the trip.
I turned to my left and began walking. I came to a section composed mainly of warehouses, just a few small lights about them, watchmen doubtless around somewhere, not that it mattered. Moving on past, I enjoyed the smells from the river, from which a light, warm, humid breeze was coming. Tomorrow would probably be hot and muggy, but the night was pleasant
There were no city sounds here, only insects in the grasses beside the road. And so far, no traffic along it.
I took my time, not wanting my arrival to coincide too closely with the passage of the 'copter. I followed a curve in the road which took me around a warehouse and nearer to the water.
The next big view to open up included people. There were overhead lights playing down upon a docking area, and I could now hear the creaking of a winch. A boom was swinging. A number of barges, anchored in various positions, came into sight. The one at the wharf was being loaded with large flats of cartons, which a pair of workers moved to strap into place once they were deposited. I found myself a comfortable and unobtrusive spot on the bank above the road's right shoulder, and I settled there to observe the enterprise for a time. There were still quite a few flats waiting upon the pier for loading.
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