Roadmarks

by Roger Zelazny

  "What, then?"

  "I did not know that it lay within me to derive pleasure from it. I see now that I should have taken warning from the dreams."

  "This pleasure was great?"

  "Yes."

  "Might it not have been pride for the success of your expedition?"

  "It grew very much within that place, yet its roots ran deeper still—to some other place where there are no reasons, only feelings. I have been examining it, as I have learned to question my motives, and I can go no further than the simple fact of its existence. It has given me wonder, however..."

  "Of what sort?"

  "When whatever was done to me was done, making me forget who I had been and what I had wrought, there must have been a good reason. Could it have been that I was a threat, that I represented a danger as I was?"

  "I will be honest with you, rather than keep you wondering and worrying," Sundoc said. "Yes, this was the case. But you must realize, too, that you were not destroyed when you could have been. There was also that about you which was considered worth saving."

  "But what was it?" Timyin Tin said. "Was it a hidden measure of moral worth some benign prince wished to see nurtured, to balance other things I might have been? Or was it rather that he did not wish to destroy what had once proved a useful tool?"

  "Perhaps something of both," Sundoc said, "plus being in your debt."

  "The memories of princes are generally short. But be that as it may, I see only one special item in my repertoire for which one such might desire my recall. Whoever sent you here wants me to kill someone, does he not?"

  "I think these are matters best to be discussed at a later date, when your treatment has been completed."

  Sundoc moved to shake his mount's reins, but Timyin Tin's hand had somehow grasped them before that action could be completed.

  "Now," the smaller man said. "I want to know now.

  I possess a sufficient degree of self-awareness to understand a simple yes or no answer to my question."

  Sundoc looked into his dark eyes, looked away.

  "And if the answer is yes?"

  "Try it and we'll see."

  "Look, I am not the proper person to be making you any proposals. Why don't you wait until we get to where we are going? You will be more in control of yourself and there will be someone there who—"

  "Yes or no?" he said as Toba drew up beside them.

  Sundoc looked at the other man, who nodded.

  "All right. Yes, someone wants a man dead and thinks that you are the best man for the job. That is why we came for you."

  The smaller man released the reins.

  "That is sufficient for now," he said. "I am not interested in the details yet."

  "Well, what is your reaction to the information?" Toba asked.

  "It is nice to be wanted," Timyin Tin replied. "Let us be on our way."

  "You heard the words with equanimity. How interested do you feel you would be in such an undertaking?"

  "Very," he said, "since it must be intricate to warrant my resurrection. I wonder more, though, about another thing."

  "What is that?"

  "I am strong, and I grow stronger as the treatments progress. But the monk is still with me. I wonder whether this will always be so?"

  "Yes, for he is but another of your own faces."

  "Good. I would hate to lose contact entirely with this part of my life. It was—peaceful. Only ... I may now be equipped with a strange sort of conscience."

  "Let us hope that it does not get in the way."

  "It depends entirely on what you are asking of me."

  "You said that you were not interested in the de tails."

  "That was someone else talking."

  "Very well. There is a Road and it goes on forever, and a man with a certain affinity for it, a man who knows the proper entrances and exits, twists and turnings, may follow it to almost any time or place. Of the many who go that route, there is one against whom the black decade has been declared—"

  "Black decade?"

  "His enemy is permitted ten attempts on his life, without warning. These may take any form. Agents may be employed."

  "And your master wishes me to be such an agent?"

  "Yes."

  "Why the black decade in the first place? What has this man done?"

  "I really do not know. It is likely, however, that you will never even see him. One of the others will probably get him first—if that will give your conscience some peace."

  "Do you mean to say that you are going to all this trouble to set me up as a backup man?"

  "That's right. This man is deemed worth the effort."

  "If the others' skills approach my own, he has no chance of getting past the first. But what happens if he does live through all the assaults?"

  "I am not sure anyone ever has."

  "But this one is special?"

  "So I am told. Very special."

  "I see. Let us make camp soon, for I must meditate."

  "Of course. Such a decision is not made lightly."

  "I have already made the decision. I now wish to know whether I have been insulted or honored."

  They rode past the bodies. The sun broke from behind a cloud. The wind came up into their faces.

  One

  Red drove slowly along the dirt road. The next rest stop, with its stone and log buildings, would be the last on the route he had taken in this C Eleven Africa. Turning into the parking area, he drew up beside a streamlined pearl-gray ground-effect vehicle.

  "That one's from pretty far up the line," he observed. "Wonder whose it is?"

  He removed Flowers from her compartment, took a rifle down from the rack behind him and opened the door. Stepping out, he groped beneath the seat and located a knife in a leather sheath. He fastened it to his belt and locked the cab. Raising a backpack from the bed of the truck, he opened and inspected it

  "Everything I need but water," he announced, "and maybe a paperback. I want to go inside anyhow, to tell them I'll be parked here for a while."

  "It's kind of late in the day, and you've done a lot of driving. Maybe you ought to lay over and start in the morning."

  He looked at the sky.

  "I could still get in a few good hours of legwork."

  "... And then go to all the trouble of making camp, to spend an extra night on the trail. Is it going to make that much difference?"

  "I don't know."

  "... You1 could probably use a good meal too." "On that you're right," he said, shouldering the rifle and hefting the pack, to which he had added Flowers "We'll go see what's on the menu and find out what sort of accommodations they have. If neither one is very good I might as well be on the trail, though."

  He moved off in the direction of the main building. The proprietor, an elderly man with a French accent, and his wife-young, heavy, native-sat in wicker chairs in the reception area, beneath a large fan. He smiled, put down a book and a drink, and rose as

  Red entered.

  "Hello. May I serve you?

  "Hi. I'm Red. Dorakeen. I was wondering what may be available for dinner."

  "Peter Laval. And this is Betty. A stew—native meats, carefuly seasoned. Beer made here, or wine brought in, to go with it. You may inspect the kitchen, sniff the pot, if you choose."

  "Not necessary. I'm getting a whiff here. Smells good. What are the rooms like?" ' "Come take a look. Right around the corner."

  Red followed him down a short hall and into a small, clean room.

  "Not bad. I'll take it," he said, lowering his pack to the floor after removing and pocketing Flowers and placing the rifle on the bed. He tossed his jacket down beside it.

  "... And I wouldn't mind some of that beer now."

  "This way. I'll get you a key too, if you want one."

  Red followed him back into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  'Might as well. Many other guests?"

  'No, just yourself today. Things are slow—as usual."
/>
  'That fancy car out there yours?"

  'No, mine is in back, and much less pretentious."

  "Whose is it, then?" Red asked as they approached

  a desk where he signed a guest book and received a key.

  "Ah! You are reading Baudelaire! One of my favorites. There was a man who saw through pretensions_ everything! 'Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et cornplaisante l'immensite' de son desir?'"

  " '....e'ponds, cadavre impur!' " Red said, nodding, following the other into a small taproom, where a stein was drawn for him. "Whose car is it?"

  Laval chuckled, leading him out onto the veranda and gesturing toward the mountains.

  "A most unusual fellow," he said. "Hiked off in that direction last week. Big, skinny, with eyes like Rasputin... Hands such as Modigliani might have painted somewhere or other. And every stitch on him, down to his bootlaces, was green. Even had on a big emerald ring. Didn't say where he was going or why. Said his name was John, that's all."

  Flowers emitted a small squeak. Red thumbed the piezoelectric acknowledgment point.

  "... And to tell the truth, I was glad to see him go. He didn't do anything threatening or even uncivil. But he made me uncomfortable just being here."

  Red sipped his beer.

  "I've left my drink inside. Would you care to join us in the lobby? It's a little cooler there."

  Red shook his head.

  "I'm enjoying the view from here. Thanks anyway."

  Laval shrugged and withdrew. Red raised Flowers.

  "Yeah, I caught it," he muttered. "I suppose it could be the same guy. Indicating—"

  "It's not that," said the tiny voice, "though it could be. But it is what caused me to set up surveillance. I decided to run periodic reconnaissance surveys through the truck's sensors via microwave. I've picked something up."

  "What?"

  "Electrical activity associated with something ap

  proaching from the southwest. It's easy to spot against this quiet background. It's coming up pretty fast."

  "How large an object is it?"

  "I can't tell yet."

  Red took another drink.

  "Conclusions? Recommendations?"

  "Go get your rifle and keep it with you. Maybe a grenade. I don't know what you've got on you. I've already broadcast a message to that doctor we met."

  "Then you do think it's his man?"

  "You have to admit it sounds that way. Let us not take chances."

  "I'm not arguing."

  Red set his stein on a ledge, turned toward his truck.

  "Uh-oh, Flowers," he announced. "Something airborne from that direction, and it ain't no bird."

  "I'm tracking. That's it. You might still be able to get the rifle, if you run."

  "Oh, the hell with it," Red said, unwrapping a fresh cigar and lighting it. "It would just get in the way. You might get a chance to try that brand-new routine, though."

  He retrieved his beer and seated himself on the edge of the veranda.

  "I've had an acknowledgment from the physician. He is near, and he's on his way."

  "Great."

  He opened Flowers and read a few lines.

  "I must say, you're taking it very philosophically."

  "Well, isn't this the way to go—with a drink, a cigar and a good book?"

  "The preparations-do not seem entirely adequate."

  "Maybe this is my place... And I've already caught a glimpse of the opposition "

  "And?.. ."

  "Here they come now."

  The robot soared above the parking lot, slowing. The man, clad all in yellow now, rode upon its back. It continued to slow, gradually assumed a vertical attitude, then descended gently to the ground, landing perhaps fifteen meters from the veranda.

  Red sipped his beer and set it down. He rose to his feet, smiling, and took a step forward.

  "Hi, Mondy," he said. "Who's your friend?"

  "Red ..." Mondamay began.

  "Silence!" said John, stepping down and stretching. His topaz rings flashed in the sunlight. "Remain in position! Battle systems active!"

  He stepped forward and bowed from the waist.

  "John will do. And you, I take it, are Red Dorakeen?"

  'That is correct. Anything I can do for you?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. You can die. Mondamay—"

  "A moment. May I inquire as to your purpose in this?"

  John paused in mid-gesture, nodded sharply.

  "Very well. I wish to assure you that there is absolutely nothing personal involved. I am simply carrying out a commission in order to earn a large sum of money, which I require to further various personal ambitions. A man named Chadwick hired me to do this. Ah! You nod. But then you had already guessed, hadn't you? Former friends can make the worst enemies. Pity. But there you are. I won't point any morals. It's a little late for them to be of much use to you."

  "So you accepted the commission, determined my destination and located a complicated piece of equipment to do the work for you? ..."

  "That pretty much summarizes things. Chadwick put my feet on the right track—"

  "I wonder whether your reliance on an agent is a mark of fear?"

  "Fear? No more than Chadwick's hiring me is an indication of fear on his part. He is a very busy man.

  He sought to employ efficiency, as do I . Do you think I fear to fight you, or any man?"

  Red smiled.

  "No," John said, noting the smile. "You shan't goad me into giving you an unearned chance at life. Your opinion of me means nothing when I know better."

  Red puffed on his cigar.

  "Interesting," he said. "Then I suppose it is merely of academic interest to you that the man who told me about you is even now approaching?"

  "Man? What man?"

  Red glanced at the roadway.

  "A big golden-eyed guy with one hell of a suntan," he said. "I met him at a rest stop back on the Road. Driving a hot little 1920s roadster. Had on a torn shirt. Said he was going to do a lobotomy on you with an icepick."

  "I don't believe you!"

  Red shrugged.

  "Why don't you ask him yourself? I believe that's the roadster approaching now."

  John turned to regard a rushing vehicle, dust boiling behind it. Red took several steps forward.

  "Halt! Right there!" John spun and raised one hand, his eyes flashing. "If this is a trick, it won't work. And if it is not, I welcome the opportunity to kill that bird with this same stone. Mondamay! Burn Red Dorakeen down to a cinder!"

  Mondamay raised his right arm, extruding a tube which he pointed at Red. Lights flashed in the vicinity of his shoulder. There came a crackling sound. A tiny wisp of smoke curled upward from out of the tube.

  "Shorted again," he declared.

  ."What do you mean 'again'?" John said. It's been that way for thousands of years." "Then! disintegrate him! Blow him up! Bomb him! I

  dontt care how you do it!"

  A whirring sound began deep within Mondamay.

  His lights flashed rapidly. Clicking noises emerged from various units. A tiny whine began somewhere.

  "Uh—John," Red said, "did you never stop to wonder why that alien race left a piece of complicated equipment like Mondamay behind?"

  "I'd rather assumed it was for purposes of knocking us back to barbarism if our civilization took some turn of which they disapproved."

  "Naw, nothing that sophisticated," Red said. "Massive systems failures. He couldn't be repaired, so they abandoned him. Felt a little sorry for him since he was sentient, so they left him with his hobbies and his disguises. After all, he was harmless—"

  "Mondamay! Is that true?"

  Smoke was emerging from all of Mondamay's joints, and the whine had risen to a wail. The lights still flashed, the clanking was constant now.

  "Afraid so, John," he replied. "I guess I just burned one world too many in my younger days—"

  "Why didn't you tell me this?"

  "You never ask
ed me."

  Red moved forward again.

  "And so," he said, "you will have to earn your fee the hard way."

  John turned back toward him, a smile on his lips.

  "So be it. You get your wish and I get my hands dirty," he said, moving to meet him. "I will even save you the trouble of anticipating me by telling you how I will proceed. I am going to raise you above the ground by the neck, hold you at arm's length and strangle you with one hand while you dangle there. I would not imagine you think me cap—"

  His eyes widened and he halted. He raised both hands slowly to his face.

  "What-?"

  "You never asked me whether I cared to get my hands dirty," Red said, turning Flowers slowly to follow John's collapse. "I don't."

  John fell and lay still. A trickle of blood emerged from his left ear.

  "See? I'd always wanted that speaker with the ultrasound range," Flowers observed, "and if you'd gotten me the better model, you wouldn't even have had to edge up this close."

  Red went to Mondamay, turned and withdrew the crystal key, and was handing it to him as the roadster came into the parking lot.

  "You'd better keep this thing in a safe place or destroy it," he said.

  "I was not even aware that this one existed," Mondamay replied. "Perhaps it was specially manufactured, or maybe it comes from some other branch of the Road. I barely recognized you. You look younger. What—"

  John moaned and began to rise. Red leaned over and struck him on the jaw. He fell again.

  "Well, all's well now," Red said. "I was just coming to visit you."

  The car had braked to a halt. Its door slammed.

  "How pleasant—"

  "Hold Flowers a moment, would you? I want to speak with this gentleman."

  Red turned toward the giant figure with the black bag who was now striding toward him.

  "Hello again. Sorry to trouble you if we were mistaken," he said, glancing down, "but is this the guy you were looking for?"

  The big man nodded and opened his bag.

  ''He is. Are you all right?"

  "Can't complain. He's just had an ultrasound jolt

  and a left to the jaw, though."

  The golden-eyed man examined John's ears and eyes, listened to his heartbeat. He filled a syringe from an ampule, knelt and gave him a large injection in the right biceps. He drew a pair of handcuffs from his hip pocket and fastened John's hands behind his back. He then proceeded to search the yellow-clad form, remov ing various small devices from cuffs, collars, sleeves and boots,