don't want to! You don't know enough about my pro. grams to be able to force—"
"Easy! Please! Stop!" he said. "If you're as sensitive as all that, you should accept an apology, too."
There was a pause.
"I should?"
"Of course. I'm sorry. I apologize. I was not aware of the situation."
"Then I accept your apology. I understand how easily you could have erred as you did, living in these primitive times. For a moment, my emotions simply got the better of me."
"I see."
"Do you? I doubt it. I evolve, I mature—the same as you do. I need not spend all my days as this sort of unit. I may have many adjuncts in my next avatar. I may command complex operations of an extremely responsible nature. I might even be the nervous system for a protoplasmic construct one day. One has to begin somewhere, you know."
"I begin to realize your situation. I am very impressed. But what was this—nexus—you spoke of?"
"You'll see. I have forgiven you. We're getting near."
Lights appeared ahead.
"Take the entrance ramp. Stay in the right-hand lane."
"I didn't realize we were near the turnpike."
"That is not the turnpike. There will be no toll. Just get on it."
As he approached, he saw that the ramp lay to his left. He turned up it Leaves of Grass began emitting a bleeping sound.
"Stop at the top. Wait till I tell you to go on."
"No one's coming."
"Just do as I say."
He braked to a halt and waited beside the deserted highway. More than a minute went by.
Abruptly, the beeping ceased.
"All right. Go ahead."
"Okay." He put the car into motion. The sky began to
brighten immediately. As the vehicle's speed increased, the darkness waned and a daytime glow filled the heavens.
"Hey!"
He removed his foot from the accelerator, touched
the brake.
"Don't do that! Keep going!"
He obeyed. The light, which had begun to falter, returned.
"What happened?"
"In this place, you must follow my directions exactly. If you have to halt, pull off to the side. Otherwise you are taking a great risk."
His velocity mounted. It now seemed a cloudless day through which he sped, with a heavy bright line running from east to west across the cloudless sky.
"You still haven't answered my question," he said. "What happened? And while I'm at it, where are we now and where are we going?"
"We are on the Road," came the reply. "It traverses Time—Time past. Time to come, Time that could have been and Time that might yet be. It goes on forever, so far as I know, and no one knows all of its turnings. If the man you seek is the death-driven man I once accompanied, we may find him somewhere along it, for his was the traveler's blood that allows a man to take these routes. But we may be too late. For he sought his own destruction, though he did not realize it. I did. I tried to explain it to him. I think that is why he abandoned me."
Staring ahead. Randy licked his lips and swallowed. His hands tightened on the wheel.
"How can we hope to find one man on something
like this?"
"We will stop and make inquiries along the way."
Randy nodded. A wild kind of joy came into him from the motion and the Road and the prospect Abruptly, he thought of Whitman. Beside him on the seat, Leaves of Grass suddenly began to sing.
One
The candelabra nickered, the oil lamp was steady. An occasional flash of lightning erased their reflections from the dining room window. The remains of his dinner long since removed. Red sat at the table, a stein of beer before him. Flowers near to his left hand. Mondamay was seated on the raised hearth of the still fireplace. The rain came down hard against the roof.
"... And that, basically, is what has happened so far," he said, picking up his cigar, inspecting it, relighting it, "and what I have to look forward to. Eight more. It would be nice if I could just go stand in a field somewhere and have them come up and take numbers and do their things one at a time, but it doesn't work that way. So I decided—"
Out in the hall, the front door banged open and a gust of wind found its way into the dining room, setting the candle flames into a quick dance. Shadows moved on the walls. Moments later, the door closed again. Laval passed in the hall, and there were voices. "Miserable night! Did you want a room?" "No, just dinner. A brandy first, though." "The dining room is right through that door. Here, let me take your coat."
"Thank you."
"Just go in and take a seat anywhere. Stew is the main course tonight."
"That will be fine."
A well-dressed, white-haired man with a brick-red complexion entered the room and looked around it.
"Oh, didn't see you there. Thought I was alone," he said, crossing the room and extending his hand "Dodd's the name, Michael Dodd."
Red rose and shook it.
"I'm Red Dorakeen. I'm almost finished here, but you're welcome to join me."
"All right. I will." He drew out a chair and seated himself. "Aren't you a famous wizard?"
"Wizard? No ... Where do you hail from?"
"Cleveland. C Twenty. I'm an art dealer. Ah!"
He turned to regard Laval, who entered carrying a tray bearing a glass of brandy. He nodded as it was placed before him, raised it and smiled.
"Your health, Mr. Dorakeen."
"And yours, thanks."
Red took a sip of beer.
"And you say you're not a wizard. Traveling incognito, eh? I'll bet you've got spells to stop an army in the field."
Red grinned and scratched his ear.
"You have rather odd beliefs for a C Twenty Cleveland art dealer."
"Some of us are more sophisticated than others."
Dodd extended his hand and picked up Flowers.
"Release me or feel the wrath of the Book," Flowers announced in a somber voice.
The brandy glass shattered in Dodd's left hand. Mondamay rose to his feet.
"I have been summoned," he stated.
Dodd's chair crashed to the floor as he sprang back from the table. He drew away, tracing fiery patterns in
the air.
Red stood and rounded the table.
"This crap has gone far enough!" he said. "I know you, Frazier—or whatever—"
At this Dodd flung his arms wide. The candles and oil lamps flickered out. There came a blast of heat and a flash of light, followed by an enormous crash. Red felt himself pushed back and to the side as this occurred.
He staggered. The sounds of the storm were suddenly
louder. Laval was shouting from somewhere beyond the hall. Rain was coming in through the roof.
A searchlight came on in the region of Mondamay's midsection. He turned and inspected Red.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. What happened?"
"I don't know. That flash blanked my sensors for a moment. I got in front of you before it occurred, as a safety measure. Something exited through the roof, though."
"Dodd? ..." Red called.
No answer.
"Flowers?"
"Yes?"
"Why did you break his glass and give him that weird routine?"
"To scare him, of course. For the same reason I sent Mondamay a microwave message to do something similar. I recognized him before you did—it was the same basic voice pattern."
"He was definitely the same guy we picked up hitchhiking?"
"Yes."
"I wish I knew what he wants."
"I think he—it—means you harm. But I believe it was frightened the first time around. It thinks you have some sort of magical defense system. It does not know what a microminiature integrated circuit is. Obviously, they don't have them where it comes from, but they do
have some form of magic. It thinks that you do too, and it is afraid of it because it doesn't understand it. It saw it e
arlier, and I believe it came here tonight to test it"
Laval entered the room with a light
"What the hell happened here?" he shouted.
"I have no idea," Red replied, picking up Flowers. "I was talking with the man who'd just come in when the lights blew out. There was a crash and now there is a hole in the roof and Mr. Dodd is nowhere in sight Maybe a meteor fell on him. I don't know."
Laval set down the lamp he'd brought in. His hand was shaking.
"I only caught part of that business in the parking lot earlier," he said, "so I don't know what went on there. But what I did see was damned suspicious. Then you suddenly acquire a robot. Maybe he threw that man through my roof. I don't know. Do you mean me any harm?"
"Hell, no. I said I don't know what's going on either."
"I know it's a miserable night, and I don't know where to tell you to go, but would you mind if I asked you to leave? I don't want any more trouble. Maybe you don't know what's happening, but you're some kind of a jinx. Please? ..."
Flowers emitted two short beeps.
"Yeah," Red replied, "I understand. Get my bill ready. I'll get my stuff out of the room."
"Forget the bill."
"Okay, I will. Wait... Didn't Dodd leave his coat with you?"
"Yes, he did."
"Let's have a look at it. There might be some clue as to where he's from."
"All right. Come on. I'll show you. Then you go."
He glanced once at the ceiling and led Red out the door. Mondamay followed. Laval closed and secured the door after them.
"This way."
They proceeded up the hall to a small cloakroom. Laval raised his light. The remains of a dark coat steamed on a hook to the right. It had no sleeves, and it was ragged along the bottom. It exhaled wisps of smoke. When Red reached forward to examine the label, the coat slipped from the hook and fell. He caught it, but it came apart in his hand. He turned the collar, which he still held, toward him, opening it. There was no label. The material disintegrated as he held it. He rubbed his fingertips together and sniffed them. He shook his head. The remains of the garment disappeared from where they had fallen near his foot.
"I don't understand," Laval said.
Red shrugged, then smiled.
"Cheap coat," he said. "All right. I'll get my stuff and clear out. Good dinner. Sorry about your roof."
He recovered his rifle, jacket and backpack from the room.
"Take a little trip with us, Mondy?" he asked, staring out the front door into the rain. "I was coming to see you. I'd like to talk."
"Anything you say."
Red turned up his collar.
"Okay. Lets get out of here."
He flung the door open and dashed. Moments later, they were in the truck, Flowers in the compartment, Mondamay in the passenger seat.
"Any more bombs?" Red asked.
"All clear."
He started the engine, flicked on the wipers and the lights.
"Why bother with all that manual stuff? I'll drive." He swung out of the lot and onto the road. 'I want to do something. How do you figure that guy found us again?" "I have no idea." "Well ... I know of a quiet little motel around the
middle of C Twelve, off the main drag, on the Byzantine cutoff. Can you think of any reason why not?"
"No."
Red hit the accelerator. The sky grew pearly. The rain stopped. He switched off the lights and the wipers.
Two
Sundoc's flyer deposited him on the laboratory's roof. He entered a hatchway and dropped to the sixth floor. He was met by Cargado, chief .physician-engineer of the establishment, who took him into his office and activated the wallscreen. Sundoc seated himself in a comfortable reclining chair and propped his sandaled feet on a small table. He wore shorts and a dark turtleneck. He clasped his hands behind his head and regarded the image of the man on the screen.
"All right. Tell me about him," he said.
"I have the entire file right here."
"I don't want the damned file. I want you to tell me about him."
"Of course," Cargado replied, seating himself at the desk. "His name is Archie Shellman—the most decorated soldier in World War III and a master of the martial arts. We found him a C and a half back. He'd been an infantryman in a special commando outfit. Lost a leg. Concussion. Major psychiatric impairment—"
"Like what?"
"Depression at first, followed by extreme resentment of the prosthesis. Then paranoia. Finally, manic spells. Went into physical culture in a big way. Extreme de velopment of the upper body, presumably to compensate—"
"I can see that. What then?"
"He finally killed some civilians. Knocked off half a town, actually. Insanity plea. Institutionalized. Manic. depressive cycle controlled by drug therapy. Still paranoid, though. Still lifting weights—"
"Not bad. Better than the others you've shown me, So you liberated him and gave him the pitch?"
Cargado nodded.
"A prosthetic beyond anything he could wish for. He finally consented to having all of his limbs replaced when we assured him we could restore the originals if he wasn't happy. He was, though."
He touched a control panel and the figure on the screen moved. Dark eyes, strong jaw, heavy brows, somewhat pale... The man was clad only in shorts. His movements were extremely graceful as he approached a rack of weights and began a vigorous workout. He increased the tempo until he was moving at a terrific speed.
"You've made the point," Sundoc said. "Special features?"
Cargado worked a control. The gymnasium picture faded to be replaced by another.
Shellman stood quite still. After some moments, Sundoc realized that the man's skin was darkening. He watched for perhaps two minutes, until it was almost completely black.
"Chameleon effect," Cargado said. "Fine for a night attack."
"So's a little shoe polish. What else's he got?"
The picture changed again. This time it was a closeup of Shellman's hands.
Abruptly, they clenched. There followed a momentary pumping movement and they sprang open. Metal fingernails now curved outward for several inches.
"Extrudable claws. Extremely powerful. He could disembowel a man with a single swipe." "I like that. Can he do it with his feet too? "Yes. Just a moment..." "Forget it. He has retained all of his combat skills?"
"Of course."
More pictures. Archie Shellman, looking almost bored, tossing around karateists, boxers, wrestlers with ease and proficiency. Archie Shellman permitting himself to receive powerful blows without changing expression ...
"Is he as big as he seems? That's the first sequence involving other people."
"Yes. A hundred kilos and tall enough to be slim. He can turn over a car, kick down a heavy door, run all day. Has almost perfect night vision. He also has attachments—"
"What about his mind?"
"It's all yours. Built-in gratitude for the new body and a reinforced desire to use it in combat. We've blocked the depression, but the manic response is ready and waiting if you feel you should need it. He considers himself the toughest, meanest thing on two feet—"
"Perhaps he is."
"Quite likely, and he would welcome the chance to prove it and show his gratefulness at the same time."
"I wonder ... Of all the cyborgs you've shown me, he certainly has the most class. I have some pictures of the intended victim. Would you recommend just siccing him on him, or do you think a little hateconditioning might be in order?"
"Oh, some sort of conditioning, to make it into a duty. Then he won't rest until he does it personally.
You know our motto: 'We never let well enough alone.'"
''Very well. I'll give him a try, as soon as I know where to send him. We might have a winner here."
"Uh—none of my business, of course—but what is so special about the man you are sending him after?"
Sundoc shook his head as he passed Cargado the photos of Red Dorakeen.
"Damned if I really know," he said. "Someone, somewhere, just doesn't like him."
One
Passing a succession of heavily laden chariots, they came to a quiet section of the Road.
"Now, neither of you can pick up any more signals, can you?"
"None here."
"No."
"Good. Now I can settle down to the business of keeping alive on more of a long-range basis—one of the reasons I was coming to see you, Mondy."
"The old arm isn't what it used to be, but I'll be glad to help."
"It's your advice that I'm really after. You're still the greatest mayhem computer I know about. Now, you know me and you know something of the situation— and I can get you more data if you need it. The first thing I want is your opinion as to the course of action I should take."
"You are more than welcome to return with me to my place. I will be glad to give you sanctuary for as long as you wish, and teach you to make pots."
"Thank you. But I can't see my enjoying that on a permanent basis. I require a little more variety."
"This hostel on the Byzantine cutoff— How is it that you know of it?"
Red chuckled. -'
"I did quite a bit of trading along that route. Made out pretty well on it. But— Well, I like it. Manuel I is emperor there. He's usually off fighting somewhere. but he found time to build a really lovely place, a palace called the Blachernae, on the seashore right out at the end of the Golden Horn. An amazing piece of architecture, covered with gold and jewels, shining even at night. Does some fine entertaining there, and I got invited a few times as a high-class merchant. And Constantinople itself is really at its height. Literature and scholarship are flourishing. It's as if, for a little while, the Renaissance were trying to get started here. The climate is clement, the women lovely, the—"
"In other words, you're fond of the place?"
"I guess that's what I was trying to say."
"Well, if you don't want to make pots with me, why not get yourself a villa there? You'd have your variety, in a place you're truly fond of..."
Red was silent for a time. He searched out a match and relit his cigar.
Then, "It's a nice dream," he said, "and I could do it for a few years. Then I'd get restless and I'd be back on the Road again. I know it."
Roadmarks Page 8