He felt the change begin.
He threw himself back upon the bed and lay unmoving, waiting.
There came a sound like wind through a wheatfield and everything seemed to be spinning.
Two
He moved to the base of the tower, dark, darker than the moonlit night itself, silent.
For long seconds he stared upward. Then he reached out and touched the wall. He drew back his hands, clenched them, pumped them. The claws came forth.
With but the slightest of scratching sounds, he began to climb, shadow over shadow, sliding up the face of the building. His breathing was not strained. Beneath the darkness, he wore no expression. This was the place. The car that had brought him was parked in the lot below. There was absolutely no hurry. The night was young. The driver would wait.
He avoided windows, though most of them were already dark. He paused below the balcony of the first high landing, listening.
Nothing.
He raised his head and scanned the area.
Vacant.
He climbed past on the left, a gentle wind caressing him as he went. A frightened bird emitted a single cry and departed a nesting place far in the rear, vanishing into the night behind him.
Continuing on, he slowed as he neared the second landing, where he repeated the performance. He had
studied a map of the tower; he knew the room's location, he also knew that the windows were grilled. It would be simpler and faster to spring the door with a single kick, entering with as much surprise as possible...
He paused to listen below the third landing, moved to regard it, then raised himself and mounted the rail. As he did, a figure moved out of the stairwell to his right, took a single puff on a freshly lit cigarette. dropped it and stepped on it. Crouched, owl-like, on the rail, he saw that the small, now motionless figure was also watching him. A single spring, a single movement of his hands and it would not matter...
"Archie," said a soft voice, "good evening."
He restrained himself. He placed his right hand upon the rail to his side.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure," his hoarse voice responded.
"True, we've never met. I have seen your picture, however, along with those of a number of our fellow employees. I thought that perhaps you might have seen mine under somewhat similar circumstances."
A match flared. Archie regarded the face.
"Familiar, yes," he stated. "The name, however, escapes me."
"I am called Timyin Tin."
"Well, I take it we are here for the same purpose, You can go home now, I don't need any help."
"We are not here for the same purpose."
"I don't understand."
"I look upon this job as my own. Your presence, through no fault of your own, offends me. Therefore, I must bid you depart and leave this matter in my hands."
Archie chuckled.
"It's silly to argue over who kills him."
"I am glad you think so. I will bid you good night, then, and be about the thing."
"That is not what I meant."
"What, then?"
"I have my orders. I have even been conditioned to hate the man. No, the job is mine. You go your way. It will be done."
"Alas I cannot. With me, it is a matter of honor." "Do you think you are the only one who might feel
that way?"
"Not any longer."
Archie shifted slightly on the railing. Timyin Tin turned toward his right.
"You do not wish to give up on this?"
"No. And you will not?"
"True."
Archie flexed his fingers, twitching his claws.
"Then it is too late for you," he said, and sprang
forward.
Timyin Tin moved backward and turned, dropping into a bent-kneed position, hands open, fingers spread, palms faring forward at shoulder level. Archie spun, his right hand crossing his chest, fingers hooked outward, left hand extended, fingers forward, thumb cocked, his weight shifted to his left leg, right leg flexed. Timyin Tin turned sideways, his right hand retreating to the vicinity of his left shoulder, his left crossing his body to the front, fingers moving into a new position.
Archie feinted with his foot, slashed twice with his right hand, dropped immediately into a cross-armed defensive posture. Timyin Tin had moved back, arms parallel and extended forward, hands rotating. Archie's blows had fallen short as he assessed his opponent. Now he assumed a new position—head back, arms cocked, right leg extended. Timyin Tin made a basket of his arms before him and leaned slightly forward, turning. ''Almost had me there," Archie said. The small man smiled as his left fingers assumed a new configuration and his shoulder dropped two and a
quarter inches. Archie hastily changed the position of his left arm and moved his rear foot to produce a new stance.
Timyin Tin fanned his face slowly with his right hand while lowering his left, fingers curving upward. Archie did a backward somersault and moved forward, kicking. Timyin Tin parried the kick with a scooping movement of his left arm that threw Archie into a cartwheeling motion, which the larger man continued until he was out of range, coming up into a defensive crouch from which he rose with his hands moving rapidly. He circled to the left now, shuffling, jerking through dozens of positions with blinding speed. Timyin Tin's body flowed to follow him, his hands seeming to move more slowly but always falling into the proper attitudes.
Finally, Archie halted and stood facing him. Timyin Tin stopped also, facing Archie, who made a single movement with his right hand. Timyin Tin mirrored it as he did it. They remained absolutely still for half a minute. Then Archie moved his right hand again. Timyin Tin moved his left. They watched one another for half a minute more, then Archie turned his head. Timyin Tin touched his nose. A puzzled look crossed Archie's face. Then he bent slowly and placed the palm of his left hand upon the floor. Timyin Tin turned his left hand palm upward and moved it three inches forward. Archie flexed his ears, then asked, "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
"A butterfly."
Archie straightened and took a step forward. Timyin Tin shaded his eyes. They remained in this position for a full minute.
Timyin Tin took two rapid steps to the left and kicked into the air. Twisting his body and throwing himself backward, Archie restrained himself within a fraction of a second from moving into a position which
would have placed his jaw in line with the kick. Both arms extended, claws at full flex, he spun twice as he recovered his footing and balance. By then, Timyin Tin had taken two additional steps to his left.
There was perspiration on Archie's brow as he bent forward and began moving in a wide circle about the smaller man, fingers hooked and clawing lightly at the
air Timyin Tin turned slowly to follow him, his right
hand seeming to hang limply at shoulder level. He bowed very low just as Archie was about to spring. Archie restrained himself and halted.
"It has indeed been a pleasure," he remarked.
"For this one also," Timyin Tin replied.
"It looks as if white flowers fall upon my shroud. Your hands are so pale."
"To leave the world in spring, with flower guards to honor: it must be peace."
Timyin Tin straightened slowly. Archie began moving his left hand in a slow figure-eight, extending it gradually. His right hand twitched.
Timyin Tin took two sudden steps to his left. Archie moved as if to circle in a clockwise direction, then followed quickly as the other began to turn. A cool breeze touched them both as Archie began a kick with his left foot, thought better of it, shifted his weight, feinted with his right. Timyin Tin extended both hands, palms down, then slowly began lowering the right. Archie moved his head in a slow circle. Then his shoulders began a counter-movement. His hands traced patterns about one another, advancing, retreating, feinting...
Timyin Tin leaned to his right, then to his left, his right hand still descending with extreme slowness. He leaned to the left again
"What," Archie asked him, "is the color of thunder?"....hen to the right, hand still dropping.
Archie feinted with another kick, then lunged forward, claws extended, hands describing wide semicircles about one another.
Timyin Tin's head turned back over his shoulder as his left leg moved behind him. His body turned sideways as his left hand became a V, catching Archie beneath the left armpit. His right hand moved upward toward the other's crotch. He felt but an instant's touch of weight as he twisted to the left. Then Archie was gone, into the night, out over the railing.
"Behold," Timyin Tin replied.
He stood for several heartbeats, regarding the night. Then he bowed again.
He withdrew a pencil-thin tube from a narrow pocket at the outer seam of his right pantleg. He weighed it in his hand for a moment, then pointed it toward the sky. He thumbed a stud on its side and a fine red beam emerged from its tip.
With a movement of his wrist, he directed the beam toward the railing. It sliced a thin line through eight inches of stone. He flicked it off and moved to the spot where it had cut. Running his thumb along the groove, he looked down over the railing for the first time. He nodded and turned away, replacing the tube in his pocket.
Soundlessly, he crossed to the stairs. He looked upward and for a moment his vision wavered as the dim interior of the stairwell reminded him of a cold stone corridor in an ancient building he had once known.
He mounted the stairs slowly, keeping close to the left-hand wall. He passed a door, moved toward the next.
When he reached the proper door, he paused. A pale light still shone beneath it. He took the tube into his hand but still he stood, listening. There was a soft stirring within, a creak of furniture, stillness.
He raised the weapon and pointed it at a place near the jamb, where the bar should lie. Then he paused
again and lowered it. He moved forward. Gently, very gently, slowly, he tried the door. It was unfastened. He stepped to the side, raised his weapon again
and pushed it open. He dropped to his knees. The tube fell from his
fingers.
"I did not know," he said. He lowered his forehead to the floor.
One
As he was paying his bill and settling up for the damage to his room. Red was approached by the wagers broker, a small, turbaned man of exotic aroma.
"Congratulations, Mr. Dorakeen," he said. "My, you are looking good this morning."
"I occasionally do," Red replied, turning. "It seldom warrants special notice, however."
"I meant, congratulations on your winnings."
"Oh? I placed a bet on something?"
"Yes. You bet on yourself in the next pass of the black decade, Chadwick versus Dorakeen. Don't you remember?"
"Ouch!" He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it begins to come back. Excuse me, but I'm a little hazy about yesterday. What a damned stupid thing to do....ait a minute. If I won, that means there was an unsuccessful attempt on my life last night."
"So it would seem. Notice has been received that you were successful. Do you want cash, or would you have me credit your account?"
"Credit my account. Were there no particulars, then?"
"None." The man produced a document. "If you will
sign this, I will give you a receipt and your winnings will be deposited."
Red scrawled his signature on it.
"Was there no disturbance in the neighborhood that might have had to do with this?"
"Only if you count the damage that I understand occurred in your room."
He shook his head.
"I doubt that There were no—remains."
"Would you care to place a wager on the fith pass?"
"Fifth? There have only been three attempts, counting this one you just paid on."
"You are listed as having survived four."
"I am afraid I do not understand, and I am not going to confuse the matter by betting again."
The broker shrugged.
"As you would."
Red hefted his bag and turned away. Mondamay glided up, holding Flowers.
"Yes, that was a stupid thing to do," Flowers stated as they headed toward the door. "Placing a bet!"
"I've already admitted it, but then the person I was yesterday was having a problem."
"Then you've inherited a big piece of it. Chadwick has literally had all the time in the world to zero in on you here. Do you think we'll make it across the parking lot?"
Mondamay matched circuits with Flowers.
He does look somehow different today, he said, but what does he mean when he speaks of not being the same person he was yesterday?
I have not been with him long enough to have made observations sufficient to permit me to understand the phenomenon, came the reply. But he has had three of these spells since I have known him, and on each occasion he has recovered looking several years younger but acting as if he were a different person.
I noted that he appeared younger when I saw him back in C Eleven, but I did not know at what point in his life-line he had arrived. He had always been older when he had visited me in the past.
How old?
Somewhere in his fifties, I'd say. I suppose it is possible that he is taking some rejuvenation medication from farther up the Road.
I lack sufficient programs involving pharmacology to know whether such treatments would have the side effects of his spells—in terms of his apparent manic phase followed by a personality change.
"I don't believe the danger in departing would be any greater than that in remaining here," Red replied.
Tell me about the personality changes, Mondamay said. Are they temporary irrationalities or what? He did strike me as somewhat changed from our last meeting, but I have not really observed him long enough this time to draw any conclusions.
They seem stable each time—a younger outlook, more enthusiasm... He's less conservative, more willing to take chances, a little quicker in his responsesmental and physical—and perhaps a little more cruel, arrogant, audacious ... "Rash" is perhaps the best word.
Then there is a possibility that he may be about to do something—rash?
I suppose there is.
"I will precede you on the way to the car, Red," Mondamay stated, moving ahead toward the lobby door.
"That isn't necessary."
"Just the same ..."
"Okay."
"Where are we headed?" Flowers inquired as they passed outside into a sunny morning,
"Up the Road."
"To carry the attack to Chadwick?"
"Probably."
"C Twenty-seven? That is quite a haul."
"Yes."
There was no one else about as they crossed to the
vehicle and entered it. ,,.•,. "I will check all systems," Flowers stated, after being
deposited in her niche, "before ignition."
"Go ahead." .
"Red, you are looking well this morning, Mondamay stated, '''but how do you really feel? I overheard you say something about not being clear on things you did yesterday. Do you think we ought to find someplace off the Road where vou can rest?"
"Rest? Hell, no! I feel fine."
"I mean mentally, emotionally. If your memory is playing tricks—"
"Not important, not important. Don't concern yourself. I'm always a little fuzzy that way after one of my attacks."
"What are they like?"
"I don't know. I never can recall."
"What brings them on?"
Red shrugged.
"Who knows?"
"Do they occur at any special times? Is there a pattern to them?"
"Nothing I've ever been able to discern."
"Have you consulted a physician concerning them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to be cured. I find my condition improved each time one occurs. I wake up remembering things I hadn't recalled before; I've a new outlook I always enjoy--"
"On this end, yes. On the far end, I gain more
ground."
"All systems safe," Flowers announced.
"Good."
Red started the engine and headed toward the exit
"You have confused me even more," Mondamay stated as they avoided a ragged individual wearing a crusader's cross, then turned onto the highway, passing an old vehicle driven by a young man which entered the lot and took their parking place. "What do you mean by 'the far end'? What do you remember? Have you any idea at all as to the nature of the process you are undergoing?"
Red sighed. He located a cigar and chewed on it, but he did not light it.
"All right, I remember being an old man," he began. "Very old ... I was walking through a rocky wasteland. It was nearly morning, and it was foggy. My feet were bleeding. I was carrying a staff, and I leaned on it a lot."
He shifted the cigar from one comer of his mouth :
to the other and looked out of the window.
"That's all," he said.
"All? That can hardly be all," Flowers broke in. "Are you trying to say that you grew up—or grew to wherever you are—backwards? That you started out as an old man?"
"That's what I just said. Yes," Red answered irritably.
"Watch the curve. —You mean that you remember nothing whatsoever before being old and walking through a waste? Or— What did you gain this time?"
"Nothing rational. Just a few delirium-dreams of odd shapes moving about me in the fog, and fear and so forth—and I kept going."
"Did you know where you were going?"
"No."
"And you were alone?..."
"At first."
"At first?"
"Somewhere along the way, I acquired company. I'm still hazy about the circumstances, but there was an old
woman. We were helping each other over the rough
spots: Leila."
"There was a Leila with you years ago, on one occasion when you visited me. But she was not an old
woman ..... "The same. Our ways have parted and rejoined many
times but her situation has paralleled my own with respect to the reversed aging business."
She was not involved in your dealings with Chadwick?"
"No, but she knew him.
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