"Next destination! Coordinates! Quick!"
"Oh. C Twenty-seven, eighteenth exit, fourth right off that, second left from that, third left from that It is a large white building. Looks sort of Gothic."
"Got that?" she said.
"Yes," Mondamay's voice came through the static. "If I can locate the Road, I will try to follow when this is finished."
There came another explosion, followed by uninterrupted static. They hit the dirt road, turned and con. tinued on.
Two
Randy faced the slim Victorian gentleman whom he had met in the foyer. The man's bag was on the bench near the door. He ran a hand through light, thinning hair.
"... That is correct," he said. "Three days ago. They shot it out right in this parking lot. And I'd come down this way for a holiday! Violence!" He shuddered. The tic at the left comer of his mouth returned. "Mr. Dorakeen departed that night. I really cannot tell you where he went."
"Is there anyone here who could?" Randy asked.
"The host—Johnson—perhaps. They seemed to know one another."
Randy nodded.
"Could you tell me where I might find Johnson?"
The man gnawed his lip and shook his head, looking past Randy, across the dining room and into the bar, where an argument between a stunning redheaded woman and a heavyset black man was taking place.
"Sorry. Today seems to be his day off. I've no idea where he's gone. I can only suggest that you inquire at the desk, which is in the bar. Excuse me."
He moved around Randy, took a nervous step in the direction of the altercation. At that moment, however,
it ended. The woman said something sweet and taunting, smiled, turned and walked away, heading toward the foyer.
He sighed, retraced his route around Randy and picked up his bag. He offered the woman his arm as she approached. She took it and they departed together. He nodded sharply to Randy as they went out the door.
The man who had been arguing with the woman ;
stared at Randy as he entered the bar.
"Pardon me, but don't I know you from somewhere?" he asked. "You look very familiar ..."
Randy studied the dark features.
"Toba. The name's Toba," the other added.
"I don't believe so," Randy said slowly. "My name's Randy Carthage. C Twenty."
"Guess not, then." Toba shrugged. "Let me buy you
a beer, anyway."
Randy looked around the room—rough wood and ironwork; no brass, no mirror. There were four people at the bar, which also served as a reception desk, and two were at another table. ;
"The bartender stepped out a few minutes ago. Draw yourself a beer—they're very informal here—and I'll settle up when he comes back."
"Okay. Thanks."
Randy crossed the rush-strewn floor, filled a mug from the keg on the rack, returned to the table and seated himself across from Toba. There was a halffilled glass to his right and the chair stood angled away from the table beyond it. |
".., bitch," Toba muttered softly. Then, "Traveling this way on business?" he asked. |
Randy placed Leaves on the table, shook his head and sipped his beer. I
"I was looking for a guy, but he's already left."
"Just the opposite of my problem," Toba said. "I know where the guy I'm looking for is. I just stopped here for lunch. Then the damn girl I'm working with
picks someone up and takes off to visit a half-assed ruin! Now I'm going to have to get a room here and wait till she's done with him. Probably a day or two, damn it!"
"Who is he, anyway?"
"Huh? Who?"
"Your friend. The Englishman you were talking with."
"Oh. I don't know him. I was just asking him something. But he did say his name is Jack, if that's any help."
"Well, that's his problem, poor bastard."
Toba took another drink. Randy did the same.
"What?" came a raised voice, French-accented, from one of the men at the bar. "You have never been beyond C Seventeen? My God, man! You owe it to yourself to get as far as early C Twenty at least once in your life! To fly, that is why! A man is not complete until he has known the freedom of the heavens! Not the big sky-boats that came later, where you might as well be taking your ease in a provincial parlor—no! You must leave your petty bourgeois concerns behind and get up in a light craft with an open cockpit where you can feel the wind and the rain, look down at the world, the clouds, up at the stars! It will change you, believe me!"
Randy turned to look at him.
"Is that who I think it is?" he asked, and he heard Toba chuckle. But they were both distracted at that moment by the arrival of the woman.
She came in through the hall entrance on the left, opposite that from the restaurant. She wore black denim jeans bloused over high, efficient-looking boots of the same color, and a faded khaki shirt; a black scarf bound her black hair above a broad forehead, heavy brows, large green eyes, and a wide, unpainted mouth.
The butt of a weapon protruded from the holster at her right hip, and its heavy belt also bore a sheathed hunting knife on its left side, low on her narrow waist. She
was close to six feet in height, full-breasted, somewhat wide across the shoulders, and moved with her head held high. She carried a large leather purse as if it were a football.
Her eyes cast about the room for only a moment, then several quick strides bore her to the table at which Randy and Toba sat, and upon which she dropped the purse.
The half-filled glass the redhead had left toppled, slopping its contents toward Toba and into his lap.
"Shit!" he announced, springing to his feet arid running his hands down the front of his trousers. "This just isn't my day!"
"I'm sorry," she said, smiling, and then she turned to Randy. "I was looking for you."
"Oh?"
"I'm going to find whoever's in charge and get a room and go to bed!" Toba stated, throwing some money onto the moist tabletop. "Nice meeting you, kid. Good luck and all that. Shit!"
"Thanks for the beer," Randy told his back.
The woman seated herself in the chair that had been the redhead's, removing Leaves from the path of the spreading puddle.
"You're the one, all right," she said. "Lucky I got : you away from that guy."
"Why?"
"Bad vibes. That's what I've got at the moment, and that's enough. Hi, Leaves."
"Hello, Leila."
A rampant deja vu resolved itself in that instant
"Your voice—" Randy began. '
"Yes, Leaves has my voice," Leila stated. "I was ! handy to provide the matrix when Reyd obtained this unit"
"I warrant a pronoun these days," Leaves said slowly and with a touch of menace, "and it is feminine."
"Sorry, old girl," Leila said, patting her cover. "Cor
rection noted. No offense." She turned toward Randy and smiled. "What is your name, anyway?" "Randy Carthage. I don't understand—" "Of course not and it doesn't matter a bit. I've always been very fond of Carthage. Perhaps I'll take you
there one day."
"Take her up on it," Flowers said, and you'll be into back braces for a while."
Leila slapped the cover with more force.
"Have you had lunch yet?" she asked.
"My time sense is a little skewed," Randy replied, "but if that's the next meal, I'm ready for it, yes."
"Then let's move over to the other room and I'll get you some. We'd better start out with full stomachs."
"Start out?"
"Right" she said, rising and snatching up her purse.
He followed her into the dining room, where she selected a table in the far corner and seated herself with the corner to her back. He settled down across from her, placing Leaves on the table between them.
"I don't understand..." he said again.
"Let's order," she said, gesturing to the waiter and studying the several other diners near the front. "Then we'll have to head for C Eleven, chop-chop.
"
The waiter approached. She ordered a massive meal. He did the same.
"What's at C Eleven?" he asked then.
"You are looking for Reyd Dorakeen. I am too. That is where he went when he skipped out on me a few nights ago. I saw the second black bird circling him there."
"How do you know this? How did you know who I am? What black bird?"
"I had no idea who you were to be. I only knew that a man with a copy of Leaves of Grass would be in the bar this afternoon, that he, too, would be looking for Reyd, and that he would be kindly disposed toward him. I came down when I did to meet you and to join
forces, since I saw that he would be needing help. before too long, somewhere along his way."
"Okay, I see," he said. "But I am still confused as to your source of information. How did you know I'd be there? How do you know where—"
"Let me explain," Leaves broke in, "or she'll be at this all day. Her conversational patterns tend to resemble an avalanche. Thank the Great Circuit I didn't acquire that with the voice-imprint. You see, Randy, she possesses paranormal abilities. She calls them something different, smacking of Stone Age rituals and magic, but the results are the same. I'd guess she is about seventy-five percent effective precognitively— maybe more. She does see things, and they do often come to pass. I've seen her be right too frequently for it to be mere chance. Unfortunately, she acts as if everyone else understands this, as if they share her visions, or at least should automatically accept them. She knew you were coming because she knew you were coming, that's all. I hope that explains some of what is bothering you."
"Well—some," he said. "But it still leaves other gaps. Tell me, Leila, has Leaves stated the situation adequately?"
"Pretty much so," she said. "I don't feel like quibbling, so let's let it stand. I saw you coming, that's true."
"It still doesn't tell me who you are and where you come from and why you are so interested in Red's safety."
"We have been many things to one another, but mainly he is an old and special friend," she said, "and we are alike in many ways. There are so many debts between us that I've lost track of how they balance out. Also, the son of a bitch ran out on me when I told him to wait around."
"Something you didn't foresee?"
She shook her head.
"Nobody's perfect; Leaves just told you that. What's Reyd to you, by the way?"
"I believe he is my father.
She stared, her face immobile for the first time since they had met. Then she bit her lip.
"How blind of me," she finally said. "Of course...
Where were you born?"
"C Twenty, Cleveland, Ohio."
"So that's where he went..." She looked away. "Interesting. I foresee our lunch. Now."
Their waiter entered the room, carrying a tray.
"What was wrong with that guy I was with—Toba?" Randy asked as they began eating.
"He is someone connected with the dark birds," Leila said between mouthfuls.
"What dark birds? This is the second time you've mentioned them."
"Reyd is the subject of a black decade. I see his would-be assassins that way."
"Black decade?" said Leaves. "What's he done?"
"Made an enemy he shouldn't have, apparently. He thinks it's Chadwick."
"Oh, my! Chadwick can be very nasty."
"So can Reyd, you know. Or do you?"
"I have often suspected this, though—"
"Someone's out to get him?" Randy broke in.
"Yes," said Leila, "someone who can afford the very best. There will be a lot of bookmaking on this one, up and down the line. I wonder what odds they'll be giving? It might be worth putting some money on one side or the other."
"You'd bet against him?"
"It depends on the odds, the circumstances—quite a few things. Oh, I'm going to try to help him, all right, but I hate to miss out on a good thing too." "Doesn't your talent give you an unusual advantage in betting situations?"
"You bet, and I love money. Too bad we don't have
time to pursue the second one now. I'd go for Reyd now that he's been warned."
"This is probably my father you're talking about."
"I've known him a long while. He'd be betting if it were me. Make a bundle too."
Randy shook his head and addressed his attention to his food.
"You're strange people," he said after a time. "Just a little more open than most, maybe. Look I wouldn't have spent three whole days getting back into shape for just anybody. I'm on his side all the way. Waiter! Bring me a box of cigars—the good ones."
"About this black decade thing..." Randy said. "How do we get him out of it?"
"See him through the encounters, I guess. Then the game's over."
"What's to stop this Chadwick guy from continuing the game then, or starting it all over again?"
"The rules. Everyone plays it by the rules. If he didn't, he'd be barred by the Games Board from ever getting another permit and playing again. He'd stand to lose a lot of prestige."
"And you think that would be enough to restrain
him?"
"Hell, no!" Leaves broke in. "The Board is a C
Twenty-five thing with no teeth. Just a bunch of dod
dering sadists who legalized it in their period so they
could watch the progress of the vendettas which always occurred along the Road. If Chadwick can't get Red one way, he'll do it another. All this talk about it as a game is silly!" "Is that true, Leila?" "Well, yes—though she left out the fact that without the Board, the betting situation would be very disorganized. That's important to the structure of the thing, too. I felt you needed background information. That's why I gave it to you." "But you think Chadwick will cheat?"
"Probably."
"Then what are we to do about helping Red get through this thing?"
"Oh, we'll help him to cheat too, of course. Just how, I don't know yet. We will have to catch up with him first. Finish eating so we can get moving."
When she had left to get her duffle bag. Randy asked Leaves, "How well did you know her? How far can we trust her?"
"I know that Red trusted her. There is some strong bond between them. I think we should trust her too."
"Good," Randy said, "because I want to. I wonder what we're getting into, though."
When Leila returned some minutes later, her duffle bag on her shoulder, cigar clenched between her teeth, she smiled, nodded and gestured with her head toward the door.
"I am all settled up and checked out," she said. "Have a cigar and let's roll."
Randy nodded, collected Leaves and followed her, unwrapping the stogie she had thrust upon him.
One
"Flowers?"
"Yes, Red?"
"Good driving. Thanks."
"Is that all?"
"No. How'd you know?"
"You never just compliment anybody, or thank them. It is always an afterthought or a preliminary."
"Really? I never noticed that. I guess you're right Okay. Are you getting tired of being what you are? Would you like to move on into a new avatar, become part of a more complex computer setup? Or perhaps go the organic route and be the matrix of awareness in a body?"
"I have thought of it—yes."
"I'd like to reward you, for faithful service and all that. So decide what you want and pull in at the next service center. I will leave you there for pickup and delivery to the proper institution, with authorization for everything to be billed to my account."
"Wait a minute. You always were a tightwad. This isn't at all like you. What is the matter? I thought I knew everything you know. What did I miss?"
"You're more suspicious than half a dozen wives. I made you a bona fide offer—"
"Come off it! Why do you want to get rid of me?"
"1-" "I probably know you better than half a dozen wives.
So forget the shit. Get to the point. What's the matter?"
"It is just tha
t I do not believe I will be requiring your services for much longer. You've been a good and faithful employee. The least I can do is reward you this
way." "It sounds as if you are getting ready for retirement
or death. Which is it?"
"Neither. Both. I'm not sure ... I am planning a change in status, though, and I don't want you damaged in anything that entails."
"What do you think I am—a pocket calculator? After all this time, you insult me by assuming I possess no curiosity. You've said enough to guarantee not being able to get rid of me until I have the whole story."
"Hm."
"... And if you are thinking of sending me off to my new career without my consent, bear in mind that I can turn this vehicle into a cage."
"You are persuasive. I was trying to get out of it, but I guess I do owe you some explanation. Okay. I suppose it will be difficult for you to understand what a dream is, let alone some of the peculiar ones that have always followed me..."
"I'm strong on theory. Go on."
"My most recurrent dream has always been of gliding, gliding on warm air currents, holding myself motionless above a rich and varied landscape, and sometimes the sea. I can do it forever, it seems, seeing into the secret hearts of everything below. It breeds in me a pleasant combination of peace and cynicism, as well as some other feelings I can no longer put a name to. Days and nights seem to roll by without special emphasis. There is a profound joy in simply being, and a species of understanding I cannot bring over to here and now.
There is also a power, a terrible power in me, which I am almost too lazy to use. I drift..."
"Sounds like a nice head-vacation. You're fortunate."
"It's more than that, and different things happen in different dreams."
"Such as?"
"I said that I moved above different places—lands where there are wars, or great cities, or both, wilderness. erupting volcanoes, ships on the oceans, small towns, dizzying cityscapes where nothing natural remains in sight. I recognize many of them—Babylon, Athens, Rome, Carthage, New York—across the ages. And there are many, stranger still, which I do not recognize. I begin to move my wings. I soar above the Road. It is a toy. It is a gauge, like marks on a map. We put if there. It is funny, watching the few who have noted it as they scramble along from probability to probability. I do not know but—"
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