Read Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 Online
Authors: Today We Choose Faces
... And somewhere, before I reached the Gate,
I would have to dispose of Glenda. I could not very well take her along to the
place where I was going, and I saw no real danger to her should I leave her
behind. A quick shot of trank as soon as I was certain we were alone, and she
could sleep this one out on some workman's bench. It would be safer for her
than keeping her with me much longer, I decided.
It was a wide belt and it was slow, but it had
us out of sight of the jackpole within a minute, so packed were the environs
with the equipment that maintained the Wing. Once we were in the midst of it,
we felt rather than heard the throb of the place. Two quick changeovers and we
were on a narrower, faster belt, the course of which roughly paralleled the
first. We were actually only a few hundred feet away from it, but it was completely
hidden to us. So far, we had encountered no other people.
Anyone descending the jackpole might still
catch sight of us without our seeing him, though, because of the way the lights
played on the surface of the thing. If someone was, he might have seen me shrug
at the thought, because that was about all I was able to do for the moment.
I wondered about the others—what they were
thinking, doing, whether they had guessed my present situation correctly. This
seemed likely, since they knew I was alive and therefore doubtless aware of the
most recent killings, yet had no new orders for them. They must have guessed
that I was still running and would contact them as soon as I could, that
attempts to contact me could only distract me from my immediate problems. I
wondered how much initiative they possessed. We would have to confer again as
soon as I reached Wing Null.
We walked quickly, adding our own speed to
that of the belt. The light was very bright, almost glaring, for it was always
full day here. Cranes moved constantly overhead, dipping, rising, sidling. The
machinery hissed, chattered, hummed, hissed, chattered, hummed. I felt an
irrational relief when we passed a callbox and the phone within it did not
jangle.
"Will you tell me now why you are fleeing,
and from whom?" Glenda said.
"No."
"It might be helpful if I knew."
"You invited yourself on this trip,"
I said. "It is not a conducted tour."
'The danger I felt earlier ... it is very near
now."
"I hope that you are wrong."
But I felt that she was right. My paranoid
tendencies were easily stimulated, but they had had a lot of practice recently.
I took the next sidebelt to my right, not knowing where it headed. Dutifully,
she followed. We were squeezed between towering cliffs of metal. The
temperature soared, quickly became oppressive. About twenty feet overhead, two
workmen on a metal scaffold stared down at us with something of surprise on
their faces.
We took several more turnings, even spending a
couple of minutes on a maintenance belt so narrow we had to stand sideways.
After a time, we found our way to another, more normal belt, heading in the
proper direction. The only other people we passed were schoolchildren on a tour
of the ventilation complex. They were far off to our left, and quickly lost to
sight.
I began looking about for a safe nook or
cranny in which to leave Glenda. I drew my gun and palmed it. I did feel a
certain uneasiness at the thought. I do not like leaving loose ends about, I
guess that was it. I was curious about her. A strange girl, who could not hold
a job, who had helped me ... I would check back on her as soon as possible. I
would attend to her welfare as soon as I had assured my own.
"... Don't look suddenly," I heard
her saying, "but I think we are being followed. Not on the belt. Up above.
To the left. Back."
I turned my head, trying to be casual about
it. One brief glance was sufficient, and I looked away again.
He was up on the catwalks, moving at a brisk
pace, shortcutting us, gaining.
... And those bright, bright lights shone upon
the blue of his glasses.
I saved my curses. I had more than half
expected him. For a pathological instant, I wished that I were bearing
something more potent than a tranquilizer gun. I pushed the thought aside. I
took two paces forward, and Glenda immediately followed.
"Damn it! Don't stand so close to
me!" I said.
"It may be to your advantage that I
do."
"And your disadvantage. Stay away!"
"In a word: No."
"All right. I have warned you. That is
all I can do. Enjoy your excitement."
"I am."
My mind raced ahead. I had been faster than
Lange, but perhaps still not fast enough. If not, so be it. Maybe I deserved to
die. The fact that I was stronger than Lange had been by himself was no assurance
that I was fit enough to survive the present situation. I had at least learned
a few things about my pursuer and I intended to learn a few more.
I checked ahead, seeking some hunk of
machinery with crawlspaces, slots, overhangs—a place where I would be a
difficult target, but could get off some clear shots myself. Several possibles
presented themselves. Then I looked back, trying to estimate his rate of
progress.
"What are you going to do?" Glenda
asked me.
I was beginning to have a funny feeling which
I could not quite explain, but I had no time to analyze it.
"Bleed all over you," I said,
"unless you do exactly what I tell you."
"I am listening."
"Ahead. To the right. About three hundred
yards ... The big gray machine with the black cowl on the near end. See
it?"
"Yes. It's a Langton generator."
"I am going to head to the left in about
a minute. When I do, you remain on the belt for a few more seconds. He will be
watching me. Then you will be almost abreast of that thing. Run for it and get
in behind it. As soon as I occupy that man overhead, back off and lose yourself
in the complex to the rear. Keep an eye on what happens and gauge your actions
accordingly. Good luck."
"No. I'm coming with you."
Turning my body so that it could not be seen
from behind and above, I twisted my hand and pointed the gun.
"If you try it, I'll trank you and let
the belt take you out of here. Don't argue. Do as I say."
Then I jumped down and dashed for the refuge I
had chosen, catching sight of the figure overhead as he hurried toward me, his
right arm rising.
I heard the shot. With him running like that
and all, I was not surprised that he missed. I was out of his line of sight
before he got off another. I scrambled around the corner of the unit and moved
into the channel I had seen, which cut partway through its middle, was
interrupted by a three-foot-high hedge of metal and some hanging cables, then
seemed to continue unobstructed to its farther end. There appeared to be eight
service adits along its way, and a possible side channel. I could see upward
through the gaps among struts and cables, and it pleased me that I had guessed
correctly: He would have to get awfully close in order to fire successfully
through that mess.
I was only a few paces into it when I heard
her.
"Damn!" I said, turning. "I
told you to head for the generator!"
"I decided not to," she said.
"I knew you would not look back once you began running."
I shrugged, turned away and continued forward.
I heard her following. I could see several sections of the catwalk, including a
branch that passed above the far end of the machine. According to my
calculations, he could be coming into sight any moment now.
"What should I do to help?" I heard
Glenda say.
"Whatever strikes your fancy," I
said. "I resign all responsibility for your welfare. Your death is on your
own head."
I heard a sharp intake of breath and she bit
off the beginning of something she had begun to say. I continued to edge
forward.
He could have descended one of the ladders or
walkways to the floor and be working his way toward us through the mazes of
hardware. Or he could be halted or proceeding along another overhead route. He
might be very near. It was futile to listen for footfalls, because of the
background noise, because of the vibrations of the machine within which we
stood.
As I drew near the possible side channel,
however, a sharp sound did succeed in penetrating everything. It was the
ringing of a telephone in some service niche nearby.
Cursing under my breath and flattening myself
against the wall, I resolved to introduce the thing into his alimentary canal
from one end or the other at my first opportunity. This time, however, I
remained steady. The sound played hell with my nerves, but I succeeded in
maintaining control.
A moment later, I heard the crash of his boots
and realized what he had done.
Somehow aware of the manner in which the
ringing would affect me, he obviously carried a repairman's service unit capable
of locating and activating phones. He had worked his way to a position above my
shelter, buzzed the nearest call box in hope of disconcerting me, and dropped
down atop the machine. Only this time I was not biting. Pressing against the
housing, I could feel rather than hear his quick steps. He was seeking an
opening, looking for a clear shot. Hoping to find me a quivering mass of jelly,
I presumed.
Suddenly, a head, arm and shoulder flashed
into view, high up, to my right, about thirty feet down the channel, from
behind a juncture of beams.
Even as I whipped my own weapon upward and
squeezed, I heard the sound of his shot and the sound of its ricochet. Then he
was gone.
I backed up. I bumped into Glenda. Without
looking, I pushed her toward the niche, snarling something unintelligible and
backing in myself. As I crowded back against her, I heard the thud of his boots
again and realized that he had leaped across the right-hand channel. I moved my
gun to cover what I guessed to be his new position and felt a sudden, insane
pleasure at the thought that the phone had stopped ringing.