Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (24 page)

 
          
 
I let go, and with my left hand I managed to
get the bent stiletto out of my jacket.

 
          
 
It was too far to his heart or throat, though,
and he was already moving again. The only thing I could see was to try severing
the artery in his leg nearest me with the one slash I might be able to make. I
might be able to throw myself on him and hold him down while he bled to death.
Then only one ordeal would remain.

 
          
 
I made the thrust and he blocked it He caught
my wrist.

 
          
 
I tried to twist it away, but it was no use.
He was hurt, weakened—I could even see the blood on his garments— but he still
had the advantage. He brought his other hand across and began to pry my fingers
loose from the weapon.

 
          
 
I was at the rearmost edge of consciousness by
then, but even so I realized that this was it, that there was nothing left I
could do.

 
          
 
He wrenched the blade free and reversed it.
Ironic. My own weapon ... I had intended to kill him, block the mesh and so be
rid of him forever. Now, though . •.

 
          
 
The last thing that I saw before I felt the
sting of the blade was his face. His expression was not one of triumph,
however—only fatigue, and something of fear.

 
          
 
Silence, light, blood. Pain— !

 
          
 
Too late. Too late . ..

 
          
 
Block ... No! Through ... Yes! Dizzy ...

 
          
 
... And the light. The light!

 
          
 
I kept blinking. I kept blinking my eyes. I
felt wet all over. Perspiration, blood, saliva . . .

 
          
 
My head was full of whirlwinds, catching
thoughts, twisting them, juxtaposing images, driving my awareness in circles
...

 
          
 
To stop thinking, to hold down my cerebration
as much as possible, to confine my consciousness to the level of observing and reacting—this
seemed the only way to maintain a measure of stability.

 
          
 
Pain. I hurt in many places, but the pain in
my right hand was particularly intense. I had been staring at it all along, but
now I forced my attention to cover this area of existence.

 
          
 
My hand had grown white from the strain of
gripping the hilt of the blade which protruded from the throat of the man lying
across my legs. There was a bullet wound above his left eye, and blood on his
forehead and cheek as well as his neck.

 
          
 
Yes, yes, I understood, but I pushed that out
of my mind as soon as it occurred and considered the problem of my hand. I
squeezed it and tugged at my fingers, bringing back another memory I
immediately suppressed. Gradually, they relaxed, and I cried out involuntarily
at the untying of the knots in my muscles. Once free, though, I let the hand
fall immediately and squeezed my eyes tightly shut.

 
          
 
The light-It hurt, directed as the beam was,
full in my face. I turned my head away, opened my eyes again. It was still too
bright, off to the side now. I decided to go away from it. For that matter, I
wanted to get away from the corpse, too.

 
          
 
Slowly, I pulled myself free, keeping my head
averted from the body and the light. I immediately became very aware of my
other pains, particularly the moist area at my waist, on the right side. I got
to my feet, though, and leaned back against the boulder beside which I had
lain, breathing heavily and dizzy again for several moments.

 
          
 
I felt as if I stood in the middle of a
nightmare, afraid to think of what had just happened, afraid of what might be
coming. As soon as the world stood still, I pushed myself forward and began
walking. I followed the big white moon downhill.

 
          
 
... To get away from that blazing light. But it
followed me.

 
          
 
I veered to the right, then to the left. I
quickened my pace. It remained with me, though.

 
          
 
I fought back a flash of frenzy.

 
          
 
"No! Don't think! For God's sake, don't
think!" I said aloud, surprising myself with my own voice.

 
          
 
Don't think. That way lay panic, confusion,
chaos. Entertain only one notion at a time and concentrate on it to the
exclusion of all else.

 
          
 
I fixed my attention on my movements, counting
my steps, staring at my surroundings, thinking about my feet, my legs.

 
          
 
But I was going in the wrong direction.

 
          
 
Wasn't I?

 
          
 
Yes.

 
          
 
Yes, I was supposed to be heading toward the
ruin. I—

 
          
 
"Don't think!" I reminded myself.
"Get away! Get away!"

 
          
 
Yes. It was more important that I get away
from that light than do anything else just then. Good thought. Hold that.

 
          
 
But—

 
          
 
Hold it! Get away!

 
          
 
I moved quickly. Fifty paces. A hundred. Go
right. Fifty paces. Angle left. Fifty . . .

 
          
 
The brightness followed, casting my changing
shadows far before me, illuminating my way. It was an eerie thing to behold,
and I ran, seeking some barrier that could be interposed between myself and the
source of the light.

 
          
 
I saw a suitable formation a few hundred yards
away and raced toward it, moved around to its far side, rested there panting.
Automatically, I reached for a cigarette.

 
          
 
Cigarette? There were none. But that was
right, Winkel did not smoke. Rather— Wait! Black— No!

 
          
 
Don't think. I chewed my lip. The light could
not reach me. It was dark, and I was alone in a quiet place. I sighed. I tried
to relax, and felt my breathing begin to slow. My heartbeat followed its
example. The throbbing pain in my side changed to a dull ache. It still bled,
though not so profusely. I kept the palm of my hand pressed against it

 
          
 
I had to go back, to get to the ruin. But that
damned light— If it would just go out, I could be on my way.

 
          
 
But why? Why the ruin? What I really wanted
was to get away and— No! Wait! Wait . . .

 
          
 
I had destroyed the last of them. It was all
over now.

 
          
 
No.

 
          
 
I had finally gotten Mr. Black.

 
          
 
No.

 
          
 
No?

 
          
 
No!

 
          
 
Then Hell's lid was lifted. I/he had been too
weak to resist the final meshing. The most horrible result of this realization
was a desire to laugh and to scream simultaneously. Realizing what had occurred
was not tantamount to accepting it—or being able to do anything about it.
Helplessly, I regarded what I had become: namely, literally, looking at it from
both directions at once, I was my own worst enemy. I believe I did laugh, or
snort, momentarily. I was haled through corridors of memory where all the
actions recalled were driven by sentiments and desires which now encountered
their opposites at every hand. I began to choke. It was too much. Much too
much. It was pulling me apart

 
          
 
I was completely unable to help myself at that
point Whatever I thought or felt, there came an immediate reaction, a
countersurge of guilt, anger, fear. The thing that saved me, that slammed the
lid on all of this once more, came from the only place that it could—the outside
world. I was distracted.

 
          
 
It was a noise, not loud and quite distant,
but completely out of place. Metallic. Recurrent.

 
          
 
Suddenly, my existence was concentrated in my
senses, and the residue of the past moments’ emotions consolidated into an
overall wariness.

 
          
 
I listened, moved to my right, dropped low,
peered around the edge of my rocky shield. The light still bathed the other
side of the stone, though for a moment or so it did not shine directly into my
eyes. It did catch me more squarely very soon after that, as it played back and
forth upon the stone, but not before I had caught sight of the source of the
noise.

 
          
 
It was a squat robot of some sort, with four
cablelike extensors and photoelectric eyes, rolling toward my position on dark
treads.

 
          
 
I turned immediately and raced away. That it
was coming for me, I had no doubt.

 
          
 
Down. Then up. Then down again. The light
followed for a time, but the angle of the slope quickly took me below its
reach. I slowed, puffing, pressing my hand to my side. I had to ration my
energies carefully. The fact that much of the remaining course was downhill
would be of help.

 
          
 
I looked back, but the machine was out of
sight beyond the ridge. Ahead, the moon silvered the face of the fortress of
Wing Null. I could make out the solitary, lighted window. I could trace the
trails I had followed. The ground-clinging mists, the pockets of fogs, of
vapors, were touched with phosphorescence. The moist rocks glistened like black
glass. I felt that I had an even chance of making it ahead of my mechanical
pursuer.

 
          
 
I could still hear the thing periodically,
scattering pebbles, scraping stones, coming along my trail at a good clip.
Whether, ultimately, I would owe it thanks or blame, I did not know. While I
had been tormented by that light, I had also been attracted by it. Now that I
knew, to some extent, who I was, it made understanding a little easier. We
really had been trying to reach the ruins—just why, I was uncertain. It was not
just part of an elaborate ploy to get the last of them/us. No. And the desire
to go there was still strong within me. That light was several things, I felt,
and one of them was a beacon, a call, to me. Only the me that it reached was no
longer the me for whom it had been intended. Part of me had been startled by
it, frightened, had drawn away. Its call persisted, however, and even as I fled
I had been attracted by the summons. This ambivalence was resolved in favor of
continued flight, though, with the appearance of the robot. There had to be some
sort of intelligence behind the thing. Not understanding what it represented
was sufficient reason to flee it.

 
          
 
It was not very long, though, before the
sounds grew louder. The thing seemed to be moving faster now. I kept glancing
back as I went.

 
          
 
I dodged among jagged stone formations, rifts,
ravines, craters, getting down near to the misted area once more. I had small
hope of losing the robot there, however, as I realized that the level attitude
of the area would soon see me back within range of that light. Staring then, I
thought I caught glimpses of it sweeping the prospect far ahead.

           
 
Forcing myself to hurry, I stumbled, almost
panicked at my slowness in regaining my feet, pulled myself together, proceeded
more deliberately.

 
          
 
The robot continued to pick up speed, was
moving faster than I was moving. It was not precise and undeviating in its
course, however, as it did take blind turns, halt, back up, alter direction,
circle objects. Seeing this, I dodged behind a rock and altered my course to
keep as many obstructions as possible between myself and the thing. Still, it
seemed cognizant of my general direction. I began to have second thoughts
concerning my ability to outdistance it once I was out in the open and on level
ground. What the devil was I to do?

 
          
 
Knock it blind, you fool!

 
          
 
The jolt lasted only a moment, for it was but
a part of me that was unfamiliar with my demons.

 
          
 
"How?" I asked.

 
          
 
Turn your head farther to the right. — Stop!
See that scarp? Get to it and climb it!

 
          
 
"I will be spotted."