Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (26 page)

 
          
 
The House had only been intended as a
temporary measure—the linking and consolidation of all the outposts as a common
shelter for humanity following the disaster that had engulfed the Earth—a place
to pause for a second breath, as it were. The family had decided to make it
more permanent, however, holding that the same thing would happen again,
wherever we went, unless something was done to change man himself. They were
for making the human race a prisoner and a patient, as I saw it. My own
feelings were that simple dispersal would be sufficient to guarantee human
continuity, by virtue of divergence, divergence and the multiplicity of
opportunities for development that would lie available. I had been back to
Earth in its last days, working with the evacuation teams, and I believed it
had all been an accident, a misunderstanding, a mistake, the war, the disaster.
And even if this were not so, the same thing need not occur over and over
again. I wanted man out of the House and on his way once more.

 
          
 
I lacked the organization and capability of
the family. All that I shared was the anonymity. I decided to take advantage of
it to the fullest and plan carefully, strike quickly and be thorough. I failed
the first time, but they still did not know who or why it was. The authorities
were useless, unaware of the family's existence and subject to its influence. I
studied their methods, emulated them in concealing myself and, yes, learned
something of their early ruthlessness. It was not that difficult.

 
          
 
They changed, though. I knew why. That notion
of moral evolution they entertained and practiced, even on a personal level.
That finally undid them. This time they were too weak and I had won—in a
Pyrrhic sort of way.

 
          
 
I did not know who I really was either. My
earliest memories involved wandering in the Cellar of Wing 1, where I
eventually came to work, for a time, as a maintenance man. It was only
gradually, by observation and telepathy, that I learned of the family and their
grand experiment. I resolved to thwart them and I set out to educate myself.

 
          
 
I knew that by destroying them I might be
throwing away the key to my own origin. I was willing to make this sacrifice,
however . . .

 
          
 
The pins I was able to pull did not bring me
this knowledge. If I had responded to the light sooner, I might have . . .

 
          
 
What was it about that light? As soon as it
fell upon me back in the lounge I had been drawn to it. If I had not paused to
seek knowledge of the pins, I would have reached it. I would have avoided ...

 
          
 
No good.

 
          
 
I would have avoided a conflict that was
really necessary for the successful completion of my work. Now it was just a
matter of maintaining stability, of keeping the upper hand within my own being.
I...

 
          
 
But I no longer wanted to follow the light.
Now I was repelled by it. I—

 
          
 
We. ..

 
          
 
Yes. We.

 
          
 
No. I.

 
          
 
We are I.

 
          
 
I stared at the broken machine, sharing its
wreckage.

 
          
 
Time ticked by.

 
          
 
The light spilled over my head from the back,
casting me in Rorschachs of shadow.

 
          
 
My head continued to throb.

 
          
 
A small breeze herded sheep of mist past the
robot

 
          
 
Something dark and quick darted through the
air.

 
          
 
Something tiny and not too near croaked and
buzzed, briefly.

 
          
 
In the corner of my seeing, the moon was a
wheel of ice, rolling.

 
          
 
My teeth began to chatter. My fingertips felt
icy where they touched against the stone.

 
          
 
Get up!

 
          
 
You have to climb down now and go back. Get
up.

 
          
 
“I am tired."

 
          
 
Get up. Now.

 
          
 
“I don't know whether I can.”

 
          
 
You can. Get up.

 
          
 
"I don't know whether I want to."

 
          
 
What you want is immaterial. Get up.

 
          
 
“Why?"

 
          
 
Because I said so. Now!

 
          
 
"All right! All right!"

 
          
 
I pushed myself up, slowly. I rested a moment
on my hands and knees, then sat back on my haunches.

 
          
 
"Betterr

 
          
 
Yes. Now stand up.

 
          
 
I did. After a few seconds’ vertigo had
passed, I knew that I could hold it. I kept my back to the light, which had me
facing Wing Null.

 
          
 
That is where you are headed. Get going.

 
          
 
I lowered my head, took several deep breaths
and set about it

 
          
 
Climbing down, I discovered, was not as
difficult as climbing up. Especially when I slipped and slid the last eight
feet or so.

 
          
 
Rise. Go on. Go on.

 
          
 
"Am I never to rest?” I asked. But I
found my footing once more and began to walk, bent partly forward, clutching my
side. My descent had put me out of range of the light again, and that helped
some. I passed the robot without granting it a second look. I climbed, I
descended, I staggered. I stumbled and rose again, went on.

 
          
 
The exertion warmed me somewhat. After a time,
I sighted the dark bulk of my Wing once more. The lighted window reminded me of
Glenda, which in turn made me think of her father. He had been my friend, and I
had destroyed him. Not the same I. Not then. Not now. I tried to regard it in
this fashion and felt the beginnings of acceptance. It was not that I was
beyond remorse, but that I was no longer the same person I had been—then, or
even a few days or hours earlier. Perhaps the shattering and restructuring of my
ego was less debilitating than it might have been because I had had so much
practice at it, I understood now who I had been—up to a point. That was a
beginning, anyway, of finding out who I was currently.

 
          
 
I had encouraged Glynn, seeing in him a hope
for the future, a means of breaking out of the House. I had come to like him
personally, however, and when they destroyed him I had taken the child. I had
had no special plans for her then. I had done it solely because of my
friendship with her father. Later, though, when I saw that her intellectual
endowments were quite formidable, I saw to it that along with an extensive
education she was also aware of her father's hopes and plans, down to the level
of details. She embraced them with enthusiasm. By then though, I had almost
come to consider her more mine than his. So it was only natural that I
eventually made her privy to some of my own hopes and plans as well. She waa
completely sympathetic, which is why I had enlisted her aid. I wished now that
I could have done without her. She did not know I was going to kill Engel or
force Winton to kill me. Still, it had worked. I could see no other way. I had
won . . .

 
          
 
But it had worked and I had won, then why was
I headed for Wing Null rather than the ruin?

 
          
 
Because . . .

 
          
 
Keep walking.

 
          
 
There had to be a reason. I just could not
recall it. My head was as foggy as the night about me. It still throbbed like a
sore tooth.

 
          
 
Do not try to think. Just keep walking.

 
          
 
Glenda. That was it. She was waiting for me. I
was going back to see Glenda, to tell her it was all over now.

 
          
 
Get up!

 
          
 
Strange. I did not remember having fallen. I
struggled to my feet and almost immediately collapsed again.

 
          
 
It is not very much farther. You must
continue. Get up.

 
          
 
I wanted to. I wanted to cooperate. This
spirit was quite willing . ..

 
          
 
... Only my legs kept getting tangled, doing
the wrong things. Damned uncooperative, this body . . .

 
          
 
Pendulumlike, I could feel my mind doing
strange things again, too. It was all right, though, if it would just make me
go.

 
          
 
Another try, then down again.

 
          
 
A little thing like that should not bother me,
though. It was not necessary that I stand in order to proceed. I had driven
bodies beyond this point before. It was all a matter of attitude.
Singlemindedness, determination—these were what mattered. Perhaps stubbornness
was a better word.

 
          
 
I crawled forward. Time ceased to have
meaning. My hands were cold.

 
          
 
Up a slope. I hardly noticed when the light
hit me again after a time. When I did realize it, it brought me the passing
illusion of being onstage, performing before an invisible audience, utterly
silent, so taken were they by my performance.

 
          
 
Just before my arms gave way for the third
time, I saw the Wing again, I saw the window.

 
          
 
It was near now, much nearer. Slowly, very
slowly, I pulled myself along, like a half-crushed insect. It would be
ridiculous to fail at this point. Absurd . . .

 
          
 
It was an effort to open my eyes partway and
raise my head. How long had I been lying there?

 
          
 
No good.

 
          
 
One can lash the body, drive it, push it. But
the comings and goings of the mind follow a different set of rules.

 
          
 
This one was a going. . . .

 
          
 
From a timeless vantage, I saw it all.

 
          
 
The family had picked me up, loaded me and
pointed me at Styler. Styler had taken me, manipulating circumstances in a
pattern that programmed me to play Othello to his Hamlet, and turned me loose
to condition humanity along paciflstic lines he deemed propitious. I could only
guess, but it seemed fairly obvious that he had obtained a specimen of my
tissues at some point in my early experiments with cloning. He had robots
capable of managing that much for him—still had robots—and he had designed Wing
Null. The means was not really that material. Somewhere, he had used that
sample to clone the original Mr. Black, implanted suggestions that made him
something of an anti-me and sent him into the House with amnesia and his
survival instinct going for him. He was placed there to check me and balance my
efforts when the time came, operating like some sort of sociological time bomb.
The time had come and this had happened. A wall was down, Glenda was ready with
the Glynn formulations and I had been neutralized. I could almost hear Styler's
voice saying, "... Now add 8 cc's of Black base to the di Negri
acid."

 
          
 
I glared back at the colored lights. Finally,
I reached out and began throwing switches.

 
          
 
I heard a startled noise from my right and a
hand came forward and fell upon my arm. I could not turn my head to see her
because of the hood. I had a vision from long ago of peasants plowing a small
field, its boundary marked by an animal skull mounted on a low post

 
          
 
"It's all right," I said.

 
          
 
The hand slipped away.

 
          
 
"Who—?" she finally said.

 
          
 
How the hell was I supposed to answer that?
169

 
          
 
"I was Legion," I said finally,
haltingly, "a whole gallery of faces. I was Black, I was Engel, I was
Lange, I was Winton, I was Karab, I was WinkeL And Jordan and Hinkley and Old
Lange. And a horde of others of whom you have never heard. I should say that it
does not matter, but it does, for I am me. I suppose that I should choose a
face. Very well. Just call me Angelo. That is how it all began."

 
          
 
"I am afraid that I do not understand.
Are you— V

 
          
 
I raised the hood from my head and turned to
regard her.

 
          
 
"Yes," I said, "I am really all
right Thank you for doing as I asked. Did I make it all the way back, or did
you have to drag me?"

 
          
 
"I helped," she said. "I saw
you fall."

 
          
 
"You mean you went outside?"

 
          
 
Her face brightened.

 
          
 
"Yes. I was hoping for an excuse. Not
that kind, I mean. But—it was so fine!"

 
          
 
I rubbed my side.

 
          
 
"You patched me up some, I see.*

 
          
 
"You were bleeding."

 
          
 
"Yes, I guess I was, wasn't I?"

 
          
 
I got to my feet, steadied myself for a moment
against the back of the chair, moved to the counter and began searching the
shelf beneath it

 
          
 
"What are you looking for?"

 
          
 
"Cigarettes. I want to smoke."

 
          
 
"There were some in the other room, where
I was waiting."

 
          
 
"Let's go there then."

 
          
 
I refused her arm. We walked into the hallway
and up it

 
          
 
"How long since you brought me in?"
I asked.

 
          
 
"About an hour and a quarter."

 
          
 
I nodded.

 
          
 
"What has that light been doing
recently?"

 
          
 
"I don't know. I haven't looked since I
brought you in.**

 
          
 
We came to the room, entered it. She indicated
the cigarettes, declined one herself. I moved to the window and looked out as I
lit up. A puddle of tawny light, spilled at the far edge of things, was seeping
across the sky. I inhaled deeply, sighed smoke.

 
          
 
"You really liked it out there?" I
said.

 
          
 
"Yes—and it is so beautiful now, with the
sun starting to come up."

 
          
 
"Good. I want you to come take a walk
with me outside.**

 
          
 
"You're not in such great shape."

 
          
 
"All the more reason to have someone with
me then. Besides, 111 need a secretary."

 
          
 
She cocked her head to one side and narrowed
her eyes. I smiled.

 
          
 
"Come on. We'll take it slow and easy.
The walk will do us good."

 
          
 
She nodded and followed me out to the locks.
We passed through them and entered the cool morning.

 
          
 
"I can't get over the smells," she
said, drawing a deep breath. "The air is so different from that in the
House!" Then, "Where are we going?" she asked.

 
          
 
I turned my head and raised it.

 
          
 
"Up there."

 
          
 
"To the ruin? That is pretty far
..."

 
          
 
"Slow and easy. No hurry," I said.
"We have all the time in the world."

 
          
 
We started in that direction, and I was
irritated by my need to stop and rest frequently. We had to go out of our way,
also, for I directed our course in such a fashion that we did not pass near to
the body I had left. Although I tried to conceal the pull in my side, she noted
it and moved around and took my arm. This time I allowed it.

 
          
 
I chuckled.

 
          
 
"Remember when I gave you those skates
for your seventh birthday?" I said. "And you slipped and twisted your
ankle the very next day? I thought it was sprained, but it was really broken.
You wouldn't let me carry you, though. You leaned on me like this. You didn't
want to cry, but your face was all wet and you kept biting your lip. You tore
that little blue dress you liked so much when you fell. The one with the yellow
stitching on the front."

 
          
 
Her fingers had tightened to an almost painful
grip upon my arm. A light breeze came out of the east. I reached over and patted
her hand, "It is all right now," I said, and she nodded quickly and I
turned away.

 
          
 
Before I saw it, I felt the glint from that
light in the ruins. It flickered by, returned, stayed with us. It was not quite
so overpowering when the air was filling with daylight.

 
          
 
We worked our way among the stones, about the
craters, up the hill, down, then up again.

 
          
 
"A bird!" she cried.

 
          
 
"Yes. Pretty. Yellow.' ,

 
          
 
It was a pleasant morning that was being
fetched into the world, softening the tones of the landscape where my nightmare
had been enacted. Some piled cumulus to the left promised a later rain, as did
a cool breeze from that direction, but the east was still clear in its
brightening and there was more greenery about than I had thought.

 
          
 
The light he had used to hunt me was finally
blocked by the upper edge of that portion of the building's front which still
stood, blackened and cracked, doors gaping, as we approached.

 
          
 
"Are we going in there?" she asked,

 
          
 
"Yes."

 
          
 
We moved forward and entered the caved-in,
burnt-out lobby, skylighted by the collapsed roof, filled with the detritus of
centuries.

 
          
 
"What are we going to do here?" she
asked, as we picked our way through the litter in the direction of the more
sheltered southwest corner of the room.

 
          
 
"In a minute. I think you will know in a
minute or so," I said. "That's why I wanted a secretary."

 
          
 
The rear hallway I had taken so many years
before was completely blocked by a cave-in that appeared to have been augmented
by a landslide from the high hills to the rear. I led her into a relatively
clear waiting alcove where the shapes of furniture persisted within piles of
dust. Yes, I had remembered correctly. The dark instrument crouched,
tarantula-like, in its recess in the wall. I withdrew my handkerchief.

 
          
 
While I was wiping it off, the telephone rang.

 
          
 
Glenda uttered a brief, incoherent noise that
might have been part question.

 
          
 
"There," I said, stepping back,
"I have it reasonably clean now. Answer the phone for me, will you?"

 
          
 
She nodded, and with a mixture of great
puzzlement and some trepidation, moved forward and lifted the receiver.

 
          
 
"—Hello?"

 
          
 
She listened a moment, then covered the
mouthpiece and looked at me.

 
          
 
"He wants to know who I am.'*

 
          
 
"So tell him," I said.

 
          
 
She did, listened again, covered it and sought
me once more.

 
          
 
"He wants to know if Mr. Angelo di Negri
is here."

 
          
 
"You are Mr. Negri's secretary. Ask him
what he wants."

 
          
 
Again, and, "He wants to talk to you
about your work," she said.

 
          
 
"I am busy just now," I said, as I
began dusting a chair. 'Tell him that you will fill him in a bit and describe
to him the structure of the House, with its Wing setup and its internal
organization. Answer any questions he has about it."

 
          
 
This took a long while. I had finished
cleaning the filth of ages from the chair, doing a very thorough job,- and had
seated myself in it before she turned to me again.