Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (4 page)

 
          
 
So he knew who I was. It was surprising, but
hardly prostrating. Tremendous amounts of current information were regularly
dumped into his computer adjunct, and he was supposedly possessed of a sound,
somewhat spectacular mind, complete with imagination. So while I felt he was
guessing, it was doubtless a very informed guess, and of course an accurate
one. I saw no reason to talk with him, though; or, for that matter, not to talk
with him. It made no difference at all to me. Words could change nothing.

 
          
 
Still, "It will be a brief visit,"
he insisted. "You will not be leaving here, you know."

 
          
 
A shaft of something like lightning ran
through a dark cloud, ahead/beside/behind me. The ship shook, some circuits
sputtered, a wave of static took away some of Styler's words.

 
          
 
".. are not the first," he said.
"Obviously, none of the others ..."

 
          
 
Others? He could have tossed that out just
hoping to upset me. But it was something I had not considered. Paul had never
said that I was the first to attempt this. In fact, thinking about it, it was
probable that I was not. While this did not disturb me, I did wonder how many
others there might have been.

 
          
 
No matter. Contemporary kids. They had
probably required the brainwashing business, had needed to work up a hatred in
order to essay the thing. Their business. Their funerals. It was not my way.

 
          
 
"You can still call it off, Angel,"
he said. "Land your vessel and remain with it. I will send someone to pick
you up. You will live. What do you say?"

 
          
 
I chuckled. He must have heard it, because,
"At least I know you are there," he said. "Your attack is an
exercise in futility in more ways than one. Outside of the fact that you have
no chance of succeeding and will doubtless die here, and soon, the reasons for
your making the effort at all have been removed." ,

 
          
 
He paused then, as if waiting for me to say
something. That was his exercise in futility.

 
          
 
"Not interested, eh?" he said then.
"Any moment now my defensive assault will pierce your screen. COSA had no
way of knowing what I have added to the system since their previous effort. Any
one of these next might do it"

 
          
 
There followed a series of jarring explosions.
I emerged from these without mishap, however.

 
          
 
"Still there," he observed.
"Good. That still allows you a chance to change your mind. I would like
you to live, you know, as I should be very interested in talking with a man
like you, from another time, a man with your background. As I began to say,
there are other reasons than fatal obstacles for giving the thing up. I do not
know what you may or may not have heard, because I know you have been offworld
for a time, but it is true that there has been a war—and I suppose,
technically, it is still in progress. From all reports I have received, the
Earth is in a pretty sorry state just now. Both of our employers have been very
hard-hit. In fact, I believe we lack home offices at the moment. This being the
case, I see more need for salvaging whatever remains of both organizations than
for continuing our conflict. What do you say?"

 
          
 
Of course I said nothing. I had no way to
verify any of his talk, and he had no way of proving it to me, unless I were
willing to land and take a look at whatever he might have to offer in the way
of evidence—which was naturally out of the question. So there was no basis for
conversation on that count.

 
          
 
I heard him sigh, across a tiny rivulet of
static.

 
          
 
"You are determined that there be more
death," he said then. "You think that everything I have told you is
purely self-serving in nature ..."

 
          
 
I almost cut him off then, because I do not
like people who tell me what I am thinking, whether or not they are right.
Still, it was the best show in town ...

 
          
 
"Why don't you say something?" he
said. "I would like to hear your voice. Tell me why you are about this
business. If it is only money, I will pay you more to give it up—whatever they
are paying you—and protect you afterward." He paused, waited, then went
on, "Of course, with you, there is probably something else involved, too.
Family loyalty. Solidarity. The tribal blood-bond. That sort of thing. If that
is what it is, I will tell you something. You are probably the only one around
who believes in it the old way any more. They do not. I know these men, have
known them well for years, whereas you have only known them for a brief while.
It is true. Their values are no longer yours. They are capitalizing on your
loyalty,

 
          
 
They are using you. Are you doing it out of
family loyalty? Is that what it is?"

 
          
 
His voice had sounded a bit strained near the
end there. It was more relaxed when he started in again.

 
          
 
"It is a bit frustrating, talking to you
this way,*' he said, "knowing you are out there, coming closer and closer
by the moment—hearing me. Still, I see it your way now. You are determined.
Nothing that I can say can change your mind. I can only try to kill you before
you kill me. You are moving and I am fixed at this location. It is too late for
me to try to flee. You will not succeed, of course. But, as I said, I see it
your way now. You have nothing to say to me, and I really have nothing to say
to you. This is what irritates me. You are not like the others. They all
talked, you know. They threatened me, they cursed me, they died screaming. You
are an ignorant barbarian, incapable of understanding what I am, but this does
not deter you, does not disturb you. Does it? I was attempting something
intended to benefit the entire human race, but this does not bother you. Does
it? You simply remain silent and keep coming. Have you ever read Pascal? No. Of
course you haven't ... 'Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature,' he
said, 'but he is a thinking reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to
crush him. A vapor, a drop of water, suffices to kill him. But if the universe
were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him,
because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over
him; the universe knows nothing of this.* Do you understand what I am saying?
No, of course not. You never think of these matters. You are a vapor, a drop of
water ... There comes a time, if there is some sort of fulfillment in life,
when one can accept death, I believe, without too much in the way of resentment.
I have not yet achieved such a state, but I have been working on it. Let me
tell you—"

 
          
 
At that moment, the barrage rose to a sudden
pitch of fierceness that lit up the sky, drowned all lesser sounds and hit me
with shock waves that came like a maniac surf.

 
          
 
But then my target rocked into view, the
Doxford
Building
, backed against the hills at the far end of
a distant valley.

 
          
 
Moments later, I began the attack. Fountains
of light erupted from the floor of the valley and on the hillside. The right
corner of the building crumbled, there was fire on the roof ...

 
          
 
I was hit myself, within instants of that
small triumph, and immediately began the downward tumble. As I had not been
ejected, I realized that the control section must be reasonably intact. A quick
survey—physical, and via the warning-board—showed me that this was so. There
had been a successful separation, though, and I caught glimpses of the twisted
outer framework of the vessel plunging groundward.

 
          
 
Another hit, and while my armor would probably
save me, I would be ejected. If I could make it to the ground with the cabin
intact, though ...

 
          
 
"Are you still alive?" I heard
Styler saying. "I see a piece—"

 
          
 
There came an explosion that took my attention
away from his words, shaking, jolting, tumbling me about. I bad the controls on
manual by then, for I did not want to slow my descent until the last possible
moment.

 
          
 
"Angel? Are you still there?"

 
          
 
I managed to convert all the necessary systems
as I fell, braked at the last possible instant, hit at a bad angle, rolled,
stabilized, brought the vehicle around intact. I slapped it into gear and
rolled forward immediately after that.

 
          
 
I was at the opposite end of the
still-smoking, dust-misted valley from the Doxford complex. It was quite rocky,
and full of craters and potholes, not all of them recently formed. This seemed
to lend some credibility to the assertion that mine was not the first attack on
the place. It also made it difficult for the defenders to mine the area, a fact
that came in handy as I proceeded through it, looking for potential boobytraps.

 
          
 
I could not help wondering whether he had
spoken the truth about the war, though. My few tenuous links with the past and
my only important ones with the present were all involved. I could see no
reason for anyone bombing
Sicily
, though. But was she still there? Several months had passed, and people
were very mobile these days. And how was Paul? And some of the others I had
met? I knew they possessed elaborate shelters. Still...

 
          
 
"You are alive! I've got you on the
screens. Good! This makes it even easier for you to throw in your hand. No
worry about landing on a mine once you are already down. Listen. All you have
to do is stop and wait now. I will send someone to pick you up. I will show you
evidence to support everything I have said. What do you say?"

 
          
 
I eased my guns forward in their mounts, and
swung them, elevated them, lowered them, to test the mountings. "That, I
take it, is your answer?" he said. "Look, it will gain you absolutely
nothing to die here—and that is exactly what will happen. Our employers are
both out of business by now. Your range is being taken even now, and you will
shortly be blown to bits. It is senseless. Life is a precious thing, and so
much of it has just vanished recently. The human race has just been more than
decimated, and that remainder may well be reduced to a tenth also, from the
lingering effects of this thing. Then there are the present difficulties facing
the qualified remainder—rounding up the survivors and providing for them,
rigging sufficient teleportation gates, transporting them offworld, trying to
resettle them. The Earth is barely habitable, and conditions will continue to
worsen. Most of the outworlds are not ready for prolonged human habitation, and
we are in no position to change them further at the moment. Some sort of
shelters have to be set up, communications established and maintained among the
worlds. There is no need for more deaths, and I am offering you a chance to live.
Can you accept that? Do you believe me?"

 
          
 
I achieved a fairly level run of rock and
increased my speed. Through the smoke, the dust, the fumes, I could see that
flames flickered behind the hole I had knocked in his fortress. No matter how
certain he tried to sound as to his ability to destroy me, he could not gainsay
the fact that I had scored a hit.

 
          
 
From somewhere at his end of the valley, the
firing began—first short, then long, taking my measure. I varied my speeds, was
thankful when I reached an irregular incline and started up it, for the angle
seemed to throw them off a bit. I readied my rockets, though I hoped I could
get in closer before firing them. I checked the time, sighed. It was past the
time for arrival and detonation of the two high-powered missiles that had
separated from the flier the same time I had and gone on ahead. He had gotten
them, then. Their chances had not really been that good, though.