Roadmarks

The Last Exit to Babylon

The Road runs from the unimaginable past to the far future, and those who travel it have access to the turnoffs leading to all times and places
—
even to the alternate timestreams of histories that never happened.

Why the Dragons of Bel'kwinith made the Road
—
or who they are
—
no one knows. But the Road has always been there, for those who know how to find it, and always will be!

Dizzying in its virtuosity, gripping in its kaleidoscopic treatment of time, character and action, Roadmarks is a dazzling achievement for one of today's most highly regarded writers of imaginative treatment.

A Dell Rey Book

Published by Ballantine Books

Copyright 1979 by Roger Zelazny

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American

Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by

Ballantine Books, a division of Random House Inc., New

York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of

Canada, Limited, Toronto, Canada.

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 79-2280

ISBN 0-345-25388-4

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition: October 1979

Paperback format

First Edition: August 1980

Third Printing: November 1981

To Ron Bounds

Bobbie Armbruster

Gary & Uschi Klumpfel

with happiest memories

of Oktoberfest

"Pull over!" cried Leila.

Randy cut to the right immediately and braked the car. The sky pulsed its way to a pearly predawn.

"Back up along the shoulder."

He nodded and shifted into reverse.

"Those people? We could just walk back
—
”

"I want to look at them more closely before we get out."

"Okay," he said as they crept backward.

She turned and regarded the battered gray vehicle. There were two figures seated within it. Both seemed to be white-haired, but the light was still tricky. Both seemed to be watching her.

"In a moment, the door on the driver's side will open," she said softly.

The door on the driver's side opened.

"Now the other."

The other door opened.

"The old man was driving, the old woman a passenger . . . "

An old man and an old woman stepped out and moved forward, leaving the doors open behind them. They wore ragged wraparound garments held in place with sashes.

"Stop," she said. "Let's get out and go back and help them. Their distributor cap has come loose."

"A part of your vision?"

"No," she said.

She opened the door, got out and headed back. He did the same. His first impression, as he approached, was that the man was too old to be driving. Stoop-shouldered, he leaned against his car. His free hand trembled slightly; it was dry and spotted, clawlike. His face was heavily lined, his eyebrows as white as his hair. Then the eyes caught Randy and held him, green, almost flashing. There was an awareness there at which he would not have guessed from three meters farther back. Randy smiled at him, but the man showed no reaction.

Leila, in the meantime, had approached the old woman and was speaking with her in a language Randy did not recognize.

"If I could take a look under the hood," Randy suggested, "I might be of some help."

When the man did not respond, he repeated it in foretalk lingo. This drew no reaction either. The man seemed to be studying his face, his garments, his movements. Randy felt uncomfortable before that peculiar scrutiny. He cast Leila a look of appeal.

"It's all right," she said. "Go ahead and open the hood and fix it. They don't understand how it works. I'm explaining about fuel now."

As he bent to unfasten the latch. Randy saw Leila pass a large wad of money to the old woman. The man drew back as the hood rose several inches. When Randy had raised it to a full open position, he heard a brief exclamation from that direction.

Yes. The distributor cap had come loose. He fitted it back into place and clamped it there. Casting a quick glance over the rest of the engine, he saw nothing out of order.

"Would you care to try starting it now, sir?" he asked.

When he looked up, the man was smiling at him.

"I'm not sure you understand me, but I'd like to try starting the engine now," Randy said. Then, when the other did not move or reply, he said, "I'll do it."

Randy moved around the man, looked into the car. The key was still in the ignition. He slid inside and tried it. A moment later, the engine caught. He turned it off and climbed out again. He smiled back at the old man and nodded.

"There you are."

The man suddenly lunged forward and embraced him in a bear hug. He was surprisingly strong, and his breath came very hot.

"Name, your name, good man?" he said.

"Randy. I'm Randy
—
Dorakeen," he replied, extricating himself.

"Dorakeen. Good name," said the other.

Leila had circled the vehicle and now stood behind them. The old woman had followed her.

"They'll be okay," she said. "Come on. We must go now, to the last exit to Babylon."

She hissed something at the man, who nodded. She embraced the old woman for a long moment, then pulled herself away and started back toward the car, Randy followed quickly. When he glanced back, the couple had already entered their vehicle. He heard the engine turn over. Then the car pulled out onto the Road and was gone. At that moment, the sun came up and he noticed that Leila was crying. He looked the other way and had strange feelings.

Red Dorakeen was on a quiet section of the Road, straight and still as death and faintly sparkling. A pair of futuristic vehicles had passed him several hours earlier, moving at fantastic speeds, and he had later overtaken a coach-and-four and then a solitary horseman. He kept his blue Dodge pickup in the right-hand lane and maintained a steady 65 mph. He chewed his cigar and hummed.

The sky was a very pale blue with a heavy bright line running from east to west across it. There was no noticeable dust, and no insects splattered against the windshield.

He drove with the window down, his left hand clasping the top of the doorframe. He wore a faded baseball cap, its bill drawn low over his forehead; his head was tilted slightly back to accommodate it, his green eyes half-lidded in its shadow. His ruddy beard might have been slightly darker than his hair.

A tiny spot appeared far ahead. It grew rapidly, resolving into a battered black Volkswagen. As they passed, the other vehicle's horn began to sound. It drew off onto the shoulder of the Road and came to a halt.

Red glanced into his side mirror, hit his brakes and drifted to his right. As he slowed, the sky began to pulse, blue, gray, blue, gray, its bright stripe vanishing with each fading stroke.

When he came to a complete stop, a clear evening hung about him. Crickets sounded somewhere in the distance, and a cool breeze passed. He opened the door and climbed down from the cab, yanking his ignition keys and pocketing them as he descended. He wore Levi's and combat boots, a brown ski vest over his khaki work shirt, and a wide belt with an elaborate buckle. He reversed his cap and paused to light his cigar before he turned and hiked back along the shoulder.

There was no way to cross the Road without risking almost certain destruction. For this reason, he moved to a spot directly across from the Volkswagen. As he did, the car's door opened and a short man with a small moustache emerged.

"Red!" he called. "Red? . . . "

"What is it, Adolph?" he hollered. "Still looking for the place where you won?"

"Listen, Red," said the other. "I didn't know whether to tell you this or not, because I couldn't make up my mind whether I hated you more than I felt I owed you. But then, I could not decide whether the information would be harmful or useful to you. So I guess it all balances out. I am going to tell you. I was way the hell down the Road earlier, and I saw it happen at the exit marked with the blue ziggurat . . . ”

"The blue ziggurat?"

"The blue ziggurat. I saw you turn over going off there. I saw your truck burn."

Red Dorakeen was silent for several moments. Then he laughed.

"Death," he said, "will surely be puzzled if he passes me soon. He will say, 'What is this man doing in Themistocles' Athens when he has a date with me on the last exit to Babylon?'"

His great frame shook as he laughed again. Then he blew smoke and raised his right arm in a gesture of mock salute.

"But thanks," he said. "It may be a good thing for me to know."

He turned and started back toward his truck.

"One thing more," the other called after him.

He halted and turned his head.

"What's that?"

"You could have been a great man. Good-bye."

"
Auf wiedersehen
."

Red mounted to the cab and started the engine. Soon the sky was blue again.

As dawn worked its way above the still and shattered skyline, Strangulena stirred on her barge in the East River. Slowly, gently, she pushed back the fur that covered them, and brushed a strand of flaming hair from her brow. Her fingertips touched the more sensitive spots on her throat, shoulders and breasts, where the signs of her lover's ardor were already becoming visible. Smiling then, she flexed her fingers and turned slowly onto her left side.

Toba, as heavy and dark as the departing night, his cheek resting on his right palm, grinned at her.

"Gods! Don't you ever sleep?" she said.

"Not with a lady who has strangled over a hundred lovers once they'd dropped off beside her."

Her eyes narrowed.

"Then you knew! All along you knew! You led me on!"

'"Thank God and amphetamine, yes!"

She smiled and stretched.

"You are very fortunate. Actually, I don't normally wait for them to drop off. I generally choose a certain moment and they come and go at the same time, so to speak. You were going to get it now only because I was distracted by architecture then. However . . . "

She reached out and manipulated the control unit. Silently, the barge began to move.

She turned onto her other side.

"Look how the light hits the Manhattan ruins! I just adore ruins!" She sat up suddenly and raised an oblong rectangle of carved and polished wood. She held it at arm's length and stared through it. "That group right there . . . Isn't that a fine composition?"

Toba raised himself and leaned forward, his chin brushing her left shoulder.

"It's
—
uh
—
interesting."

She held a small camera in her left hand, sighted through it, through the frame, leaned forward, leaned back, pressed a button.

"Got it."

She deposited the frame and the camera off to her right

"I could spend my life viewing picturesque ruins. In fact, I do. Most of the time. They're always best from the water. Did you ever notice that?"

"Now that you mention it . . . "

"You were too good to be true, you know? Dressed in rags, poking through junk at the water's edge, unscrubbed and unlettered, a product of civilization's decay, just as I drifted by. You conned me. What are you? An archaeologist?"

"Well . . . "

" . . . And you knew about me. Keep your right arm up like that, but raise your head."

She rolled over onto her stomach, raised her own right arm, and clasped his hand.

"All right. Mister Toba. Start pushing as if your life depended on it. Maybe it does."

"Hey now, lady . . . ”

His arm began bending backward. He tightened his grip, strained. It halted for a few moments. He clamped his jaw, leaned left.

Suddenly he was slammed back, his arm pinned to the deck.

She smiled down at him.

"Want to try it with your left?"

"No, thanks. Look, I believe everything I've heard about you . . . You have
—
uh
—
exotic tastes and you're strong enough to satisfy them. I've got to admire anybody who gets what they want. This was the only way I knew to meet you, though. I've got a once-in-a-lifetime offer you can't afford to miss."

"Does it involve a good ruin?"

"You'd better believe it!" he said quickly.

" . . . And a good man?"

"One of the best!"

She seized his hand and jerked him to his feet

"Quick! Look at the sunlight on that broken tower!"

"Sure is something!"

"What's his name?"

"Dorakeen. Red Dorakeen."

"That sounds familiar . . . "

"He's been around a lot"

"Is he picturesque?"

"Need you ever ask?"

"I could use a new barge, with some ivory inlay work . . . "

"Say no more. Hey! Sunlight through what's left of that bridge!"

"Quick! The camera!
—
You're a very lucky man, Toba."

"Don't I know it!