Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (12 page)

 
          
 
"Uh-huh. But 111 bet you were thinking of
going to the Basement when you leave here. You shouldn't, you know."

 
          
 
She must have read my bewilderment on my face,
because she smiled. At least, I hoped she only read it on my face. I had been
thinking of cutting through the Basement in my effort to rid myself of pursuit.
She made me feel uncomfortable about it. She also cinched my decision to do it.

 
          
 
I snorted.

 
          
 
"That's silly. You couldn't know—"

 
          
 
"I told you."

 
          
 
"Well," I said, climbing to my feet,
"thanks for your help. I am going to leave now." I could feel the
pill starting to work, and it was the best I had felt in a long while. "I
hope your next job is a better one."

 
          
 
She opened the desk's top drawer, swept all
the papers into it and pushed it closed. I glimpsed an amazing entanglement of
personal and business effects. Then she removed a sleeveless black jacket from
the back of the chair, slipped it on and extinguished the desk light

 
          
 
"I'm going with you," she said.

 
          
 
"I beg your pardon?"

 
          
 
"Maybe I can help," she said.
"I feel sort of responsible for you now."

 
          
 
"That is ridiculous! You are not going
anywhere with me!"

 
          
 
"Why not?"

 
          
 
I bit my lip. I could hardly admit that it
might be dangerous when I had just been insisting on my trouble-free state.

 
          
 
"I appreciate your concern," I said,
"but I'm all right now. I really am. There is no need for you to go out of
your way—"

 
          
 
"No trouble," she said, taking my
arm and turning me back toward the beltway.

 
          
 
It was only then that I realized she was just
a little under six feet—just a few inches shorter than me—and very strong,
despite a certain willowiness.

 
          
 
Suppressing several possible reactions, I
considered the situation. It was possible that she had saved my life just by
being where she was when she was. If it had been my pursuer's intent to panic
me, he had succeeded admirably. Had he intended to administer the coup when I
slipped over the edge of rationality, then Glenda's presence was probably what
had stopped him. This being the possible case, I might be safer having her with
me for a while. While I did not want to place her in jeopardy, I could not see,
just off hand, any easy way to get rid of her yet. I would keep her with me for
a few perambulations calculated to discourage pursuit, then leave her at the
first opportunity and cut for Wing Null. Yes, that seemed best for all parties
involved.

 
          
 
It troubled me that my adversary seemed to
know me so well. It was not just that he was able to follow me so easily, but
that he seemed to know precisely what sort of pressure to apply and when to
apply it, to break me as readily as he had. I was beginning to wonder what it
would take to stop him. Something extraordinary, I was afraid. Well, that could
be arranged ...

 
          
 
They seem to be getting closer.

 
          
 
"The sooner we get them in range, the
better," I said within myself.

 
          
 
You are a better incarnation than Lange was.

 
          
 
"I know that."

 
          
 
But still not good enough, I fear.

 
          
 
"What do you mean?"

 
          
 
You are learning, but not fast enough. I think
they will get you, too.

 
          
 
"Maybe. Maybe not."

 
          
 
It might not be a complete loss, though. You
may learn something from the experience.

 
          
 
"Such as?"

 
          
 
Forget the dead and stop running. Get your
enemy, then clean house.

 
          
 
"I have already established my own
priorities."

 
          
 
A lot of good they are doing you.

 
          
 
"I will take your advice on forgetting
the dead, though, beginning with you—"

 
          
 
Wait! You need me, you fool! If you want to
live —

 
          
 
"Go!"

 
          
 
— pull pin seven …

 
          
 
I completed the expulsion and sighed,
"Some help I can do without."

 
          
 
"What did you say?" Glenda asked.

 
          
 
"Nothing," I said. "I was
mumbling to myself."

 
          
 
"For a moment it seemed there was someone
beside you."

 
          
 
'That is your Celtic imagination trying to
justify its existence."

 
          
 
"No," she said, "that is what I
pay it for."

 
          
 
I glanced at her then and she laughed.
Peculiar sense of humor, that.

 
          
 
I was wary as we neared the beltway, but there
was no one in sight this time either. We mounted it and were borne on through
the gloom, side by side. Her presence seemed to have a stabilizing effect on
me, a human anchor against my neurotic storms.

 
          
 
"How are you feeling now?"

 
          
 
"Better yet."

 
          
 
"Good."

 
          
 
After several minutes, we came to a crossway
and switched to a larger belt. Our route was then better lighted and there were
other travelers about. One more changeover and we would be headed toward the
jackpole.

 
          
 
Pull pin seven ... It was an intriguing—if
heretical— thought, to release whatever beasts Lange had enchained in the dark
night of his soul. For a moment, I wanted to laugh, then felt offended, hurt
and mildly amused in rapid succession. That part of me which had been plain old
Engel found it very funny to think of prissy old Lange in such romantic terms.
Because of his appearance, he often got the assignment of cruising about as an
aging queen, picking up young men in need of rehabilitation. To think of him as
wrestling nameless demons and then going through with a more than symbolic act
of suicide in order to establish the nexus, was close to inconceivable to plain
old Engel. That part of me which now was Lange had been hurt and offended. But
already the divisions were beginning to blur, and I—whoever I was—reacted
finally with only a mild amusement. It was good that the merger was proceeding
so smoothly on the surface, though I wondered what conflicts might be raging in
the greater, unconscious portion of my mind.

 
          
 
... To pull pin seven would be to undo Lange's
greatest work in our continuing effort to direct the moral evolution of human
consciousness. I did feel a certain tension as that which was Lange within me
resisted my even thinking along these lines. That which was not, however,
continued to speculate as to the nature of the sacrificed portion. It became a
moth-and-candle thing. I had inherited Lange's personal demon, and he of course
would like nothing better than to hear my shouted Zazas, Zazas, Nasatanada,
Zazas, the words which fling wide the Gates of Hell ...

 
          
 
Where had I picked that up? Either from that
portion of Hinkley which was mine, from Lange or from beyond pin seven, I
decided. As if in answer, I could almost hear Hinkley's voice reciting
something from Blake:

 
          
 
But when they find the frowning Babe, Terror
strikes thro' the region wide: They cry "The Babe! the Babe is Born!"
And flee away on Every side.

 
          
 
I took it to be his answer to the diabolical
metaphor for pulling pin seven. Since he had been the librarian, he had a good
deal from which to choose. Upon reflection, though, did it represent approval
or disapproval of the notion? There was no accompanying feeling to help me
judge it. Ambiguity, I decided, was the trouble with literary types. I—

 
          
 
Damn! I pulled myself back from the
distraction. Was the whole thing Lange's doing, an attempt to direct my
thoughts away from my initial considerations?

 
          
 
Or was it he-who-had-been, attempting to whip
up some enthusiasm for a resurrection?

 
          
 
What would I be like when my turn came?

 
          
 
I would play the clarinet to them, I
decided—sweetly, yet with infinite pathos ...

 
          
 
I bit my lip. I stared out beyond the belt and
marked our movement. I studied the curling of Glenda's hair behind her right
ear and at the nape of her neck. I tapped my foot. It was time, I could tell,
to shift my attention to externals. It had become too, too apparent that the
conflicts within me were indeed stronger than they had seemed several jagged
moments earlier.

 
          
 
"How far do you propose to accompany
me?" I said.

 
          
 
"As far as is necessary."

 
          
 
"Necessary for what?"

 
          
 
'To see you safe," she said.

 
          
 
"That may be a bigger job than you
think."

 
          
 
"What do you mean?"

 
          
 
"You were correct a while back when you
said that I was in trouble."

 
          
 
"I know that."

 
          
 
"All right. What I am trying to say is
that while you were right as to the condition, its degree is another matter. My
trouble is serious and dangerous. You have already helped me more than you
realize. Now that I am back on my feet and on my way again, I can best repay
you by-saying goodbye. There is really nothing more that you could do to help
me along now, but if you were to remain with me the trouble could become
contagious. So I thank you again, Glenda, and I will be leaving you at the
jackpole."

 
          
 
"No," she said.

 
          
 
"What do you mean 'no'? I was not asking
you. I was telling you. We have to separate. And very soon. You helped me. Now
I am returning the favor."

 
          
 
"I have a feeling you will require
additional assistance. Soon."