"What is that?"
"I am strong, and I grow stronger as the treatments progress. But the monk is still with me. I wonder whether this will always be so?"
"Yes, for he is but another of your own faces."
"Good. I would hate to lose contact entirely with this part of my life. It was—peaceful. Only ... I may now be equipped with a strange sort of conscience."
"Let us hope that it does not get in the way."
"It depends entirely on what you are asking of me."
"You said that you were not interested in the de tails."
"That was someone else talking."
"Very well. There is a Road and it goes on forever, and a man with a certain affinity for it, a man who knows the proper entrances and exits, twists and turnings, may follow it to almost any time or place. Of the many who go that route, there is one against whom the black decade has been declared—"
"Black decade?"
"His enemy is permitted ten attempts on his life, without warning. These may take any form. Agents may be employed."
"And your master wishes me to be such an agent?"
"Yes."
"Why the black decade in the first place? What has this man done?"
"I really do not know. It is likely, however, that you will never even see him. One of the others will probably get him first—if that will give your conscience some peace."
"Do you mean to say that you are going to all this trouble to set me up as a backup man?"
"That's right. This man is deemed worth the effort."
"If the others' skills approach my own, he has no chance of getting past the first. But what happens if he does live through all the assaults?"
"I am not sure anyone ever has."
"But this one is special?"
"So I am told. Very special."
"I see. Let us make camp soon, for I must meditate."
"Of course. Such a decision is not made lightly."
"I have already made the decision. I now wish to know whether I have been insulted or honored."
They rode past the bodies. The sun broke from behind a cloud. The wind came up into their faces.
One
Red drove slowly along the dirt road. The next rest stop, with its stone and log buildings, would be the last on the route he had taken in this C Eleven Africa. Turning into the parking area, he drew up beside a streamlined pearl-gray ground-effect vehicle.
"That one's from pretty far up the line," he observed. "Wonder whose it is?"
He removed Flowers from her compartment, took a rifle down from the rack behind him and opened the door. Stepping out, he groped beneath the seat and located a knife in a leather sheath. He fastened it to his belt and locked the cab. Raising a backpack from the bed of the truck, he opened and inspected it
"Everything I need but water," he announced, "and maybe a paperback. I want to go inside anyhow, to tell them I'll be parked here for a while."
"It's kind of late in the day, and you've done a lot of driving. Maybe you ought to lay over and start in the morning."
He looked at the sky.
"I could still get in a few good hours of legwork."
"... And then go to all the trouble of making camp, to spend an extra night on the trail. Is it going to make that much difference?"
"I don't know."
"... You1 could probably use a good meal too." "On that you're right," he said, shouldering the rifle and hefting the pack, to which he had added Flowers "We'll go see what's on the menu and find out what sort of accommodations they have. If neither one is very good I might as well be on the trail, though."
He moved off in the direction of the main building. The proprietor, an elderly man with a French accent, and his wife-young, heavy, native-sat in wicker chairs in the reception area, beneath a large fan. He smiled, put down a book and a drink, and rose as
Red entered.
"Hello. May I serve you?
"Hi. I'm Red. Dorakeen. I was wondering what may be available for dinner."
"Peter Laval. And this is Betty. A stew—native meats, carefuly seasoned. Beer made here, or wine brought in, to go with it. You may inspect the kitchen, sniff the pot, if you choose."
"Not necessary. I'm getting a whiff here. Smells good. What are the rooms like?" ' "Come take a look. Right around the corner."
Red followed him down a short hall and into a small, clean room.
"Not bad. I'll take it," he said, lowering his pack to the floor after removing and pocketing Flowers and placing the rifle on the bed. He tossed his jacket down beside it.
"... And I wouldn't mind some of that beer now."
"This way. I'll get you a key too, if you want one."
Red followed him back into the hall, closing the door behind him.
'Might as well. Many other guests?"
'No, just yourself today. Things are slow—as usual."
'That fancy car out there yours?"
'No, mine is in back, and much less pretentious."
"Whose is it, then?" Red asked as they approached
a desk where he signed a guest book and received a key.
"Ah! You are reading Baudelaire! One of my favorites. There was a man who saw through pretensions_ everything! 'Combla-t-il sur ta chair inerte et cornplaisante l'immensite' de son desir?'"
" '....e'ponds, cadavre impur!' " Red said, nodding, following the other into a small taproom, where a stein was drawn for him. "Whose car is it?"
Laval chuckled, leading him out onto the veranda and gesturing toward the mountains.
"A most unusual fellow," he said. "Hiked off in that direction last week. Big, skinny, with eyes like Rasputin... Hands such as Modigliani might have painted somewhere or other. And every stitch on him, down to his bootlaces, was green. Even had on a big emerald ring. Didn't say where he was going or why. Said his name was John, that's all."
Flowers emitted a small squeak. Red thumbed the piezoelectric acknowledgment point.
"... And to tell the truth, I was glad to see him go. He didn't do anything threatening or even uncivil. But he made me uncomfortable just being here."
Red sipped his beer.
"I've left my drink inside. Would you care to join us in the lobby? It's a little cooler there."
Red shook his head.
"I'm enjoying the view from here. Thanks anyway."
Laval shrugged and withdrew. Red raised Flowers.
"Yeah, I caught it," he muttered. "I suppose it could be the same guy. Indicating—"
"It's not that," said the tiny voice, "though it could be. But it is what caused me to set up surveillance. I decided to run periodic reconnaissance surveys through the truck's sensors via microwave. I've picked something up."
"What?"
"Electrical activity associated with something ap
proaching from the southwest. It's easy to spot against this quiet background. It's coming up pretty fast."
"How large an object is it?"
"I can't tell yet."
Red took another drink.
"Conclusions? Recommendations?"
"Go get your rifle and keep it with you. Maybe a grenade. I don't know what you've got on you. I've already broadcast a message to that doctor we met."
"Then you do think it's his man?"
"You have to admit it sounds that way. Let us not take chances."
"I'm not arguing."
Red set his stein on a ledge, turned toward his truck.
"Uh-oh, Flowers," he announced. "Something airborne from that direction, and it ain't no bird."
"I'm tracking. That's it. You might still be able to get the rifle, if you run."
"Oh, the hell with it," Red said, unwrapping a fresh cigar and lighting it. "It would just get in the way. You might get a chance to try that brand-new routine, though."