Shellman stood quite still. After some moments, Sundoc realized that the man's skin was darkening. He watched for perhaps two minutes, until it was almost completely black.
"Chameleon effect," Cargado said. "Fine for a night attack."
"So's a little shoe polish. What else's he got?"
The picture changed again. This time it was a closeup of Shellman's hands.
Abruptly, they clenched. There followed a momentary pumping movement and they sprang open. Metal fingernails now curved outward for several inches.
"Extrudable claws. Extremely powerful. He could disembowel a man with a single swipe." "I like that. Can he do it with his feet too? "Yes. Just a moment..." "Forget it. He has retained all of his combat skills?"
"Of course."
More pictures. Archie Shellman, looking almost bored, tossing around karateists, boxers, wrestlers with ease and proficiency. Archie Shellman permitting himself to receive powerful blows without changing expression ...
"Is he as big as he seems? That's the first sequence involving other people."
"Yes. A hundred kilos and tall enough to be slim. He can turn over a car, kick down a heavy door, run all day. Has almost perfect night vision. He also has attachments—"
"What about his mind?"
"It's all yours. Built-in gratitude for the new body and a reinforced desire to use it in combat. We've blocked the depression, but the manic response is ready and waiting if you feel you should need it. He considers himself the toughest, meanest thing on two feet—"
"Perhaps he is."
"Quite likely, and he would welcome the chance to prove it and show his gratefulness at the same time."
"I wonder ... Of all the cyborgs you've shown me, he certainly has the most class. I have some pictures of the intended victim. Would you recommend just siccing him on him, or do you think a little hateconditioning might be in order?"
"Oh, some sort of conditioning, to make it into a duty. Then he won't rest until he does it personally.
You know our motto: 'We never let well enough alone.'"
''Very well. I'll give him a try, as soon as I know where to send him. We might have a winner here."
"Uh—none of my business, of course—but what is so special about the man you are sending him after?"
Sundoc shook his head as he passed Cargado the photos of Red Dorakeen.
"Damned if I really know," he said. "Someone, somewhere, just doesn't like him."
One
Passing a succession of heavily laden chariots, they came to a quiet section of the Road.
"Now, neither of you can pick up any more signals, can you?"
"None here."
"No."
"Good. Now I can settle down to the business of keeping alive on more of a long-range basis—one of the reasons I was coming to see you, Mondy."
"The old arm isn't what it used to be, but I'll be glad to help."
"It's your advice that I'm really after. You're still the greatest mayhem computer I know about. Now, you know me and you know something of the situation— and I can get you more data if you need it. The first thing I want is your opinion as to the course of action I should take."
"You are more than welcome to return with me to my place. I will be glad to give you sanctuary for as long as you wish, and teach you to make pots."
"Thank you. But I can't see my enjoying that on a permanent basis. I require a little more variety."
"This hostel on the Byzantine cutoff— How is it that you know of it?"
Red chuckled. -'
"I did quite a bit of trading along that route. Made out pretty well on it. But— Well, I like it. Manuel I is emperor there. He's usually off fighting somewhere. but he found time to build a really lovely place, a palace called the Blachernae, on the seashore right out at the end of the Golden Horn. An amazing piece of architecture, covered with gold and jewels, shining even at night. Does some fine entertaining there, and I got invited a few times as a high-class merchant. And Constantinople itself is really at its height. Literature and scholarship are flourishing. It's as if, for a little while, the Renaissance were trying to get started here. The climate is clement, the women lovely, the—"
"In other words, you're fond of the place?"
"I guess that's what I was trying to say."
"Well, if you don't want to make pots with me, why not get yourself a villa there? You'd have your variety, in a place you're truly fond of..."
Red was silent for a time. He searched out a match and relit his cigar.
Then, "It's a nice dream," he said, "and I could do it for a few years. Then I'd get restless and I'd be back on the Road again. I know it."
"Because of whatever it is you're looking for?" Flowers said.
"Yes ... I suppose so. But I've thought about it a lot ... Even if there were nothing special I were seeking, even then... I'd just get restless."
He puffed on the cigar.
"Then I'd get back on the Road and my problem would still be there, waiting for me," he finished.
"That turnoff is coming up now."
"Yeah, thanks, I see it"
He cut down and across onto this tributary of the Road. He passed a variety of vehicles and was passed himself as he sped along.
"That closes one option," Mondamay said.
"What?" .,,.,,. "You can't just quit and hide, because you can't stay
hidden. The time interval spent off the Road—even if it is a long one—would mean nothing once you return
to it."
"So your retirement from the Road should only be for purposes of planning or arming."
"Again, true."
"Or you can return to the Road, go about your business, stay alert, and hope to win out in all the ensuing
assaults—"
"I might just do that."
"—bearing in mind that every one of them is going to be managed by a professional in this line of work, and that your enemy can afford to hire uniquely talented individuals from virtually anywhere."
"The thought had passed through my mind. Nevertheless ..."
"Or you could choose your own battleground. Select some comfortable, well-fortified spot, let it be known that you are there, and let them come after you."
"There's the motel now," Red announced as a large stone structure several stories in height, topped with cupolas, glittering in the dayglow, came into view on the left. The sign in front said SPIRO'S.
He passed the establishment. A little farther ahead, there was a cloverleaf. He spun about it, emerged on the proper side of the road, headed back. The sky faded, brightened, faded, faded, as he slowed and turned off toward the building. It was a cool, dark night when he entered the lot and parked. Somewhere a cricket was singing.
He removed Flowers from her compartment and got out of the car. He fetched his backpack from the rear. Mondamay climbed out and joined him.
"Red?" Mondamay said as they headed toward the front doors.
"Yes?" "Get two rooms, will you?" "Okay. How come?" "One for Flowers and myself. We just want to be
alone—together." "Oh. Sure. I'll take care of it."
They entered the flagstoned lobby, where he left
Flowers with Mondamay and headed for the registra tion office. He was in it for several minutes. "Sorry we couldn't be on the same floor," he said as
they moved toward the stairs. "You are below the
third balcony, though. I'm above it. Come on up to my
room for a while. I want to continue our discussion. "This was our intention also." | They went round and round, the stairs creaking be
neath Mondomay's tread.
Two
Dreaming roadmaps and gold, the great dragons of Bel'kwinith drift and twist on the breezes of morning, when they were not dreaming in their caves. Timeless collaborators with destiny, they move their wills across the landscape of dream and desire...