With a movement of his wrist, he directed the beam toward the railing. It sliced a thin line through eight inches of stone. He flicked it off and moved to the spot where it had cut. Running his thumb along the groove, he looked down over the railing for the first time. He nodded and turned away, replacing the tube in his pocket.
Soundlessly, he crossed to the stairs. He looked upward and for a moment his vision wavered as the dim interior of the stairwell reminded him of a cold stone corridor in an ancient building he had once known.
He mounted the stairs slowly, keeping close to the left-hand wall. He passed a door, moved toward the next.
When he reached the proper door, he paused. A pale light still shone beneath it. He took the tube into his hand but still he stood, listening. There was a soft stirring within, a creak of furniture, stillness.
He raised the weapon and pointed it at a place near the jamb, where the bar should lie. Then he paused
again and lowered it. He moved forward. Gently, very gently, slowly, he tried the door. It was unfastened. He stepped to the side, raised his weapon again
and pushed it open. He dropped to his knees. The tube fell from his
fingers.
"I did not know," he said. He lowered his forehead to the floor.
One
As he was paying his bill and settling up for the damage to his room. Red was approached by the wagers broker, a small, turbaned man of exotic aroma.
"Congratulations, Mr. Dorakeen," he said. "My, you are looking good this morning."
"I occasionally do," Red replied, turning. "It seldom warrants special notice, however."
"I meant, congratulations on your winnings."
"Oh? I placed a bet on something?"
"Yes. You bet on yourself in the next pass of the black decade, Chadwick versus Dorakeen. Don't you remember?"
"Ouch!" He massaged the bridge of his nose. "Yes, it begins to come back. Excuse me, but I'm a little hazy about yesterday. What a damned stupid thing to do....ait a minute. If I won, that means there was an unsuccessful attempt on my life last night."
"So it would seem. Notice has been received that you were successful. Do you want cash, or would you have me credit your account?"
"Credit my account. Were there no particulars, then?"
"None." The man produced a document. "If you will
sign this, I will give you a receipt and your winnings will be deposited."
Red scrawled his signature on it.
"Was there no disturbance in the neighborhood that might have had to do with this?"
"Only if you count the damage that I understand occurred in your room."
He shook his head.
"I doubt that There were no—remains."
"Would you care to place a wager on the fith pass?"
"Fifth? There have only been three attempts, counting this one you just paid on."
"You are listed as having survived four."
"I am afraid I do not understand, and I am not going to confuse the matter by betting again."
The broker shrugged.
"As you would."
Red hefted his bag and turned away. Mondamay glided up, holding Flowers.
"Yes, that was a stupid thing to do," Flowers stated as they headed toward the door. "Placing a bet!"
"I've already admitted it, but then the person I was yesterday was having a problem."
"Then you've inherited a big piece of it. Chadwick has literally had all the time in the world to zero in on you here. Do you think we'll make it across the parking lot?"
Mondamay matched circuits with Flowers.
He does look somehow different today, he said, but what does he mean when he speaks of not being the same person he was yesterday?
I have not been with him long enough to have made observations sufficient to permit me to understand the phenomenon, came the reply. But he has had three of these spells since I have known him, and on each occasion he has recovered looking several years younger but acting as if he were a different person.
I noted that he appeared younger when I saw him back in C Eleven, but I did not know at what point in his life-line he had arrived. He had always been older when he had visited me in the past.
How old?
Somewhere in his fifties, I'd say. I suppose it is possible that he is taking some rejuvenation medication from farther up the Road.
I lack sufficient programs involving pharmacology to know whether such treatments would have the side effects of his spells—in terms of his apparent manic phase followed by a personality change.
"I don't believe the danger in departing would be any greater than that in remaining here," Red replied.
Tell me about the personality changes, Mondamay said. Are they temporary irrationalities or what? He did strike me as somewhat changed from our last meeting, but I have not really observed him long enough this time to draw any conclusions.
They seem stable each time—a younger outlook, more enthusiasm... He's less conservative, more willing to take chances, a little quicker in his responsesmental and physical—and perhaps a little more cruel, arrogant, audacious ... "Rash" is perhaps the best word.
Then there is a possibility that he may be about to do something—rash?
I suppose there is.
"I will precede you on the way to the car, Red," Mondamay stated, moving ahead toward the lobby door.
"That isn't necessary."
"Just the same ..."
"Okay."
"Where are we headed?" Flowers inquired as they passed outside into a sunny morning,
"Up the Road."
"To carry the attack to Chadwick?"
"Probably."
"C Twenty-seven? That is quite a haul."
"Yes."
There was no one else about as they crossed to the
vehicle and entered it. ,,.•,. "I will check all systems," Flowers stated, after being
deposited in her niche, "before ignition."
"Go ahead." .
"Red, you are looking well this morning, Mondamay stated, '''but how do you really feel? I overheard you say something about not being clear on things you did yesterday. Do you think we ought to find someplace off the Road where vou can rest?"
"Rest? Hell, no! I feel fine."
"I mean mentally, emotionally. If your memory is playing tricks—"
"Not important, not important. Don't concern yourself. I'm always a little fuzzy that way after one of my attacks."
"What are they like?"
"I don't know. I never can recall."
"What brings them on?"
Red shrugged.
"Who knows?"
"Do they occur at any special times? Is there a pattern to them?"
"Nothing I've ever been able to discern."
"Have you consulted a physician concerning them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"I don't want to be cured. I find my condition improved each time one occurs. I wake up remembering things I hadn't recalled before; I've a new outlook I always enjoy--"
A moment. I thought you'd said you suffer a memory-impairment on each occasion."
"On this end, yes. On the far end, I gain more
ground."
"All systems safe," Flowers announced.
"Good."
Red started the engine and headed toward the exit
"You have confused me even more," Mondamay stated as they avoided a ragged individual wearing a crusader's cross, then turned onto the highway, passing an old vehicle driven by a young man which entered the lot and took their parking place. "What do you mean by 'the far end'? What do you remember? Have you any idea at all as to the nature of the process you are undergoing?"
Red sighed. He located a cigar and chewed on it, but he did not light it.
"All right, I remember being an old man," he began. "Very old ... I was walking through a rocky wasteland. It was nearly morning, and it was foggy. My feet were bleeding. I was carrying a staff, and I leaned on it a lot."