"And I seem like such an ordinary asswipe. Is that what you're telling me, John?"
He laughed. "Not quite. But the tales told about you are remarkable." He leaned over to me, mock-secretively. "I take it they're all ― how do Americans put it? ― 'tall tales'?"
"Depends on what tales you mean," I said in deadpan. "Now, the one about the sixteen women on Albion, that's purest truth. They all gave birth within the space of six days."
"That is one I'd like to hear." He looked at me slyly. "I assume you're joking, but maybe I'd better not assume." He laughed again, but sobered up quickly, the death of three friends choking off anything resembling good cheer.
Presently, he said, "It was your computer that started the association process. Then when I heard your… friend, there, say your name ― anyway, I noticed that the computer was extraordinarily human-sounding. Exactly how did he get that way? Terran machines can come close to mimicking a human personality, but yours is a different kettle of fish entirely."
"Sam is more than a computer," I said. "His core-logic contains a Vlathusian Entelechy Matrix. It's a component the size of your thumb."
"I've heard of them. The Vlathu keep the process a dark secret, don't they? Who was the impression taken from?"
"My father."
"I see."
It strikes most people as ghoulish. I think I know why, but I don't think of it.
"He died in an accident on Kappa Fornacis V. I brought his body to the Vlathu home planet, which, like Terra, isn't directly connected to the Skyway, and left it with their technicians. They kept it for almost a year. When I got it back, there were no incisions in the scalp, and the brain was intact. Then he was buried on Vishnu, on our farm."
Sam broke in. "You're talking about me like I wasn't here. Damned uncomfortable."
"Oh, I do beg your pardon," Sukuma-Tayler said. "Jake, do you mind if I ask him ―? There I go again. Sam. Would you mind answering some questions?"
"Go ahead," Sam said.
"How do you see yourself? By that I mean, what is your self-image in terms of a physical presence? Do you follow me?"
"I think I do. Well, it depends. Sometimes I think of myself as part of the rig, sometimes it seems as if I'm just riding in it. Most of the time I get a distinct impression of sitting right where you are, in the shotgun seat. No, don't get up. The feeling persists whether the seat's occupied or not."
Sukuma-Taylor put a finger to his chin. "That's very interesting. There's another question, but I really don't know how to―"
"You want to know what it feels like to die. Is that it?"
The Afro nodded.
"Damned if I know. I don't remember anything about the crash. I have been told since that the son of a bitch who hit me head-on was drunk and that he came through it alive. I don't think the Vlathu erased the memory, but I don't have it."
Sam's response plunged the Afro into deep thought.
Meanwhile, we had gained the top of the rise, and the rain was subsiding. Dark walls of rock lined the road; the Skyway had lucked into a natural pass. Just then, the headbeams dimmed, then came back to full voltage. The engine began complaining in a low, gravelly murmur.
"Jake, we have plasma instability," Sam announced.
"Not a moment too soon." I sighed. "I think it's all downhill from here. What are you reading?"
"Everything I'm getting says we have a kink-instability developing. Temperature dropping. Yeah, the longitudinal current in the plasma is 'way over the Kruskal limit. Wait, the backup coils are cutting in. Back to normal now… hold on. Just a minute. Hell, mere it goes again. Shut her down, Jake."
"How much power in the accumulators?"
"We're full up. We can get by on the auxiliary motor, as long as we've climbed our last hill."
7
We made it.
We coasted down the other side of the range. Beyond the headbeams the land looked very different, rocky and wild. Short, wide-trunked trees hung in dark foliage bordered the road. We drove across wide plateaus, hugged the rim of gaping dark areas that seemed to be canyons. The rain stopped, and the outside temperature plunged. Stars appeared, and the spectacular frozen explosion of a gas nebula was painted across a broad arc of sky. There were no recognizable constellations, for we were eight hundred light-years or so down from Terra on the Orion arm, antispinward. Goliath's primary was not even a catalog number.
These were the boonies, all right.
We even lost the Skyway. It ended abruptly under a massive rockslide, but not before we were warned off by flashing road barriers and shunted onto a crisp, new Colonial Transportation Department highway. The road took us into Maxwellville in half an hour.
The hospital was surprisingly well-equipped. The seriously injured man was semicomatose and in shock, but they shoved enough tubes into his body to wake a corpse, and brought his blood count up with plasma and iso-PRBCs. They even managed to save his foot. The rest of us they treated and released, after re-dressing and spot-welding our wounds and shooting us full of broad-spectrum antixenobiotics. To be extra sure, we all spent time under a "password" beam, which fried any foreign organism in our bodies that couldn't produce genetic identification proving Terran origin.
Then we got the bill. I swallowed hard and pulled out my Guild Hospitalization Plan card, which had lapsed. They took the agreement number, but didn't like it. Sukuma-Tayler insisted that he take care of it. So I let him, telling him I would pay him back.
I went back to the cab.
"John's asked us to come out to their ranch," I told Sam. "What do you think?"
"Fine for you. I'll be in the garage."
I scowled. "I forgot. I hate to be so far away from you. But motels are out. And when the mail rig gets into town, the local constable might be looking for us."
"Better find out when the next mail is due."
"Right." I took a deep breath. "Sam, we keep piling up questions with no answers."
"For instance?"
I went back to get a few things in the aft cabin. I packed my duffel and zipped it up. "Well, for instance, what was that hoo-hah at Sonny's all about, anyway? If Wilkes wants me dead, why doesn't he make his move? Why all that mummery about a merger? What does the Rikkitikki have to do with all this, if anything?" I grabbed Darla's pack, went forward, and sat in the driver's seat. "And why in God's name, if they wanted to surprise us at the motel, did they drive up like Colonial Militia on a drug raid? They've never heard of sneaking? They could have had us easily. But no, they bust in there with rollers crackling and guns drawn. And how did they know we were there?"
"The manager could have been on Wilkes' payroll. The word may have been out for us."
"Yeah, maybe. But it still doesn't make any sense. None of it does, including the wild stories ― which everybody but us seems to have heard." I shook my head wearily. "What a weird couple of days." I remembered the lost key, and took the spare out of the box. I loaded up the squib with fresh charges. I undraped my leather jacket from the seat and put it on. The night was cool, but sunrise was not far off. We had spent most of the night in the hospital. I slipped the spare key into my jacket pocket.
"Where is everybody?" Sam asked.
"Waiting in the hospital lobby. I'll go tell John we're coming with him, after we bring you to the doctor."
Dawn came and Maxwellville came alive.
We drove to a nearby vehicle dealership, where Sukuma-Tayler rented a Gadabout, hydrogen-burning, for the trip to the ranch which was supposed to be about fifty kilometers south of town. He and his troupe followed us as we drove around looking for a garage. We found one; and the name of the place had a familiar ring to it.