Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (20 page)

 
          
 
Before too long, I reached the jackpole and
entered there. It was dark and still. I began walking down its spiral. I
hurried past the next level—the Bedroom—for I could see clearly there because
of several fires, one near at hand. People were rushing about in their
vicinities, and at first I thought that they had either panicked or become
irrational and started the things themselves. But no. Most of them seemed to be
beating at them or soaking them. Something appeared to be wrong with the
sprinkler system. There were fire vehicles all about and more on the way—both
in the air and on the ground. Groups of cranes hung frozen above them in a
variety of attitudes.

 
          
 
As I reached the next level, my destination, I
was pleased not to observe any disasters in progress. There were numerous small
lights in motion below me. Personal handbeams, it seemed. I was glad that Mr.
Black had not seen fit to indulge in incendiarism in the Library, too.

 
          
 
Quite a few people seemed to be entering at
the base of the jackpole, but so far I had encountered no one. Which indicated
that they were all heading downward. In the direction of the damaged Living
Room. I wondered at their purpose.

 
          
 
Going over my mental map, I recalled an
emergency-vehicle hatch about a quarter-mile in the direction of the far wall.
I resolved to appropriate whatever might be available for flight, as the number
Glenda had given me was a good distance away.

 
          
 
When I reached floor level, I stood aside as
people hurried in past me and headed for the downward winding. They spoke
excitedly, some near-hysterically, and many of them carried parcels.

 
          
 
"Where are you going?" I asked a man
who had come running, and then paused to catch his breath.

 
          
 
"Out," he said.

 
          
 
I could not believe that he meant what he seemed
to mean.

 
          
 
"You mean outside?" I said.
"Out of the House?"

 
          
 
"Where else? It's coming apart around us,
the House."

 
          
 
"But you can't—I mean, it's sealed off,
it's quarantined down there, isn't it?"

 
          
 
He laughed.

 
          
 
"Take my advice and come along," he
said. "You wouldn't believe what it is like out there."

 
          
 
"What is it like?"

 
          
 
"It's beautiful!"

 
          
 
"But—"

 
          
 
He hurried away then and was quickly out of
sight.

 
          
 
I was of course disturbed. Overheard snatches
of conversation indicated a variety of motives for this small-scale exodus,
ranging from a fear of the imminent collapse of the House to a desire for
adventure, a morbid fascination with the effects of disaster, religious fervor,
scientific interest and just plain primate curiosity. Whatever the reasons, the
results of the action would be around for a long while. I did not relish the
introduction of unpredictables into my closed, controlled system.

 
          
 
There was nothing to be done about it just
then, however. I pushed my way out the door and hurried in the direction of the
vehicles bay.

 
          
 
I sprinted the final hundred yards or so to
the bay, the doors of which stood open. I shone the beam I had appropriated
from the man who had bumped against me and begun cursing me on the way out.
There appeared to be two vehicles down to my left. I climbed over the edge,
hung for a moment at arms' length and dropped to the landing stage.

 
          
 
One of the fliers was blocked up for
maintenance work and the other was secured in a parking area. I checked the
fuel level of the second one, unchocked its wheels and with considerable effort
managed to roll it out onto the stage.

 
          
 
It started quickly, and within three minutes I
was airborne. I moved carefully, fairly near to the ceiling, my forward and
side lights switched to their brightest, avoiding cranes and pillars as I went.
Below, it was like a photographic negative of moths about a flame, all those
little lights flitting toward the black tower.

 
          
 
Cubicle 18237. That was quite a distance
across the room. Periodically, I dropped lower, to shine my light on coordinate
markers. Another flier passed me, going in the opposite direction, but I
received no signals from it.

 
          
 
I withdrew my mind from thoughts of people's
reactions and turned my attention to my own affairs. My enemy had planned
things carefully, and I doubted he was about to slack off at this point. I
thought of Glenda once again, and of the possibility that I was heading for
some sort of trap. She had helped me earlier—a good sign—and she was Kendall's
daughter—which was sufficient, to my way of thinking, to justify any action she
cared to take against me, were she aware of my part in things. What moved her,
and what were her intentions? Was Black using her? If so, how? Though I pushed
my mind through a series of mazes, I could come up with no approach other than
the direct. There were simply too many variables. Any attempt to be especially
devious could boomerang on me.

 
          
 
Most of the effects of Black's trank would
have worn off by now, I knew.

 
          
 
When I came into her section, I located an
open space near to considerable cover in the form of tables, partitions and
machines, landed the flier, killed its lights and engine, and disembarked. It
was quite dark, but I had swept the area with my spotlight before coming down.
It had seemed to be empty of people.

 
          
 
I rushed for cover, nevertheless, and began a
circuitous route that would take me into the area of the cubicle I sought.

 
          
 
I spent several minutes working my way toward
the door of 18237 and investigating the vicinity. There were no ambushers that
I could detect. But while the glow of candlelight emerged from the windows of
the adjacent quarters, Glenda's were dark.

 
          
 
I approached with the pistol in my hand,
rapped upon her door with its barrel, waited.

 
          
 
As I stood there, I wondered whether she had
been caught up in the general confusion, or whether any of a number of other
things had worked to keep her from returning. If she were not present, I
resolved to enter and wait for her.

 
          
 
As I moved to knock again, however, I heard a
noise from within and the door was unlatched and opened partway. Glenda stood
there in the faint light, and her eyes moved from my face to the gun and back
again quickly.

 
          
 
"Yes?" she said. "What do you
want?"

 
          
 
"We parted rather abruptly a little while
ago," I said. "But you invited me to drop by."

 
          
 
Her features constricted and relaxed in the
space of an instant. Her voice was normal, even cheerful, as she then said,
"Of course! Come in! Come in!" But she raised her right hand as if to
bar my way as she said it. Then as I hesitated, puzzled, she hurled herself
against me.

 
          
 
As I stumbled back to retain my footing and
she slipped to the floor, I heard the sound of a shot from within. She had
succeeded in thrusting me far enough to the side to be out of the line of fire,
however. I immediately put two rounds through the door, just to let him know I
was not standing there doing nothing, waiting to be shot at again, the while
shouting to Glenda to get the hell out of sight.

 
          
 
She did not really need the encouragement,
though, as she vanished quickly and soundlessly in the direction from which I
had come.

 
          
 
I threw myself sprawling and slid up against
the wall, as I had been in line of sight from both windows and had no idea
where he was inside. My foresight was repaid as the nearest window was
shattered by another shot. I fetched out one of my two gas grenades, activated
it and lobbed it through the window. Moments later, I followed it with the
second one.

 
          
 
Hugging the wall, I crawled backward, the
better to cover the near windows as well as the door and the window on its far
side.

 
          
 
I waited. I heard the things go off, with soft
popping sounds, and after a time ghostly tendrils drifted out through the
shattered window and the still-gaping door.

 
          
 
While I was wondering what was going to happen
next, it happened.

 
          
 
There came an explosion and fragments of the
wall fell all over me. I was engulfed in a cloud of dust and gas. I fought to
keep from coughing, my eyes watered and I could see nothing but a blurred haze.
I felt as if I had been kicked in several dozen places along my back and side.
I jerked my pistol free of the mess and kept blinking my eyes to clear them.

 
          
 
I barely caught sight of the figure leaping
through the rubble, right on the heels of the explosion. It was somewhere in
the vicinity just vacated by the door. He passed to the right, running, and I
fired after him. I missed, of course, and he kept going.

 
          
 
Shaking off debris, I struggled to my feet and
plunged after him, staggering through my first several steps. He was still in
sight, and I had no intention of losing him this time.

 
          
 
Coming to a partition, he whirled suddenly and
fired back at me before passing behind it, not waiting to see the effect of his
shot. I felt a stinging sensation along my left forearm, and I raised my weapon
and put three rounds through the partition. I veered to reach an alcove then,
and reloaded quickly once I had achieved it.

 
          
 
I dropped to all fours before I looked around
the corner, and I pulled back quickly when I saw him, leaning around the edge
of his partition and pointing a weapon in my direction. The shot followed a
moment later, fairly high and wide.

 
          
 
I fired back before I withdrew to prime an
explosive grenade. When I exposed myself to hurl it, he fired again. I drew
back immediately, primed another grenade and sent it after the first.

 
          
 
The first one exploded while the second was
still in the air. By the time the second explosion came, my weapon was back in
my right hand. I rounded the corner and raced toward what was left of the
partition.

 
          
 
There was no one about when I reached the
wrecked area. I halted, casting about in all directions, and then I caught
sight of a fleeing shadow, far off to the left. I plunged after him.

 
          
 
He was crossing an open area, heading toward a
warren of narrow aisles and reading booths. I ran as fast as I could, and the
distance between us narrowed. I fired a shot and he jerked, stumbled, recovered
and kept going.

 
          
 
When he reached a post at the edge of the
area, he threw himself against it, turned suddenly and began shooting. I was
out in the open with nothing to duck behind, so I kept going, raising my own
weapon and firing back at him.