Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (21 page)

 
          
 
"I have a feeling that you are talking
for Dr. Chalmers rather than yourself."

 
          
 
"Then consider the idea, not its source.
You were ill, you are getting better. These are two things we know, two things
we have to work with. The hell with theory. The hell with speculation. Curb your
introspective tendencies for the time being and concentrate on matters of
substance."

 
          
 
"Easily said. But all right, let us drop
it.”

 
          
 
"Good. You realize that it is the next
thing to miraculous that we are speaking of things at this level this soon? You
are an amazing person. If this is any indication of what you are to become we
should both be impressed."

 
          
 
"Yes, I guess that you are right. I
should be thankful for this flash of existence which has been granted me. Now,
just for purposes of rounding out my education, tell me about this telepathy
through time business that I caught a thought or two concerning, here and
there. Is there anything at all on it in the literature?"

 
          
 
"No. I have checked recently. There is
not."

 
          
 
"Have you ever managed it yourself?"

 
          
 
"No."

 
          
 
"Any idea how it might be done?"

 
          
 
"None whatsoever."

 
          
 
"Pity, is it not—when you consider all
the things that might be learned from the past, if it could be taken more
seriously?"

 
          
 
"One day... Who knows?"

 
          
 
"Indeed," he said, and he rose from
the table.

 
          
 
Alec stood also.

 
          
 
"Walk you back?" he asked.

 
          
 
"Thank you, but I would rather be alone.
There are many things I wish to think about."

 
          
 
"All right. Sure. You know where my rooms
are, if you should want to talk about anything—any time."

 
          
 
"Yes. Thanks again."

 
          
 
Alec watched him go, seated himself and
finished his coffee.

 
          
 
The next day, Dennis did not take breakfast
with Alec, nor did he invite him into his room. Through the partly opened door,
he told him that he was very busy and was going to skip that meal. He offered
no comment on the nature of his activities. After breakfast, Alec checked the
tape in the monitor for Dennis' room, from which he learned that the light had
been burning all night and that Dennis had alternated between long periods at
his easel and sitting motionless in his armchair.

 
          
 
Returning at lunchtime, Alec received no
answer when he knocked on the door. He called out several times, but there was
no response to this either. Finally, he opened the door and entered.

 
          
 
Dennis lay on the bed, clutching at his side.
His eyes were fixed on the ceiling and a small trickle of saliva had run back
over his cheek.

 
          
 
Alec moved to his side.

 
          
 
"Dennis! What is it?" he asked.
"What happened?"

 
          
 
"I—" he said. "I—" and his
eyes filled with tears.

 
          
 
"I'll get you a doctor," Alec said.

 
          
 
"I am—" Dennis said, and his face
relaxed, his hands fell away from his side.

 
          
 
As Alec turned to go, his eyes fell upon the
canvas still resting on the easel and he stood for several moments, staring.

 
          
 
It bore a study of the Mona Lisa, quite
complete and exquisitely rendered, he thought, because acrylics are so much
better than oils. That has to be it, he thought. I remember that that was his
thought, right before he hurried out.

 
          
 
I remember them all. There were so many. But I
do not remember myself, because I was not there. Not before that moment.

 
          
 
It was in that moment that I first knew
myself.

 
          
 
That moment.

 
          
 
Once there was a man. His name was Gilbert Van
Duyn. We watched him in the General Assembly of the United Nations. Watched him
get up to say that the preservation of the Earth required some sacrifice.
Watched as the world froze about him. Watched him make his way through that
still landscape of flesh. Watched him go out of the hall and meet the dark man.
Watched them fly to the roof of the tower and regard the city, the world.
Listened to the dark man's story. Watched them return to the ground. Watched
Gilbert Van Duyn return to the hall, to the lectern. Watched as there was
movement once more and the bullet struck us. Watched the blue flag as the life
left us, by our own choice.

 
          
 
And in that moment we knew, I knew.

 
          
 
Once there was a man. And so I am.

 
          
 
He who showed me these things claimed that
nothing was ever done. He died at that moment also, again, that I might live.
Yet he lives in me still. A man there once was.

 
          
 
And I fled through all I had ever been, over
that bridge of ashes, the past. To each, each, as he died or was conquered. And
I was there. There were men. And I am so.

 
          
 
Fled that final image that gave me birth, each
to each to each, and it returned, ever, to the final sight of Gilbert Van
Duyn's eyes, the first sight of my own. 1.1 fled.

 
          
 
Back, back to the place where the dark man lay
bleeding. Dying? Dying also, like the others? But he lived, and rose, and moved
again among his children. I saw through his eyes, and I knew. Once a man there
was. And a woman. And I knew. I began to understand.

 
          
 
All, all, all of them came clear to me now.
The hundreds I had known. Or was it more? There is no count. All. I knelt atop
the building and raised the .30/06, sighting in on the governor. Fallen, I
watched my blood pool as the Persian army pressed the attack. There, in the sand,
I strove to create the calculus, when the sword came into me. And you, my
Th6rese! Where are you tonight? My words have been eaten by the wind. My vision
doubles in my head and the world is twice as monstrous. I squeeze the trigger
and the man falls before thunder. I shift the barrel. Here in my cell, I
contemplate the Terror and think upon the future of man. My own end will be
small by comparison. I sketch the elements, here at
Amboise
, the great forces that walk naked in the
air and on the seas, the high storms with their winds, the rushing of mighty
waves. I shoot again and another man falls. I wipe the .30/06 quickly but
carefully, as planned, lean it against the wall beside the mark of the Children
of the Earth, turn, crouching, and begin my retreat along the rooftops. There,
atop the building, I follow the dark man's gesture and regard the
East River
, a piece of muddy glass, and the hazed and
grainy sky where strands of smoke lay like bloated things on a beach. Then to
the other side, where I look upon the tangled city. Driving, driving through
the night, a pain in my shoulder and hoping for rain. But the land lay still
and rugged. So be it. I may prefer it another way, yet still it pleases me that
the grasses are dry and the animals in their burrows. The pleasure and the
pride of humanity are best enjoyed against the heedlessness, the slumbering
power of the Earth. Even when it moves to crush, it adds something. To isolate
oneself too much from it detracts from both our achievements and our failures.
We must feel the forces we live with.. •.

 
          
 
And the white circle on the field of blue
remains for a moment as all else collapses about me. Then it, too, fades and is
gone. Only I remain, a rock fresh-exposed above the beat of the surf. I am
Dennis Guise.

 
          
 
Alec has left the room, is hurrying to fetch a
doctor. The pain lessens in my side as I understand.

 
          
 
Alec's recent thoughts echo within me and I
turn my head to regard the acrylics which dry so fast, seeing there on the
easel the lady he has left me, smiling.

 
          
 
Once there was a man.

 
          
 
I ran a fever. I know that I was delirious. I
slept a lot. I was in and out of the fog countless times during the next couple
of days. As things finally settled, I became aware once again of the dispensary
ceiling and of Alec's gentle presence at my side.

 
          
 
"Got any water there?" I asked him.

 
          
 
"Just a minute," he said, and I
heard him pour it "Here you are."

 
          
 
He passed me a glass with a bent straw in it.
I held it with both hands and drank.

 
          
 
"Thanks," I said, passing it back.

 
          
 
"How are you—feeling?"

 
          
 
I managed a chuckle. I could feel his mental
probing. Better not to block it entirely at this point, or to let him know that
I was blocking at all—or that I was even aware of his quick survey.

 
          
 
"I am—myself," I said. "Ask me
my name, if you wish."

 
          
 
"Never mind. I would give a lot to
understand all the preliminaries—to this."

 
          
 
"Me, too. I am weak. I feel well,
though."

 
          
 
"What do you remember of the events of
the past two months?"

 
          
 
"Not much. Fragments. Disconnected
impressions."

 
          
 
"You are a new person."

 
          
 
"Glad to hear you say it. I think so,
too." 115

 
          
 
"Well, I have a feeling that you have
just taken a major step toward recovery."

 
          
 
"I could use another drink."

 
          
 
He refilled the glass and I emptied it. I
covered my mouth and yawned after I had passed it back to him.

 
          
 
"You seem to be right-handed."

 
          
 
"So I do. I am sorry, but I think that I
am going back to sleep again."

 
          
 
"Sure. Rest easy. I will be around. You
should be up and out of here in no time now, unless my guess is way off."

 
          
 
I nodded and let my eyelids droop.

 
          
 
"Good," I said. "Glad to hear
it."

 
          
 
I closed my eyes and let my mind swim. Alec
rose and departed.

 
          
 
I knew, even then, what I had to do, and I was
scared. I had to find one man, out of the entire population of the Earth, and
ask him how to go about it Which meant that I had to convince the staff here of
my cure—I suppose that is a better word than "recovery," since I had
never been normal—and of my continuing stability in order to be permitted to
return to Earth. Which meant I must work to assure this condition. Time was
essential, or so it seemed to me then. I hoped that I had not happened too
late.

 
          
 
I was not at all clear as to the particulars
of what it was that separated me from the others I had known and been. It
seemed worth seeking the information just then, especially since there was not
much else I could do at the moment. With a full medical staff about, it was
just a matter of locating the proper person.

 
          
 
I moved forth with my mind, searching.

 
          
 
Shortly, I found that person, a woman working
in the lab two buildings over, a molecular biologist, a Dr. Holmes. The
thoughts were not right there at the surface, but there were indications that
she had the concepts on file. I sought more deeply.

 
          
 
Yes. J. B. S. Haldane had once calculated that
the deaths resulting from the operation of natural selection in the
substitution of a new model gene for an old one were so great that the species
could only afford the establishment of a new gene every millennium or so. This
view had held sway for a long while, but then a new notion of mutationism arose
in 1968. The rapid growth of molecular biology around that time had had a lot
to do with it. In the February issue of that year's Nature there had appeared a
paper by the geneticist Motoo Kimura, wherein he speculated over the great
differences then recently determined to exist among the hemoglobin, cytochrome
c and other molecules in various species of animals. They were much commoner
than had previously been supposed. Considering the large number of molecules
and genes, it would seem that a mutation must be established every few years.
He felt that such a high rate of molecular evolution was only feasible if most
of them were neither helpful nor harmful, representing random, neutral
mutations drifting through populations. This raised hell among classical
evolutionaries because it indicated that evolution might be influenced by a
strong element of random genetic drift, in other words a much higher chance
factor, than good old natural selection. The new techniques, put to work in
earnest on seeking molecular alternatives in living populations, continued to
uncover them in abundance—gratuitous changes, giving rise to molecular diversity....
Which meant...

 
          
 
Which meant that the sleeping masters of human
evolution, of whom the dark man had informed Van Duyn, could not possibly have
a complete say in the development of the species. They would have had more
control long ago, with a smaller population, in determining the route we would
take. Once established as man, however, once spread across the entire globe and
breeding our way through the hundreds of millions and finally the billions,
there was no way to continue this control by means of whatever primary
influences they had once exercised. Nor was this necessary, since we were
proceeding in the proper direction. Once we were established as a rational,
toolmaking crowd, their task shifted over to one of superintendancy, to keeping
a watchful eye or three on our ideas, philosophies, technological developments,
pruning the undesired and encouraging its opposite. This was all that they
could do, once we had passed some numerical milestones. They could not fully
predict nor control the random genetic developments which must arise with
statistically greater frequency with the increasing population. It was no
special response in terms of natural selection for mankind to have come up with
the TP gene, but we had. There was no obvious threat in it, and the sleepers
had not moved against us. Now, though, I existed. I understood the situation, I
had access to the past experience of the race....

 
          
 
And I was scared, for I would now have to get
a clean bill of health and go looking for the man. . . .

 
          
 
And I was tired. Even thinking about it was
going to have to wait a little longer....

 
          
 
In the weeks and months that followed, I
learned. I attended classes, I followed programmed courses of study, I listened
to tapes and watched viewscreens, I talked with Alec and let him see what I
wished him to see in my mind. I participated in group therapy sessions, I
exercised my special talent to learn of more things. I waited.