Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 (6 page)

 
          
 
Two State cars purred up the street and hissed
to a halt before the entrance of La Fonda. I leaned forward as a State trooper
emerged from the building and went to speak with the drivers. Soon, soon now .
. . I’d helped blow two dams during the past year. That makes six for the COE,
and two nuclear power plants. The Children have been busy. Today, though, we
might accomplish a lot more. Stop the damage before it begins. Wheeler and
McCormack, governors of
Wyoming
and
Colorado
, here to meet with the governor of
New Mexico
to discuss large-scale energy projects—
large-scale exploitation, pollution, corruption, destruction. I bear them no
personal malice, though. Shouldn't have read as much about them as I did. Not
all that bad, as individuals. But the Earth is more important Their deaths will
mean more than their deaths....

 
          
 
I watched the trooper turn and head back into
La Fonda. Slowly—no real hurry necessary—I leaned and uncovered my weapon. I
raised it then and held it across my knees. I had already chalked the sign of
the Children of the Earth on the wall beside me.

 
          
 
Not too much longer now, I'd say....

 
          
 
Two troopers emerged and held the doors, one
of them the man who had been out to speak with the chauffeurs. They did not
even look up and down the street. I shifted my weapon, pulled the stock back up
to my shoulder, curled my finger about the trigger.

 
          
 
Four men passed out through the doors, talking
among themselves. I had no trouble with identification, at this distance. My
first shot, a clean and easy one, dropped Wheeler. I twitched the barrel to the
side and hit McCormack twice, as I was not sure where my first one took him.
Then I lowered myself, wiped the weapon quickly but carefully as planned,
leaned it against the wall, turned, crouching, and began my retreat along the
rooftops. I heard shots at my back, but nothing came close.

 
          
 
Now, if only my chauffeur was in the proper
place, I could begin the car-switching routine that would get me out and away
While I do not much care what becomes of me, I make the effort to prolong the
waiting, Mother Earth, that I might serve you as you deserve. I—

 
          
 
Summer.

 
          
 
Vicki dropped her trowel at the mental
equivalent of a shriek.

 
          
 
Lydia
—? she began, but by then she was aware of
the cause.

 
          
 
She left the greenhouse, ran through the
courtyard, entered the house.

 
          
 
Partway across the living room, she felt
Lydia
's thoughts, soothing, surprisingly
controlled: It is all right. You have not been hurt. You must not get excited.

 
          
 
Then, the voice she had never heard before:
"My shoulder—I think it's broken! I have to get down!"

 
          
 
She rushed forward, pushed past
Lydia
.

 
          
 
Dennis had gotten off the bed. He was standing
at its side, leaning against it. He clutched his right shoulder with his left
hand and cast his eyes wildly about the room.

 
          
 
"There!" he cried, and then he
stumbled forward and fell.

 
          
 
She hurried to him.

 
          
 
"
Victoria
! Get out of here!"
Lydia
called.

 
          
 
She raised him in her arms.

 
          
 
"He's hurt," Vicki replied.

 
          
 
"He is not hurt. Children fall all the
time. I will have to ask you to leave."

 
          
 
"But he's never gotten out before—or
talked. I have to—"

 
          
 
"Leave! I mean it! Give him to me and get
out! I know what I am doing!"

 
          
 
Vicki kissed him and surrendered the shaking
boy.

 
          
 
".. . And stay out of his mind, too. That
is very important. I cannot be responsible if you intervene at crucial
times."

 
          
 
"All right. I'm going. Come tell me about
it as soon as you can."

 
          
 
She rose and departed.

 
          
 
As she crossed the living room, Dennis began
to shout again. She looked at all the chairs, then realized she did not want to
sit down. She moved to the kitchen and set some water to boil.

 
          
 
Later—she did not know how much later—she
found herself seated at the breakfast bar, staring into a cup of tea. When
Lydia
came in and took a cup, she waited for the
other to speak.

 
          
 
Lydia
shook her head and sat down beside her.

 
          
 
"I do not know," she said,
"exactly what happened. It was more than a hallucination. He had hold of a
genuine personality structure—an adult one. Since he lacks one of his own to
override it, it occupied him completely. I was able to stimulate his sleep
centers and he is now resting. When he awakens, this may have vanished
entirely."

 
          
 
"Do you think I should call Dr.
Winchell?"

 
          
 
"No, this is in no way out of line with
the diagnosis. It is simply more spectacular than the early effects. Basically,
Dennis has no personality, no self, of his own. He is a traumatized collection
of fragments of other people whose minds he encountered before you moved here.
Somehow, he has encountered another and the same thing has occurred, on a
larger scale. The individual was undergoing some stressful experience, and
Dennis—who is more developed neurologically now—seized hold of a larger chunk
of that person's psyche. As to who and where, I did not take the time to probe
at length. If there is a recurrence, I will have to. In the meantime, it may
even work to Dennis' benefit. I may be able to utilize some of the new material
in the structuring of his own personality. It is too early to say, of course,
but it is a possibility."

 
          
 
"Then he was not hurt?"

 
          
 
"No. The person with whom he was in
contact had been hurt. He was reacting to that."

 
          
 
"I had better call Dick and let him know
what has happened."

 
          
 
"You may be disturbing him unduly. I
think it would be better to wait and see what the situation is tomorrow. You
would have a more complete story to tell him then.''

 
          
 
"That is true. He is gone so much of the
time now,
Lydia
. ... Do you think he is running away from— this?"

 
          
 
"Perhaps to some extent. But the nature
of his work—the new union negotiations ... You know that this is a bona fide
business trip. The feeling that he is running away may be a projection of your
own desires. It has been a while since you have been away, has it not?"

 
          
 
"God! Yes!"

 
          
 
"Perhaps when this small crisis is past
you ought to consider taking a vacation. I could manage things here in your
absence."

 
          
 
"You may be right I will think about it,
Lydia
. Thanks."

 
          
 
When Vicki rose, late the following morning,
Lydia
was already in Dennis' room. It was a warm,
sunny day, and she worked in the greenhouse till lunchtime. When
Lydia
did not join her as usual she approached
the closed door and stood there a long while before returning to the kitchen.
Gentle feelers of thought had detected intense mental activity within. She
pressed the general button on the news unit, cut out the viewer, pressed for a
repro copy. One by one, sheets slid into the tray. She stopped it at two dozen,
gathered the stack, took it with her to the table.

 
          
 
Later, she went to sit in the courtyard, and
after a time she slept.

 
          
 
For long moments, she did not know whether she
had been dreaming....

 
          
 
She lay there, blinking up at the light. The
shadows had lengthened. Somewhere a jay was calling.

 
          
 
Then,
Victoria
, where are you?

 
          
 
She sat up.

 
          
 
What is it?

 
          
 
The news ... Dennis’ fixe … The story is right
here! Governor Wheeler dead, and McCormack seriously injured . . .
"Assassin fled . . . believed wounded .. " Dennis was in that man's
mind, was still there today. I could not sever the connection. I finally put
him to sleep again. I thought he had contacted someone who was fantasizing
vividly — a psychotic, perhaps— but I was wrong. This is real — and it was in
Santa Fe
.

 
          
 
Santa Fe
is over a hundred miles from here!

 
          
 
I know! Dennis’ ability has apparently
increased. Or else Dr. Winchel’s tests were faulty.

 
          
 
I had better call the doctor — and Dick.

 
          
 
We had better call the authorities, too. I
know the man's name — Roderick Leishman. He is a member of that radical eco group,
the Children of the Earth. I had the impression he was heading north.

 
          
 
I am coming. Will you make the calls? Except
to Dick.

 
          
 
Of course.

 
          
 
We made it to a COE farm in
Colorado
that evening. I had lain in the rear of
vehicle after vehicle— four, to be exact—clutching my shoulder much of the
time. The second driver had gotten some gauze and tape and bandaged it. He had
also gotten me aspirins and a fifth of bourbon. These helped quite a bit.

 
          
 
Jerry's and Betty's place is sort of a
communal farm. Everyone on it is COE, but only Jerry and Betty and a guy called
Quick Smith knew what I had been about and knew that I might show up in need of
help. The fewer in on it the better, like always. They took me right to a
bedroom they had had ready in the main building, where Jerry dug out the .38
long under a local, cleaned the wound and sewed it up, ground some bones
together, plastered me up, shot me full of antibiotics and fitted me with a
sling. He was a veterinarian. We did not have a reliable M.D. in the area.