Roadmarks Read online

  "That's all you can do, and you know it You can't prove where I was headed with this equipment. You can confiscate, you can lecture, you can make things rough for me for a while. But it won't last—and you know as well as I do that you are handing me another line. This isn't policy or guarding the peace or anything like that. You are harassing me, personally, for a particu, lar reason. Someone's down on me and I'd like to know

  who, and why."

  Tony reddened. His partner passed them with a carton of grenades.

  "You're getting paranoid. Red," he finally said.

  "Uh-uh. Care to give me a hint?" His eyes were fixed on the other's as he struck a match on an ammo box and relit his cigar. "Who could it be?"

  Tony glanced at his partner, then, "Come on. Let's get the rest of this stuff loaded," he said.

  It took another ten minutes to transfer the balance of the arms. When this had been done. Red was permitted to enter his truck.

  "Okay. Consider yourself warned," Tony said.

  Red nodded.

  "... And be careful."

  Red nodded again, more slowly.

  "Thanks." He watched them mount their shining vehicle and

  speed off.

  "What was that all about?"

  "He just did me a favor. Flowers. He came looking, to let me know we're in trouble."

  "What kind?"

  "I'll have to think about it. Where's the nearest rest stop?"

  "Not too far ahead."

  "You drive."

  "Okay." The truck jerked into motion.

  Two

  The Marquis de Sade followed Sundoc into the enormous building.

  "I appreciate this considerably," he said, "and I'd appreciate your not mentioning it to Chadwick, be cause he thinks I'm reading a stack of abominable manuscripts. Ever since Baron Cuvier's speculations, I have wondered, I have wished. But I never thought that I would actually get to see one."

  Sundoc chuckled and led him into the huge laboratory.

  "I can appreciate that. Don't worry. I like to show off my work."

  They approached the great pit in the center of the

  hall, coming up to the railing that surrounded it.

  Sundoc gestured with his right hand and the area below was flooded with light ,

  It stood like an enormous statue, like an unusually well-fashioned prop for a Grade B movie, like a suddenly materialized neurosis...

  And then it moved. It shuffled its feet and lowered its head away from the light. A strip of gleaming metal was revealed at the back of its head, and another farther down along its spine.

  "Ugly as they come," said Sundoc.

  The marquis shook his head.

  "God's dentures! It's beautiful!" he said softly. "Tell me again what it is called."

  "Tyrannosaurus rex."

  "Fitting. Yes, so fitting! It's lovely!"

  He stood unmoving for over a minute. Then he asked "How did you obtain this wonderful beast? I was given to believe that they only existed in the extremely distant past."

  "True. It took a fusion-powered vessel flying above the Road at a very good clip for a very long while to get back that far."

  'Yet the Road does extend back to those days... Amazing! And how did you transport something of

  that size, that power?"

  "Didn't. The team I sent narcotized one and brought a tissue sample to a period about fifteen years back. This specimen was cloned from that sample—that is to say, he is an artificially cultivated twin of the original."

  "Beautiful, oh beautiful! I don't understand, but it does not make a bit of difference—adds to the charm, the mystery, in fact. Now, tell me of your control over

  it." "You see those metallic plates on its head and back?"

  "Yes."

  "They are implant grids. A great number of tiny electrodes extend down from them into the creature's nervous system. A moment..."

  He walked away, crossing to a workstand from which he obtained a small rectangular box and a silver basket He returned with these and displayed them.

  "This," he said, indicating the box, "is a computer—"

  "A thinking machine?"

  "Oh, someone has been briefing you. Well, sort of. This one is also a broadcast unit."

  He threw a switch. A tiny light came on behind a dial. There was no sound.

  "You can make it do whatever you want—with that?"

  "Better than that."

  He fitted the basket over his head, adjusted its band. "Far better," he said, "for there is feedback." The reptile raised its head, turned it to regard them. "... I see two men looking down at me. One is wearing something shiny on his head. I am going to wave to them—my right forelimb."

  Grotesquely, ludicrously, the relatively tiny appendage began a waving movement "... And now I will shout my greeting!" A bellow that rattled equipment on distant tables, that seemed to shake the very building, rolled about them.

  "I must! I must!" cried the marquis. "Let me try! Please let me try it!" Sundoc grinned and removed the headgear. "Sure. It's easy. I'll show you how to put it on ..." For several minutes, the marquis marched the monster about its pit, waving its tail, stamping its feet "I really can see through its eyes!" "That's the feedback part I was telling you about'' "My— Its strength must be phenomenal!" "Oh, it is."

  Several additional minutes passed, then, "I am really loath to surrender this sensation," he observed, "but I suppose I must. How do you turn it off?" "Here, I'll show you."

  He removed the headpiece, switched off the control unit.

  "I have never known such a sensation of power," said the marquis. "Why— There would be the invincible weapon, the perfect assassin. Why do you not use it to kill that Dorakeen fellow and claim the bounty your master is offering?" Sundoc laughed.

  "Can you see it lumbering along the Road toward some guessed-at rendezvous, to step on his enemy? No, transportation would be an insuperable problem, even if we did know exactly where to deliver the beast. I

  never intended to use it in any such fashion. Far too cumbersome."

  "True, true—when you put it that way. It was the imagery that took hold of me—the reptilian avenger swooping down upon its prey... The sensations of controlling it the while..." "Um. I suppose so."

  "... Whereas it actually represents a noble enterprise for the advancement of science."

  "Hardly. All of the techniques employed here are quite venerable. The control of that monster represents no gain for science. Whatever information may be obtained concerning the beast itself could as easily be gained simply by studying it in an untampered condition. No, what you see down there is the fulfillment of a whim—which is why I consented so readily to showing it off. I had always had a desire to do this for the pure fun of it. That's all. It is an end in itself. There is no special use for the beast. Oh, my assistants will study its physiology and publish their findings. Might as well take advantage of its presence that way. After a long and rewarding career, I can afford to indulge myself in this fashion. So why not?"

  "We are closer together in some matters than I would have believed."

  "Because I admit to an expensive indulgence?" The marquis shook his head.

  "Because you enjoy the feeling of such a peculiar power."

  Sundoc moved his hand and darkened the pit. He drew back from the railing and turned away.

  "All right," he said. "You have a point." He replaced the gear on the workbench as they moved away. "You'd best get back to those manuscripts now."

  "Ouch," said the marquis. "From Olympus to Tartarus in only a few blocks." Sundoc smiled. "It eats a lot too," he said. "But it's worth it."

  One

  He entered the graveled lot and headed toward a group of hewn-log buildings before which stood rows of pumps for various fuels.

  "How's the gas?" Red inquired.

  "Half full, with a full auxiliary."

  "Park, over by those trees."

  He came to a halt beneath a large oak tr
ee. The sun had already settled far into the west.

  "We're around C Sixteen, aren't we?"

  "Yes. Were you planning on getting off here?"

  "No. I was just thinking: I once knew a guy from this period. Had to take the English cutoff, up a piece..."

  "You want to park and go visit him?"

  "No. He's—elsewhere. And I'm hungry. Come keep me company."

  He withdrew a copy of Flowers of Evil from beneath the dashboard.

  "Where did he go?" came the voice from the book.

  "Who?"

  "Your friend."

  "Oh. Far. Yes, he went far." Red chuckled.

  He opened the door and stepped outside. There was

  a chill in the air. He moved quickly in the direction of the buildings.

  The dining room was shadowy, its chandelier as yet unlit. The tables were of wood and uncovered, as was the floor. A log fire crackled in an open hearth at the room's far end. The only windows were in the front wall.

  He glanced at the diners. Two couples were seated before the big window. Young-looking. From their garb and their speech, he placed them as late C Twenty-one. The garments of the delicate-looking man at the table to his right indicated late Victorian England as his place of origin. Seated with his back to the nearer wall was a dark-haired man wearing black trousers and boots, and a white shirt. He was eating chicken and drinking beer. A dark leather jacket hung over the back of his chair. Too basic. Red could not place him.

  He moved to the farthest table, turned it, and sat with his back to the comer. He placed Flowers of Evil on the boards before him, opening the volume at random.

  " 'Pour I'enfant, amoureux de cartes et Sestampes, Vunivers est egal a son vaste appetit,'" came the tiny voice.

  He quickly raised the book to cover his face. 'True," he replied in a whisper. 'Yet you want more, don't you?" 'Just my own little corner." 'And where might that be?" 'Damned if I know."

  "I've never quite understood why you do the things-"

  A tall, white-haired waiter came up beside the table.

  "Your order— Red!"

  He looked up, stared a moment

  "Johnson?..."

  "Yes. Good Lord! It's been years!"

  "Has it? You used to work farther down the Road, didn't you?"

  "Yes. But I like it better up here."

  "I'm glad you found a good spot. Say, that guy's chicken looks good." Red nodded toward the darkhaired man. "So does his beer. I'll have the same. Who is he, anyway?"

  "Never saw him before."

  "All right. Bring the beer now."

  "Okay."

  He withdrew a fresh cigar from a concealed pocket, examined it.

  Johnson paused, regarding him.

  "Are you going to do the trick?"

  "What trick?"

  "I once saw you light your cigar with a coal you plucked from the fire. You weren't burned."

  "Go on!"

  "Don't you remember? It was some years ago... Unless you are going to learn it later. You did look older then. Anyway, it was about half a C down the Road."

  Red shook his head.

  "Some childish trick. I'll none of it now. Let's have the brew and the bird."

  Johnson nodded and departed.

  By the time Red had finished eating, the dining room had filled. Lights had been lit and the background noise had grown louder. He hailed Johnson, paid his tab and rose.

  Outside, the night had become colder. He stepped down into the lot and turned left, heading toward his truck.

  "Quiet," came the small word from the book he bore.

  "Yes. I-'

  The impact staggered him just as he saw the flash from the muzzle and heard the weapon's report.

  Not pausing to assess the damage, he threw himself

  to the side, his right arm whipping across his body. There came a second shot, but he felt nothing. With a snapping movement, he hurled Flowers of Evil at the shadowy gunman, then broke, into a run toward his vehicle.

  He tore around the front of the truck to the passenger side, pulled the door open, and threw himself flat within. As he groped beneath the seat for the .45 he kept there, he heard footfalls on the gravel on the other side. A voice from a greater distance on that side called out, "Hold it, mithter! You're covered!" There followed a gunshot and a soft curse, just as his fingers wrapped around the butt of the heavy revolver. He fired once, up and out through the window on the driver's side— a moment's insurance. Then he backed out and crouched.

  Sounds were now coming from the building, as though the front door had been flung open and numerous loud conversations were in progress. There were several shouted inquiries. No one seemed to be approaching, however.

  He stayed low and moved to the rear of the truck. Glancing behind him, he dropped to all fours, peered beyond the tailgate, looked around the bumper. Nothing. No one in sight...

  He listened for a telltale footfall, heard none. He moved around to the rear, crawled toward the left side.

  "He'th in front, heading right," came a sharp whisper.

  He heard a sound from the front then, a hasty foot on gravel...

  He tossed a rock behind him, to the right of the truck. No response. He waited.

  Then, "Looks like a stalemate," he called out in foretalk lingo. "Want to discuss it?"

  No reply.

  "Any special reason for wanting to shoot me?" he tried.

  Again, silence.

  He rounded the left rear corner of the vehicle and started forward, rising into a low crouch, placing each foot carefully, easing his weight onto it.

  "Thtop! He'th backed off into the treeth. Mutht be covering the front."

  He transferred the weapon to his left hand and slid his right arm in through the open window. He jerked on the headlight switch and threw himself flat, to peer around the left front tire. A shot from the trees passed through the windshield on the driver's side.

  From where he had fallen. Red saw the partial silhouette of the gunman drawing back for cover. He fired at it. The figure jerked and fell heavily against the tree trunk. He fired again as it began to slide downward, a pistol slipping from its fingers. The figure spun backward, struck the ground and lay still.

  Red rose and advanced, covering the fallen man.

  ....lack trousers, a black jacket with a leaking hole drilled through its lower right quadrant. It was the man he had seen in the dining room earlier, with his back to the wall. Red put an arm about his shoulders, supported his head, raised him.

  Pinkish bubbles had formed about the man's lips. He gasped as he was raised. His eyes flickered open.

  "Why?" Red asked. "Why were you trying to shoot me?"

  The man smiled weakly.

  "I'd rather leave you—with something to think about," he said.

  "It won't do you any good," Red said.

  "Nothing will," replied the other. "So the devil with you!"

  Red slapped him across the mouth, smearing the bloody spittle. He heard a gasp of protest from behind him as he did. A crowd was forming.

  "Talk, you son of a bitch! Or I'll make it harder than it's going to be!"

  He jabbed him in the upper abdomen with stiff fingers, near the wound. "Here! Stop that!" said a voice from behind him.

  "Talk!"

  But the man followed a sharp gasp with a long sigh and stopped breathing. Red began hammering at his chest beneath the sternum.

  "Come back, you miserable bastard!"

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and shook it off. The gunman was not responding. He let him fall and began going through his pockets.

  "I don't think you should be doing that," came another voice from behind. Finding nothing of interest. Red rose. "What car was this guy driving?" he asked. Silence, then murmurs. Finally, "He was a hitchhiker," the Victorian gentleman stated.

  Red turned. The man was staring at the body, smiling faintly.

  "How do you know that?" Red asked. The man withdrew a silk handkerchief, unfolde
d it, touched it several times to his brow.

  "I saw him being dropped off here earlier," he replied.

  "From what sort of vehicle?"

  "Black, C Twenty, a Cadillac."

  "Did you get a look at anyone else in the car?"

  The man looked back at the body, licked his lips, smiled again. "No."

  Johnson came up with a piece of sailcloth and covered the body. He picked up the fallen pistol and stuck it behind his belt. Rising, he placed a hand on Red's shoulder.

  "I'm setting out a bleeper," he said, "but there's no telling how long it will take to call us a cop. You should stay to give a report you know."

  "Yeah, I'll wait."

  "Let's get back then. I'll get you a room and a drink."

  "Okay. Just a minute."

  Red returned to the parking area and retrieved his book.

  "That bullet damaged my thpeaker," came its sibilant voice.

  "I know. I'll get you a new one, the best they make. Thanks for stopping it. And thanks for distracting him."

  "I hope it wath worth it. Why wath he thooting at you?"

  "I don't know, Flowers. I've got the impression that he was what is known in some places as a hit man. Possibly Syndicate. If so, there is no connection between his employers and myself that I can think of. I just don't know."

  He slipped the volume into his pocket, then followed Johnson back inside.

  Two

  Randy spotted the blue pickup pulling out, and nosed into the parking place.

  "This is the place?" he said, looking toward Spiro's.

  Leila nodded, not looking up from her reading of Leaves of Grass.

  "It was, at the time I was seeing, back in Africa," she said. "Now that we're in real time here, I don't know how close to synch it is."

  "Translate."

  "He might not have arrived yet, or he might already have departed."

  Randy pulled on the emergency brake.

  "Wait here and I'll go check," she said, opening the door, tossing the book onto the rear seat, and stepping out.

  'Okay."

  'Randy?"

  'Yeah, Leaves?"

  'She's a very vital woman, isn't she?"