Zelazny, Roger - Novel 07 Read Online Free Page B

in controlling time,
that bridge of ashes man leaves behind him, I possess the ability to manipulate
a person's physiology to the point where the effect is the same as a
time-stoppage. So I did this, to give you this explanation, to give you a
choice."
                   "A choice?"
                   The other nodded.
                   "I am capable of using almost anyone.
Almost..."
                   "I see," said Van Duyn. "I also
see that my death could make the difference Who are you, anyway?"
                   The dark man shook his head.
                   "There is simply no time to tell you my
story, as it is longer than all of history. As for names ... I have lost count
of them. You might say I am an early experiment of theirs that went bad. And I
managed to steal a few things from them before they caught up with me. They
make periodic attempts to destroy me and my woman, but they have never been
able to recall our lives entirely. They were handicapped in many ways by the
uncongenial environment—and over the ages we have acquired many defenses. I am
. . . their adversary. That is all. That is enough."
                   "All right," said Van Duyn,
straightening. He glanced out over the city once more, turned, crossed the roof
and regarded the dark river. "All right."
                   After a time, he turned away and looked at the
dark man.
                   "Take me back down."
                   The other reached into his satchel. Moments
later, he took his hand. They left the roof.
                   Below, they entered the building. Van Duyn
headed toward the assembly hall. He looked back once, to say something to the
dark man, and discovered that the other was no longer with him.
                   He continued on, entering the hall, moving
back along the aisle he had previously followed. He paused beside the man with
the pistol, studying his contorted face. He checked the position of the bullet,
which had advanced considerably in his absence. Then he remounted the podium,
returned to the lectern.
                   He reached for his notes, took them into his
hand. He glanced up then at the United Nations flag, blue, with the white
circle of the world at its center. From the corner of his eye, he seemed to
detect a movement. Then something struck and we— He— I—
                   Slumped across the lectern now, he— We regard
the white circle on the field of blue as everything else grows dim and—
                   He—I—
                   I... I am— L
                   I!
                   I am! I am! I am!
                   ... He lies there, breathing gently. The
bleeding has stopped. It is night, and she has built a fire and covered him
over with the skins of animals. He has been very cold. She has brought him
water in a large shell. I begin to understand.
                  

Part II
     
                   Richard Guise walked in the hills, beheading
flowers with a stick. Northern New Mexico is an extraordinary bump on the Earth
and summer brings it to its clement best. But Richard Guise had no eye for
scenery that day. His vision was turned in upon himself.
                   He descended into an arroyo, followed it to a
place where it branched, then stood undecided. Finally, he sighed and seated
himself on a stone in the shade of the farther wall, sat tracing patterns in
the dust.
                   "Damn!" he said, after a time, and
again, "Damn!"
                   Richard Guise resembled the countryside in
some ways, though he had been born forty-some years before in urban New Jersey:
heavy-set, well-tanned; hair a mix of sand and gray, darker across the backs of
the big-knuckled hands that guided his stick; dark eyes wide of a once-broken
nose.