"Red Dorakeen is my friend."
"So I was told. All the less reason for him to suspect you in this. Now—" He rummaged in his pack and withdrew a slim metal case. He opened it and adjusted a pair of knobs. A beeping sound emerged from the
unit. "He recently had a windshield replaced," John said, setting the case atop a rock. "When this was done, a small broadcast unit was concealed in his vehicle. Now I have but to wait until he enters this branch, and I can track him with this, striking wherever I choose."
"I do not wish to be your agent in this matter."
John rose from his meal, crossed the area between them, and struck the pot Mondamay had been turning, squashing it out of shape.
"Your wishes are not important," he stated. "You have no choice but to obey me."
"That is true."
"I order you not to attempt to warn him in any way. Do you understand?"
"I do."
"Then do not argue with me about it. You will do as you are told, to the fullest of your ability."
"I will."
John returned to the tray and continued eating. "I would like to dissuade you from this," Mondamay stated after a time. "No doubt." "Do you know why your employer wishes him
killed?"
"No. That is his affair. It does not concern me."
"There must be something very special about you, to have warranted your selection for such exotic employment."
John smiled.
"He considered me qualified."
"What do you know of Red Dorakeen?"
"I know what he looks like. I know that he will probably be coming this way."
"You are obviously some sort of professional whom your employer has gone to great lengths to recruit. .."
"Obviously."
"Have you not wondered why? What is it about your intended victim which requires such consideration?"
"Oh, he wanted me to handle it because the victim may already be aware that he is being hunted."
"How did this come about?"
"Recently, in his personal time-line, there has been one attempt on his life."
"How is it that it failed?"
"Crude, poorly managed, I understand."
"What became of the would-be assassin?"
The man in purple raised his eyes to glare at Mon-. damay,
"Red killed him. But I assure you there is no comparison to be made between that person and myself."
Mondamay remained silent.
"If you are trying to frighten me, to cause me to feel it could happen to me also, you are wasting your time. There are very few things I fear."
"That is good," said Mondamay.
John remained with Mondamay for the better part of a week, breaking fifty-six delicately wrought pots before discovering that this did not disturb his mechanical servant. Even when he ordered the robot to break them personally, he obtained no equivalent of an emotional response, and so gave up on that avenue as a source of pain to his captive. Then, one afternoon, the bleeping machine emitted a sharp buzzing note. John hurried to adjust it, took a reading, and adjusted it further.
"He is about three hundred kilometers from here," he stated. "As soon as I have bathed and changed my clothing, I will permit you to transport me to him so that this matter may be concluded."
Mondamay did not reply.
One
"Red, that doctor we met back at the repair shop— I'm a little concerned about what he— Hey! Come on! You're not going to stop for a hitchhiker when people are shooting at you!"
"The new speaker is a little strident."
He drew off to the side. Suddenly it was raining. The small man with the wild hair and the black suitcase grinned and opened the door.
"How far are you going?" came a high-pitched voice.
"About five Cs."
"Well, that's something, anyway. Nice to get out of the rain."
He climbed in and slammed the door, balancing the suitcase on his knees.
"How far are you headed?" Red asked, drawing back onto the highway.
"Periclean Athens. Jimmy Frazier's the name."
"Red Dorakeen. You've a long haul ahead. How's your Greek?"
"Been studying it for two years. Always wanted to make this trip. —I've heard of you."
"Good or bad?"
"Both. And in between. You used to run arms till they cracked down, didn't you?"
Red turned and met the dark eyes which were studying him.
"It's been said." "Didn't mean to pry." Red shrugged. "No secret, I guess."
"You've been in a lot of interesting places, I suppose?"
"Some."
"And some strange ones?"
"A few of those, too."
Frazier combed his hair with his fingers, patted it into
place, leaned over to glance at himself in the rearvdew mirror, sighed.
"I haven't run the Road that much myself. Mainly
between Cleveland in the 1950s and Cleveland in the
1980s."
"What do you do?"
"Tend bar, mostly. Also, I buy stuff in the fifties and sell it in the eighties."
"Makes sense."
"Makes money too. —You ever have trouble with hijackers?"
"None to speak of."
"You must have some really fancy armaments on this thing."
"Nothing special."
"I'd think you'd need them."
"Shows how wrong you can be."
"What do you do if you're suddenly up against it?" Red relit his cigar. "Maybe die," he replied. Frazier chuckled. "No. Really," he said.
Red extended his right arm along the back of the seat.
"Look, if you are a hijacker, you've caught me between loads."
"Me? I'm no hijacker."
"Then stop asking these damn theoretical questions. How the hell should I know what I'd do in some hypothetical situation? I'd respond to circumstances, that's all."
"Sorry. I got carried away. It's a romantic life you lead. Where are you from, originally?" "I don't know." "What do you mean?"
"I mean that I can't find my way back. Once it was on the main drag, I think, then it became a byroad probably, then it just disappeared into the misty places which are no longer history. I guess I just waited too long to begin looking. Got occupied. It's not even legend anymore." "What's it called?" "Do you smell something burning?" "Just your cigar." "My cigar; Where the hell is it?" "I don't— Here. It seems to have fallen down the seat behind me." "You get burned?"
"Burned? Oh, I don't think so. Maybe my jacket, a little."
Red accepted the return of his cigar, glanced at the other's back. "You're lucky then. Sorry." "You were saying? ..."
"Red!" Flowers broke in. "There's a police cruiser headed this way." Frazier started. "What is that?" he said.
"You should be able to spot it in a minute." Red regarded the mirror. "Why don't they go find an accident?" he mused.
He glanced at Frazier. "Unless this is some sort of setup."
"What form of magic?-"
"... Should be coming into view about now." "Red! Where's that voice coming from?" "Don't bother me! Damn it!"
"Demons are very untrustworthy!" Frazier said, and he began tracing designs in the air. Fiery shapes flowed from his fingertips and hung before him.
"Red! What's he up to?" Flowers asked. "My opticalscanners show—"
Red cut sharply to the right and off onto the shoulder, braking.
"Stop cluttering my cab with spells!" Red ordered. "You're not from any main-branch C Twenty. What are you trying to pull?"
The police cruiser cut past and came to a stop before them. It was a gray evening, and snow decked the trees in the forest to the right.
"I repeat—" Red said, but Frazier had already opened the door and was stepping down.