The Road to Amber (49 page)

“‘There, I signed it,’ I told him. ‘You saw me do it.’

“‘Yes, sir,’ he replied. ‘Thank you. What is it you would like to inspect, sir?’

“‘The plutonium storage place,’ I said. ‘Take me there.’

“‘Right this way, sir.’

“He opened the door for me, followed me outside and led me to another, similar looking green shack. Two other guards passed near, casting curious glances our way. They must have assumed everything was in order since I was escorted, and they continued past us. I called them over, though.

“‘This is a special inspection,’ I told them. ‘We need you to accompany us into the plutonium sector.’

“They followed me into the building, where the first guard led me back to a rack which held a number of small gray containers. He stopped before it and looked at it.

“‘That’s the stuff?’ I asked him.

“‘Yes, sir,’ he replied.

“I studied them long and hard—size, texture, shape. Finally, I reached out and hefted one, held it a moment, replaced it. I wiped it carefully with my handkerchief then and nodded.

“‘Everything is in order,’ I announced. ‘Let’s go back outside.’

“We departed the building and I halted to study it and its position in relation to the other buildings.

“‘Good,’ I stated. ‘The inspection is finished. You men are doing a fine job. I am going to sign out now and then I am going to leave.’

“I returned to the first building where I repeated my sign-in procedure. Then I had all of them accompany me to the gate.

” ‘This inspection was so secret,’ I told them, ‘that you are going to forget it occurred. As soon as that gate closes behind me I will begin walking. As soon as I am out of sight you will forget that you ever saw me. This inspection will not have happened. Open the gate.’

“They swung it wide before me and I stepped through and headed back to the Lodge. I picked up some magazines, went back to the room and read them while Rudo slept.

“At a little after six, I roused him and suggested he get ready for dinner. He did that, and Swensen proved punctual. We had an enjoyable meal, Swensen having a collection of jokes I hadn’t heard, which kept me chuckling through dessert.

“Over coffee, he said casually, ‘I guess you’ll be about your business soon. Good luck.’

“‘It is finished,’ I said. ‘I know what I need to know now. Thanks.’

“He stared at me. ‘How could you have?’ he asked.

“‘It was easier than you might think. We’ll be leaving in the morning.’

“He shook his head.

“‘I’m not sure whether to believe you,’ he said.

“I smiled.

“‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Doesn’t matter at all.’

“We departed the following morning, making it back to La Fonda in time for lunch. I’d explained to Rudo that I had to know the appearance and physical location of something in order to teleport it, and that I had succeeded in zeroing in on the plutonium in this fashion. Now the only thing that I needed was the ability to teleport. Not to the minimal extent I’d possessed it that day I’d walked into his office holding my water, but a bit more heavy-duty and longer-range—a thing I had had experience with in the past. Rudo seemed confident this could be achieved with another bout of
dauerschlaf.
After all, he had a perfect batting average—with Bogie, and this time around with my appearance and the hypnotic persuasive ability. So I told him to make me a teleporter, and he said ‘No problem,’ and we repaired to our room after dinner.

“Only one thing seemed slightly strange that afternoon. When Rudo opened a drawer to get out
his medical kit with the dauerschlaf
drugs, I caught a glimpse of a large photo lying beside it. I would have sworn it was a picture of Klaus Fuchs.

“And so, I stretched out on the bed, as he directed, and he administered the first of the drugs. As the world began to swim away, I realized that I was happy. Rudo began speaking to me softly. His voice was a distant thing…

“This one was different. There was the long dark time I always know. But it seemed that at some point I awoke briefly, did something, and went back to sleep again, visions of the gray containers dancing momentarily behind my eyes.

“When the real awakening occurred it was more than a little traumatic. Someone had hold of my shoulder and was shaking me, shouting at me.

“‘Wake up, you bastard! You’re under arrest!’ a large, uniformed individual was calling, as I tried to focus my eyes.

“I groaned, then, ‘Awright! Awright!’ I said. ‘What’s going on?’

“I was dragged to my feet, supported there, still trying to throw off the effects of my long sleep. I saw another cop then—much shorter, mustached—over by the dresser. He was holding one of the gray containers from the DP Site. Another still rested on the dresser.

“…The stuff is even labeled as property of the Lab,’ he was saying.

“‘Get dressed, Fuchs—or is it Crenson?’ the larger one said. ‘That the name you’re using this time? And if you so much as breathe a suspicious breath I might get very nervous.’ He patted his sidearm.

“‘I’ll hold my breath,’ I said, patting my pants as I donned them, to be sure the wallet was still there, if Rudo hadn’t run off with the money. I’d had a lot in it, and I wanted it near.

“‘Why are you arresting me?’ I asked.

“‘If you don’t know that you’re stupider than you look,’ the big one answered.

“‘Tell me anyhow,’ I said. ‘Okay? Who said I did whatever I’m supposed to have done?’

“He shrugged.

“‘We had a telephone tip that you were here. He didn’t give his name. We’re just going to hold you for the feds. They’ll be up from Albuquerque in the morning to pick you up.’

“It was dark outside the window. I could hear a car passing on the street below. They let me put on my socks and shoes before they handcuffed me. I tried to figure what might have happened. All I could see was that Rudo had set me up. He’d kept his hypnotic control—maybe by means of post-hypnotic suggestion—when I’d come out of
dauerschlaf.
Then he’d told me to teleport the plutonium containers here, as he knew I’d planned, and I’d done it. Then he’d put me back to sleep, leaving the evidence in plain sight, had cleared out, had made that phone call. The only thing I couldn’t see in it was why? But if I needed any evidence of such intent—or of his twisted sense of humor—I got it as the cops hustled me out. I caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser’s mirror as I passed by. I was a dead ringer for the man in the photograph, Klaus Fuchs. Security is everybody’s business…

“They drove me over, though the station was only two blocks away. There, I surrendered my wallet, which they said they’d keep safe for me. I was able to determine on handing it over that my money was still in it. I hoped it would stay there. I was conducted back to a cell then and locked up. I might have made a break on the way over, or even there in the station before they locked me up. But I was still disorganized, and I wanted a little time to think.

“So all I did was watch which key it was on his chain that my jailer used to lock my cell. As he turned away, I already had hold of it with my mind. I teleported it into my right hand and put it in my pocket. I went and sat down on my bunk. I’d been in better jails and I’d been in worse. At least I knew where this one was located in relationship to everything else in the area, from my walk the other night. There was no point in escaping unless you knew where you were going and what you were going to do.

“After perhaps twenty minutes I had decided what to do. So I got up, unlocked the door, stepped out, and closed it behind me. I passed a small room from within which I heard sounds of typing. No need to look for trouble. I continued on.

“There were two cops up front. One was drinking coffee and the other was talking to someone on the telephone. I backed up beyond the doorframe and waited for the sound of the phone being cradled. The safe wherein they’d stowed my wallet was an old one, of a sort Bentley’d taught me to open in the dark.

“I moved in quickly when I heard the telephone drop into place. It took one calculated punch each to render the cops unconscious. Then I propped them in their chairs to look as if they were dozing. The safe was old and crotchety and started taking longer than I’d thought it would. I didn’t want to give it another five or ten minutes, though, so I braced it with a foot and a hand and started pulling. I wasn’t able to tear the door off, but I buckled it enough to be able to reach inside and get my wallet. I pocketed it then and walked out, taking a right on Washington Avenue.

“I continued along this until I came to the road to Hyde Park, where I turned and started to climb. I knew that it would eventually pass through a part ofthe National Forest. I could find myself a good place to hide out there before morning. And I did.”

Croyd rose, stretched, returned to the cooler, came back with two beers. He set one before Hannah. He backhanded a moth.

“End of story,” he said, “except for an Indian ace I met who could change the patterns on rugs into whatever was selling best just by running his hands over them. I got away. Now can I buy you a drink?”

“Yes, now I’m thirsty,” she said, reaching out and holding the bottle as he opened it.

“But how did you get out of town?”

“I lived on roots and people’s picnic remains for over a week,” he said. “Then, with a short beard and wearing a pair of sunglasses I’d found, I took a chance and hiked back to town and bought a load of food and took it back to the forest with me. Lived on that until I got sleepy. Sacked out then in a rocky shelter I’d set up. When I woke a couple of weeks later I was a slim blond guy with the ability to shout at ultrasonic levels and knock people out or just make them uncomfortable, depending on how high I raised my voice and for how long. I went down to town then, got a ride out to Lamy, took a train back to New York.”

“And Rudo?” she asked, sipping the beer. “Did you ever see Pan Rudo again?”

“Yes,” he said. “I looked him up when I got to town. Got into his apartment building one day and picked the lock to his pad, waited there for him.”

“And?”

“Of course, he didn’t recognize me. He looked startled when he saw me, but he just said, ‘If this is a robbery, take whatever you want. I don’t need any trouble.’

“I caught hold of his shirtfront and pulled him forward till his face was within an inch of my own. At first I’d planned to kill him, but then I decided it just wasn’t worth it. Hell, maybe he was even helping some of his patients.

“‘It’s me, Croyd Crenson,’ I said, and he must have thought I was going to kill him because he went pale as a bone. Then, ‘Just tell me why you did it,’ I said. ‘Why’d you set me up?’

“I guess he figured he had nothing to lose if he was going to die. His lip curled then, and he said, ‘You’re genetic garbage, you and all of the others! I hate what you have done to the race! I wanted to disgrace the lot of you—publicly, seriously! You got lucky, though.’

“I hit him then, in the mouth, twice, and I split his lip. I threw him down on his couch and used my handkerchief to wipe the blood off my hand, but it kept coming. I realized then that I’d cut a knuckle on his tooth.

“‘I’m not going to kill you now,’ I told him. ‘But one of these days—Who knows?’

“I left then, and when I checked a bit later I discovered that he’d moved out. And that is the story of something that might have hurt me and led to a lot of bad will toward jokers and aces in general, what with all the HUAC paranoia that was in the air.”

“Thanks,” she said, taking a swallow and shutting down her recorder.

She cased the recorder and placed it in her shoulderbag, along with the clipboard.

“So much for business,” Croyd said. “How’s about having dinner with me?”

She slung the bag over her shoulder and moved toward the door.

“Sorry,” she said. “I’ve got to organize a lot of notes tonight, and I’ll be leaving fairly early in the morning.”

“You prejudiced against guys with tails?” he said.

She removed a collapsible umbrella from her bag and opened it. She smiled then.

“No, Croyd,” she said. “But I’ll be keeping mine to myself. Good evening,” and she turned and walked off into the shadows and the drizzle.

Croyd stood in the doorway, watching until she was out of sight. Then he turned back to the empty bar.

“Play it, Sam,” he said softly, and racks of glasses began to sing. A horde of flies chose that moment to swarm about him. Cursing, he swatted at them. Their buzzing took on the sounds of a tune.

Croyd Crenson returns in this fourth and final tale involving psychology, in this case the villain Dr. Pan Rudo, a fictional psychiatrist who studied with Freud and at the Jungian Institute.

“I had to get Croyd into Los Alamos in 1952, not realizing till recently that it had been a closed city till ‘57. Fortunately, I found a woman in her ’70s who’d lived there in ‘52, who not only told me how to do it, but gave me a physical description of the place 40 years ago, & who actually knew the name of the facility building Croyd was looking for, where it was located, & even what color it was painted. She was a friend of a friend I learned about by accident just last week. Must buy her a drink some day.”
[1]

“Sadly, at least two wonderful ‘untold tales’ of the Sleeper were lost when Roger Zelazny passed away. I know that Roger had always intended to bring back Croyd’s boyhood friend Joey Sarzanno and tell the story of the crystallized woman that Croyd kept in his closet. But he never had the chance, and now he never will. Croyd will continue to be a part of Wild Cards—Roger deliberately crafted the character so he would be easy for the other writers to use and always delighted in seeing what we did with him—but it would take an unusual amount of hubris for any of us to attempt to write either of those two stories, and it is not something I would encourage. They were Roger’s stories. No one else could do ‘em justice.”
[2]

Sigmund
Freud
developed psychoanalysis. He theorized that past events and unconscious thought strongly influence our consciousness.
Karl Jung
, also a psychiatrist and Freud’s student, emphasized understanding the psyche through exploring dreams, art, mythology, world religion and philosophy.