Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 (5 page)

 
          
 
Then the barrage began, shaking me, jarring
me, bouncing me about. The noise became deafening, the flashes near-blinding,
the smoke heavy. The ground vibrated, and fragments of rock were blasted
against the vehicle, fell upon it in an almost steady hail.

 
          
 
"Hello? Hello?" I heard faintly
within the noise. Then whatever followed was drowned out by three that came
very close,

 
          
 
I swerved sharply, moved at an angle,
straightened, utilizing the cover afforded by several high stands of stone. The
firing became more erratic, falling farther and farther away from me. My radio
had gone dead once I had gotten in behind the rocky hedge. I kept advancing,
spotted a tricky and roundabout way leading off to my left and took it because
it seemed somewhat sheltered. It did seem to baffle his detection, because his
shots kept landing farther and farther afield.

 
          
 
As I worked my twisted way along, I almost
overlooked another complex of buildings, deep in a coomb, still farther to my
left. They were very new and seemed completely deserted. They had not been
mentioned in my orientation, had not been indicated on any of the maps or
photos I had studied. I kept them covered until I had passed, but had no reason
to fire.

 
          
 
As I climbed higher, the radio found his voice
again, faintly at first, strengthening as I went.

 
          
 
"... So you see," he was saying,
"I am free for the first time in my life, free to use some of these things
I have developed as they should be used—noncommercially, for the benefit of the
entire race—to help get us through these perilous times. There is a great need
for my abilities, my facilities, now. Even the cloning tech—"

 
          
 
I had been spotted. A series of heavy
explosions occurred behind me. Moments later, I had rounded my sheltering rocks
and was out in the open once more. There was scant cover for hundreds of yards,
and the way was entirely uphill. I moved forward with all the speed I
possessed, knowing that my luck had just about run and hoping that it would
hold a few moments more so that I could fire my rockets. From the position I
then occupied, it would be virtually impossible to reach him.

 
          
 
The next ones landed far ahead of me, and I
swerved to avoid the blasted area. Moments later, there was another to the
rear, very close this time.

 
          
 
But I made it to my shelter, spent a handful
of heartbeats working in close and toward the right while the rocks were
pounded and splintered ahead of me, then ventured a diagonal dash toward
another, nearer refuge.

 
          
 
I did not deserve to make it, and I almost
didn't I was hit seconds after I pulled out, and I spun completely around. I
was lifted off the ground, dropped, bounced and given a sudden, unexpected view
of the shattered landscape through an eighteen-inch hole in the shielding a
little above my left shoulder. But I was able to keep moving, despite a
clanking noise and a heavy sway to the left, and I made it to the next
sanctuary, a row of explosions trailing like knots in a kite tail behind me.

 
          
 
I had made it around halfway up the valley,
which was about as good as could be expected. Maybe even better, all things
considered. I nosed in close again, bore to the right. I pulled out at the far
end, where I was screened by an overlapping mass of boulders about fifty feet
ahead. I made my way up to them and kept bearing right, until I had gone about
as far as I could go without exposing myself. This was about two hundred yards
beyond my previous shelter, which was then taking quite a pounding. I had no
idea what the layout was on the other side, so I decided to investigate on
foot.

 
          
 
I left everything running, including the
radio, with its faint, importuning, "Are you there, Angel? Are you still
there?" and I climbed down onto the rocky ground, feeling its continuing
vibrations through my armor, and I smelled burning chemicals and tasted salty
dust

 
          
 
I circled carefully, keeping close to the
boulder, dropping to my belly and crawling the final distance as I rounded it
As I did this, I picked up Styler's voice on my suit-radio.

 
          
 
"I'm sorry it had to be this way,
Angie," he said. "If you are still alive and can hear me, I hope you
believe that. For whatever it is worth, everything that I said was true. I was
not lying to you ..."

 
          
 
Yes! If I brought it around to the right and
up that sharp upswing, I would have a clear line of fire! If I got all the
rockets off, there was a sharp downgrade I might be able to reach. It led to
what looked like a dried-out streambed ...

 
          
 
"... I am just going to keep firing now
until nothing remains. You have left me no alternative ..."

 
          
 
I made my way back to the vehicle and
rechecked all systems. The rocks behind me would soon be a gravel pit Or sand.

 
          
 
Everything was ready. Any second now he might
throw something really heavy this way, too. I had to be fast.

 
          
 
I clanked forward and up at a respectable
speed. At times, the list almost made it seem as if I were about to topple to
the left.

 
          
 
I made it, though, had a momentary, clear view
of the Doxford headquarters, flameless now, but emitting a great plume of gray
smoke, and then I halted, locked in and fired my rockets, one after the other,
each jolt threatening to knock me back down the slope.

 
          
 
I did not wait to see the result, but plunged
ahead the moment the last missile had been discharged.

 
          
 
I reached the bottom of the downgrade, swung
left and kept going. Very soon thereafter, the rise from which I had fired
erupted in flame and was reduced to a smoldering crater. A shower of gravel
pelted me moments later.

 
          
 
I continued undisturbed for what seemed a long
while. The firing continued, but it fell in a random pattern now and seemed a
trifle more sporadic than it had been.

 
          
 
I could not leave the gulley at the
rock-shrouded spot I desired. I tried, but the engine was not able to haul me
up the slope. Its clanking had grown more ominous, also; and I detected the
smell of burning insulation.

 
          
 
When I finally reached the only grade it could
take, I pressed on up it and discovered that I was within four hundred yards of
Styler's citadel.

 
          
 
The near side of the building had caved in
completely, and I could see flames dancing beyond the rubble. There was more
smoke than before. The guns—wherever they were, whatever sort they were—went
crazy briefly, then fell silent. This lasted for perhaps ten seconds. Then one
of them commenced firing again, slowly, regularly, at some imaginary target far
off to the right and back. A long line of squat, heavy-treaded robots was drawn
up before the building, absolutely still, presumably guarding the place.

 
          
 
"All right, you were lucky," Styler
said, and his voice sounded strange after the long silence. "I cannot deny
the damage you have done, but you have come about as far as you can. Believe
me, it is a lunatic mission. Your vehicle is about ready to break down and the
robots will swamp you. Your death will be useless to anyone, damn it!"

 
          
 
The robots began to roll toward me then,
raising what were obviously weapons. I opened fire on them.

 
          
 
The sound of his breathing filled the cabin as
I advanced, shooting, and the robots did the same.

 
          
 
I destroyed about half of them before the
vehicle collapsed and began coming apart around me. One of the guns still
worked, though, so I stayed with it, firing, adjusting the devices on my armor
the while. I was hit quite a few times personally, but the suit held fairly
well against the laser slashes and the projectiles.

 
          
 
"Is there really someone there?"
Styler finally said. "Or have I been talking to a machine? I thought I
heard you laugh earlier. But hell! That could have been a recording! Are you
really there, Angel? Or is something that knows nothing of it in the process of
crushing a reed? Say something, will you? Anything. Give me some sign there is
an intelligence out there!"

 
          
 
The robots had divided themselves into two
groups and flowed toward me in a sort of pincer movement. I hammered away at
those on the right until my gun was destroyed. I damaged four of them before
this happened, and the grenade that I threw as I leaped from my burning wreck
took out three more.

 
          
 
I ducked behind the hulk, hurled a grenade at
those to the left, slapped together my laser gun, moved to the right again,
began firing at the nearest machine.

 
          
 
It took too long to burn it to a stop, so I
slung the gun, threw another grenade, came out running. I might be able to run
fast enough to hold a lead on an uphill course. I was not certain.

 
          
 
Three of the dozen or so remaining robots
could not be avoided, so I had to stop and grapple with the nearest. It had
snagged me with a long cablelike appendage as I tried to get by it

 
          
 
Hoping that the prosthetic strength
augmentation would be sufficient, I caught hold of it low and struggled to
raise it above my head. I managed this just as the next tried to close with me,
so I brought the one down upon the other as hard as I could, stopping them
both, pushed the third over onto its side and ran.

 
          
 
I made thirty or forty yards before their fire
knocked me over and their beams made the armor more than just uncomfortably
warm.

 
          
 
"At least you appear to be human,"
came Stylets words, on my suit radio. "It would be terrible if there were
nothing inside, though, like one of those evil, hollow creatures in
Scandinavian legends—an empty presence. God! Maybe you are! Some piece of a
nightmare that didn't go away when I woke up ..."

 
          
 
By then I had a grenade ready, and I threw it
back at my pursuers and followed it with my second-to-last one. Then I was on
my feet and running toward the heaped rubble that lay before the building. It
was about thirty yards and I felt their beams upon me and I was knocked down
and got up and staggered on, feeling the burning at all points where my armor
contacted my body, smelling my sweat and cooking flesh.

 
          
 
I dove behind a pile of masonry and began
tearing at the clasps to my armor. It seemed to take me ages to get out of it,
and I bit partway through my lip while holding back a scream. The headpiece
addressed me in Styler's voice as it fell to the ground:

 
          
 
"Do you not think the human race is worth
saving? Or worth the effort, the attempt, to save it? Do you not feel it
deserves the opportunity to exercise its potentials in the full—"

 
          
 
It was smothered then beneath a slide of
rubble as I clawed my way forward into a firing position, not bothering to
check my burns, bringing the laser to bear on the nearest of the advancing
robots. There were three of them still in action, and I held the beam upon the
foremost for an intolerably long while before I burned a hole through its
turret and it came to a sputtering, smoking halt.

 
          
 
I shifted it to the second one immediately,
and it occurred to me then that they had not necessarily been designed for
combat purposes. They were not sufficiently specialized. It seemed as if he had
marshaled and armed a horde of multi-use machines and sent them against me.
They could have been designed to move faster and perform with deadlier
efficiency. Their weapons were not really built into them, but borne by them.