diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-0.txt | 6205 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-0.zip | bin | 99789 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-h.zip | bin | 1174604 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-h/65538-h.htm | 6379 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 810218 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/65538-h/images/illusc.jpg | bin | 263274 -> 0 bytes |
9 files changed, 17 insertions, 12584 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4dc95e7 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #65538 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65538) diff --git a/old/65538-0.txt b/old/65538-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index a1101ae..0000000 --- a/old/65538-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6205 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The 13th Immortal, by Robert -Silverberg - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The 13th Immortal - -Author: Robert Silverberg - -Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65538] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 13TH IMMORTAL *** - - - - - - The 13th Immortal - - By ROBERT SILVERBERG - - ACE BOOKS - A Division of A. A. Wyn, Inc. - 23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y. - - - THE 13th IMMORTAL - - Copyright ©, 1957, by A. A. Wyn, Inc. - - All Rights Reserved - - [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any - evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.] - - To Barbara - - Printed in U.S.A. - - - - - THE SECRET OF THE FORBIDDEN CONTINENT - - -"_Who was your father?_" the mutant asked Dale Kesley. And try as he -might, Kesley could not remember; his past was an utter blank. But he -knew one thing--the answer to his life's riddle lay in Antarctica, -the once frozen continent, now an earthly paradise surrounded by an -impenetrable barrier. - -But how to get there? The only means of transportation were the spindly -six-legged mutant horses. And it was suicide for Kesley to travel on -the American continents. Two immortal dictators had set king-size -rewards for his capture--dead or alive. But somewhere in the two -continents there was someone who would help him, someone he had to -find. The future of the world depended on his success. - - - - - CAST OF CHARACTERS - - -DALE KESLEY - He couldn't find the answers until he knew the right -questions. - -DRYLE VAN ALEN - The South Pole was his summer resort. - -NARELLA - She loved two men with one face. - -DON MIGUEL - He was a childless sire, an impotent potentate. - -DUKE WINSLOW - Once he had been wise; twice he had been fooled. - -LOMARK DAWNSPEAR - In his blindness, he saw all things. - - - - - Prologue - - -Centuries later, men would talk of those years as the Years of the -Freeze. They would mean the years between 2062 and 2527, the years when -mankind, shattered by its own hand, maintained a rigid cultural stasis -while rebuilding. - -Those were the years when what was, would be. The years when there -would be nothing new under the sun because mankind willed it so. The -century of war, culminating in the almost total global destruction of -2062, had taught lessons that were not soon forgotten. - -The old ways returned to the world--ways that had held sway for -thousands of years, and which had regained ascendancy after the brief, -nightmarish reign of the machine. Mankind still had machines, of -course; life would have been impossible without them. But the Years of -the Freeze were years of primarily hand labor, of travel by foot or by -horse, of slow living and fear of complexity. The clock rolled back to -an older, simpler land of world--and froze there. - -Like all ages, this one had its symbols and, conveniently, the symbols -of the status quo were actual as well as symbolic forces in maintaining -the Freeze. There were twelve of them--the Twelve Dukes, they called -themselves, and they ruled the world between them. They had no power -over the forgotten land of Antarctica, but otherwise they were -virtually supreme. North America, South America, East and West Europe, -Scandinavia, Australia, North Africa, Equatorial Africa, South Africa, -China, India, Oceanica--each boasted its Duke. - -They were products of the great blast of 2062, and they had found their -way to power tortuously. Most of them had lived ordinary lives, picking -their way through the wreckage with the others in the first three -confused decades after the great destruction. But the others had died -and the Twelve had not. - -They had endured through forty, fifty, sixty years, themselves frozen -indefinitely in middle life. And as the decades passed, each forced his -way to control of a segment of the world. Each carved himself a Dukedom -and, in 2162, the centennial of the Old World's death, they gathered -together to divide the world among themselves. - -There was a bitter struggle for power, but from it emerged the world -of the Twelve Empires, stable, sedate, unchanging, determined never to -allow the technology-born nightmare of old to return. The picture was -attractive: twelve immortals, guiding the world along an even keel to -the end of time. - -Rumors filtered through the Twelve Empires occasionally that danger -threatened from Antarctica. Man had redeemed Antarctica from the -ice before the great cataclysm, and the polar land was known to be -inhabited. But Antarctica remained detached from humanity, erecting -an impassable barrier that cut itself off from the Twelve Empires -as effectively as if it were on another planet. And so, the stasis -held. The battered world rebuilt, on a more modest scale than of old, -clinging to the simple ways, and froze that way. Here, there, an -isolated city refused to participate in the Freeze. They, however, -didn't matter. They intended to stay isolated, as did Antarctica, and -the Twelve Dukes did not worry long over them. - -In ninety percent of the world, time had stopped. - - - - - I - - -Half an hour before the neat fabric of his life was to be shattered -forever, Dale Kesley was thinking desperately, _This will be a good day -for the planting._ - -He stood at the end of a freshly-turned furrow, one brown hand gripping -the sharebeam, the other patting the scaly gray flank of his mutant -plough-horse. The animal neighed, a long croaking wheeze of a sound. -Kesley looked down at the fertile soil of the furrow. - -He was trying to tell himself that this was good land, that he had -found a good place, here in the heart of Duke Winslow's sprawling -farmland. He was compelling himself to believe that this was where he -belonged, here where life held none of the uncertainty of the cities of -the Twelve Empires. Right here where he had lived and worked for four -years, here in Iowa Province. - -But it was all wrong. Somewhere deep in the cloaked depths of his mind, -he was trying to protest that there had been some mistake. - -He wasn't a farmer. - -He didn't belong in Iowa Province. - -Somewhere, out there in the cities of the Twelve Empires, maybe in -the radiation-blasted caves of the Old World, perhaps in the remote -fastness of the unknown Antarctican empire, life was waiting for him. - -Not here. Not in Iowa. - -As always, a cold shudder ran through him and he let his head wobble as -the sickness swept upward. He swayed, tightened his grip on the plough, -and forced himself grimly back into the synthetic mood of security that -was his one defense against the baseless terror that tormented him. - -_The farm is good_, he thought. - -_Everything here is good._ - -Slowly, the congealed fear melted and drained away, and he felt whole -again. - -"Up, old hoss." - -He slapped the flank and the horse neighed again and swished its bony -tail. It was a good horse too, he thought fiercely. Somehow, everything -was good now, even the old horse. - -Experienced hands had warned him against buying a mutie, but when he'd -bought the half-share of the farm he had had to do it. The Old Kind -were few and well spaced in Iowa Province, and all too expensive. They -fetched upward of five thousand dollars at the markets; a good solid -mutie went for only five hundred. - -Besides, Kesley had argued, the Old Kind belonged with the Old -World--dead five hundred years, and long covered with dust. Only the -distant towers of New York still blazed with radiation; the chain -reaction there would continue through all eternity, as a warning and a -threat. But Kesley wasn't concerned with that. - -He started down a new furrow, guiding the plough smoothly and well, -strong arms gripping the beam while the horse moved steadily onward. In -front of him, the broad expanse of Iowa Province stretched out till it -looked like it reached to the end of the world. The brown land rolled -on endlessly, stopping only where it ran into the hard blueness of the -cloudless sky. - -Suddenly, the horse whinnied sharply. Kesley stiffened. The old mutie -could smell trouble half a mile away. Kesley had learned to value the -animal's warning. He stepped out from behind the plough and looked -around. The horse whinnied again and raked the unbroken ground with its -forepaws. - -Kesley shaded his eyes and squinted. Far down at the other end of the -field, near the rock fence that separated his land from Loren's, a -dark-blue animal was slinking unobtrusively over the ground. - -_Blue wolf._ - -_And today I'll have your hide, old henstealer_, Kesley thought -jubilantly. - -He patted the horse's flank once again and started to run, crouching -low, moving silently across the bare field. The wolf hadn't seen him -yet. The blue-furred creature was edging across the field down below, -probably heading past the farmhouse to rob the poultry yard. - -A daylight raid? Times must be bad, Kesley thought. The blue wolf -normally struck only at night. Well, something had brought the old wolf -out in broad daylight, and this time Kesley would nail him. - -He circled sharply, staying downwind of the animal, and stepped up his -pace. Without breaking stride, he unsheathed his knife and gripped it -tightly. The wolf was nearly the size of a man; if Kesley caught up -with him, it would be a bloody fight for both of them. But a wolf's -hide was a treasure well worth a few scratches. - -The wolf caught the scent, now, and began to run up the path toward the -farmhouse. Kesley realized the animal was confused, was running into a -dead end. - -So much the better. He'd kill the beast in the sight of Loren and the -farm wenches and old Lester. - -He clenched his teeth and kept running. The wolf looked back at him, -bared its mouthful of yellow daggers, snarled. Its blue fur seemed to -glitter in the bright morning sunlight. - -Kesley's breath was starting to come hard as he ascended the steep -hill that led to the farmhouse. He slackened just a bit; he'd need to -conserve his strength for the battle to come. - -As he reached the crest of the hill, he saw Loren stick his head out of -the second floor of the farmhouse. - -"Hey, Dale!" - -Kesley pointed up ahead. "Wolf!" he grunted. - -The animal was drawing close to the poultry yard now. Kesley stepped -up his clip again. He wanted to catch it just as it passed the door of -the farmhouse. He wanted to nail it there, to plunge the knife into its -heart and-- - -Abruptly, a strange figure stepped out of the farmhouse door. In one -smooth motion, the figure put hand to hip, drew forth a blaster, fired. -The wolf paused in mid-stride as if frozen, shuddered once, and -dropped. There was the sickening smell of burning fur in the air. - -Kesley felt a quick burst of hot anger. He looked down at the -smouldering ruin of the wolf huddled darkly against the ground, then to -the stranger, who was smiling as he reholstered the blaster. - -"What the hell did you do that for?" Kesley demanded hotly. "Who asked -you to shoot? What are you doing here, anyway?" - -He raised his knife in a wild threatening gesture. The stranger moved -tentatively toward his hip again, and Kesley quickly relaxed. He -lowered his knife, but continued to glare bitterly at the stranger. - -"A thousand pardons, young friend." The newcomer's voice was deep and -resonant, and somehow oily-sounding. "I had no idea the wolf was yours. -I merely acted out of reflex. I understand it's customary for farmers -to kill wolves on sight. Believe me, I thought I was helping you." - -The stranger was dressed in courtly robes that contrasted sharply with -Kesley's simple farmer's muslin. He wore a flowing cape of red trimmed -with yellow gilt, a short stiff beard stained red to match, and a royal -blue tunic. He was tall and powerful looking, with wide-set black -eyes and heavy, brooding eyebrows that ran in a solid bar across his -forehead. - -"I don't care if you _are_ from the court," Kesley snapped. "That wolf -was mine. I chased it up from the fields--and to have some city bastard -step out of nowhere and ruin my kill for me just as I'm--" - -"_Dale!_" - -The sharp voice belonged to Loren Harker, Kesley's farming partner, a -veteran fieldsman, tall and angular, face dried by the sun and skin -brown and tough. He appeared from the farmhouse door and stood next to -the stranger. - -Kesley realized he had spoken foolishly. "I'm--sorry," he said, his -voice unrepentant. "It's just that it boiled me to see--dammit, you had -no _business_ doing that!" - -"I understand," the stranger said calmly. "It was a mistake on my part. -Please accept my apologies." - -"Accepted," Kesley muttered. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Say, -what kind of tax-collector are you, anyway? You're the first man out of -Duke Winslow's court who ever said anything but '_Give me_'." - -"Tax-collector? Why call me that?" - -"Why else would you come to the farmlands, if not for the tithe? -Don't play games," Kesley said impatiently. He kicked the worthless -wolf-carcass to one side and stepped between Loren and the stranger. -"Come on inside, and tell me how much I owe my liege lord this time." - -"You don't understand--" Loren started to say, but the stranger put one -hand on his shoulder and halted him. "Let me," he said. - -He turned to Kesley. "I'm not a tax-collector. I'm not from the court -of Duke Winslow at all." - -"What are you doing in farm country, then?" - -The stranger smiled evenly. "I came here because I'm looking for -someone. But what are _you_ doing here, Dale Kesley?" - -The question was like a stinging slap in the face. For a moment, Kesley -remained frozen, unreacting. Then, as the words penetrated below the -surface, a shadow of pain crossed his face. His mouth sagged open. - -_What are you doing here, Dale Kesley?_ - -The words blurred and re-echoed like a shout in a cavern. Kesley felt -suddenly naked, as the mask of self-deception and hypocrisy that had -erected itself during his four years in Iowa Province crumbled inward -and fell away. It was the one question he had dreaded to face. - -"You look sick," Loren said. "What's wrong, Dale?" The older man's -voice was hushed, bewildered. - -"Nothing," Kesley said hesitantly. "Nothing at all." But he was unable -to meet the stranger's calm smile and, worse, he had no idea why. - -His thoughts flashed back to that moment at the plough earlier that -morning, when Iowa had seemed like the universe and he had made life -appear infinitely good. - -_Lies._ - -Farm life was his natural state, he had pretended. He _belonged_ behind -the plough, here in Iowa. - -_Lies._ - -But--where _did_ he belong? - -He realized that he was acting irrationally. Loren's face hung before -him, uncomprehending, frightened. The stranger seemed almost gloatingly -self-confident. - -"What did you mean by that?" Kesley asked, slowly. His voice sounded -harsh and unfamiliar in his own ears. - -"Have you ever been in the cities?" the stranger asked, ignoring -Kesley's question. - -"Once, maybe twice. I don't like it there. I'm a farmer; always have -been. I came down from Kansas Province. But what the hell--?" - -The stranger raised one hand to silence him. An amused twinkle crossed -the cold black eyes, and the thin lips curved upward. "They did a good -job," the stranger said, half to himself. "You really believe you're a -farmer, don't you, Dale? Have been, all your life?" - -Again the words stung; they bit deep into a hidden reservoir of fear, -and rose to the surface again, leaving Kesley strangely disturbed. -"Yes," he said stubbornly. "What are you trying to do?" Anger came over -him again, and he snapped, "Suppose I order you off my farm?" - -The stranger laughed. "_Your_ farm?" His eyes probed searchingly. "How -can you call this _your_ farm?" - -Kesley quailed at the incomprehensible pain this third attack brought. -_What is he after? Why can't he leave me alone?_ - -_This is my farm._ - -_I belong here._ - -He stood poised, swaying on the balls of his feet, staring mystifiedly -at his tormentor. _I belong here_, he thought fiercely--but without any -conviction, this time. Something within his mind kept insisting that it -was a lie, that he belonged elsewhere. - -The glitter of the cities suddenly rose as an image in his mind. - -Rage boiled over. "Let me alone!" he shouted, and jumped forward, -raising the knife high. - -"_No!_" - -The stranger's voice was almost a shriek of fear, but he was cool -enough to draw and fire. A bright spurt of flame nudged from the -muzzles of the blaster, and Kesley felt a sudden intolerable warmth in -his hand. He dropped the hot knife and stepped back, panting like a -trapped tiger. - -"I wish you hadn't done that," the stranger said. - -"I wish you had never come here," Kesley retorted. It was like a -nightmare. He felt blind, unable to defend himself, unable even to -understand the source of the attack. - -Loren was watching the scene in utter horror, and Kesley noticed a -couple of the farm girls standing a short distance away, watching, too. -The stranger stood with arms folded. - -"Let's go inside," he suggested. "We can talk better in there." - -Kesley remained rooted, unable to think, unable to move. "This is my -farm," he said out loud, after a moment. "Isn't it?" It was nearly a -whimper. - -The harshness vanished abruptly from the stranger's face. Kesley -watched uncomprehendingly as hard lines melted, sharp cheekbones no -longer seemed so austere. It was the eyes, he thought curiously. They -controlled the expression of the face. And now the cold eyes seemed to -radiate warmth. - -"Of course this is your farm," the stranger said. He gripped Kesley's -arm. "They really did a job on you, didn't they?" - -"They?" - -"Never mind. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have already. -Let's go inside, and we can talk about it in there." - - * * * * * - -Word had somehow travelled rapidly around the farm, and within minutes -the farmhouse living room was crowded with curious people. Kesley -looked around. He saw Loren, and toothless old Lester, who had owned -the farm once and sold it to Loren and Kesley. There were Lester's -three daughters, brawny, tanned girls who did the women's work on the -farm. There was Tim, the slow-witted hired hand. - -And there was the stranger in the gilt-bordered red cloak. - -The stranger glanced from one face to another, then at Kesley. "Can we -talk in privacy?" - -"You heard what he said," Kesley snapped to the others. "Get about your -jobs." - -"You sure you want us to leave you alone?" Loren asked. "You looked -pretty wobbly a minute ago out there, and--" - -"Don't cross me, Loren!" - -The older man shrugged. "You're the boss, Dale. Come on, Tim, let's -leave them alone." - -"Pretty nice city clothes he's got," old Lester cackled. - -Tina, Lester's oldest daughter, nudged him scornfully. "Let's get -moving, Lester. The _men_ want to talk." She indicated with a smirk her -disapproval of the exclusion order. - -When the others were gone, Kesley turned to the stranger. "We're alone. -Now tell me who you are and what you want with me." - -The stranger tugged at his stiff red beard for a moment. "I'm Dryle van -Alen. Does that enlighten you?" - -"Not at all. Where are you from?" - -"The Dukedom of Antarctica," van Alen said. - - * * * * * - -For the second time in half an hour, Kesley did a double take. The -words sank in slowly, burrowed into his mind--and then exploded into -pinwheeling brilliance. - -"_Antarctica!_" - -"Why the surprise?" van Alen asked mildly. "There are people in -Antarctica too, you know. You'd think I had said Mars, or some other -impossible place." - -"If this is a joke, van Alen, I'm going to feed you to the hogs with -tomorrow's swill." - -"It's no joke. I'm attached to the court of the Duke of Antarctica." - -"So they've got a Duke, too," Kesley said. He smiled. "I never thought -that they'd have one just like us. And I suspect the Twelve Dukes don't -even know that. But this is crazy! If you're from Antarctica, what do -you want with me?" - -"All in good time," van Alen said calmly. "First: the Twelve Dukes are -very much aware of the existence of their Antarctic confrere. He is, -like them, an immortal. Unlike them, he is not interested in striving -for power." - -"Why does Antarctica cut itself off from the rest of the world?" - -"A matter of choice," van Alen said. "Our Duke doesn't care for the -company of his twelve colleagues, nor for that of their subjects. But -you're leading me astray with your questions. You're not letting me -explain why I came here to you." - -"Go ahead, then." Kesley sat back, trying to conceal his tenseness. - -It made no sense at all. The Twelve Dukes had ruled the world four -hundred years, and in that time no contact between men of the Twelve -Empires and the people of the continent of Antarctica had ever taken -place. A barrier had always surrounded that continent. Antarctica was -as unapproachable as frozen Pluto, or one of the stars. - -And now the barrier had lowered long enough to let this Dryle van Alen -out into the world of the Twelve Dukes. Van Alen had made his way to -America, to Duke Winslow's land--merely to see Dale Kesley? It was -impossible. - -Van Alen peered at Kesley. "You have lived in Iowa Province for four -years--is that right?" - -Kesley nodded. - -"And before that, where?" - -"Kansas Province. I was a farmer there, too." - -One of van Alen's heavy eyebrows twitched skeptically. "Oh? How long -did you live in Kansas Province, then?" - -"All my life. I was born there. I lived there twenty-one years. I came -here four years ago." - -Van Alen chuckled. "You cling to that story the way you would a straw -in a maelstrom." He leaned forward; his voice deepened. "Suppose you -try to tell me why you left Kansas Province to come here." - -"Why, I--" - -Kesley paused. A muscle began to throb painfully in one cheek, and he -looked down at his heavy work-boots in confusion. He had no answer. He -did not know. - -Once again, the same malaise that had spread over him outside hit him. -He sucked in a deep breath, but said nothing. - -"You don't know why you left Kansas?" van Alen asked gently. "Think, -Dale. Try to remember." - -Kesley clenched his fists, fighting to keep back a cry of rage and -frustration and fear. Finally he said, "I don't know. I don't remember. -That's it--I don't remember." His voice was glacially calm. - -"Very good. You don't remember." Van Alen tugged at his beard again, as -if to signify that he had won a telling point. "Next question: describe -in detail your life in Kansas Province. What your farm was like, what -your mother looked like, how tall your father was--little things like -that. Eh?" - -The questions poured down on Kesley like an unstoppable torrent; they -seemed to wash his feet out from under him and leave him struggling -helplessly and impotently to regain his footing. - -"My mother? My father? I--" - -Again he stopped. The room was blurred; only the smiling, diabolical -face of the Antarctican seemed to be fixed, and all else was whirling. -Kesley elbowed himself up from his chair and crossed the room in two -quick bounds. - -"Damn you, I don't remember! _I don't remember!_" - -He grabbed van Alen roughly by the scruff of his cloak and hauled him -to his feet. - -"Let go of me, Dale." - -The sharp command was all but impossible not to obey, but Kesley, -shaking hysterically, continued to hold tight. He clutched for the -Antarctican's throat, burning to choke the life out of this torturer -before he could ask any more questions. - -His hands touched the skin of the Antarctican's throat and then, quite -coolly, van Alen broke Kesley's grip. He did it easily, simply grasping -the wrists with his own long fingers and lifting. - -Kesley struggled, but to no avail. The Antarctican was fantastically -strong. Kesley writhed in his grip, but could not break loose. Slowly, -without apparent effort, van Alen forced him to his knees and let go. - -Kesley made no attempt to rise. He was beaten--physically and mentally. -Van Alen stooped, lifted him, eased him to the couch. Drawing forth -a scented handkerchief, he mopped perspiration first from Kesley's -forehead, then from his own. - -"That was unpleasant," van Alen remarked. - -Kesley remained slumped on the couch. "You shouldn't have tried to -attack me, Dale. I'm here to help you." - -"How?" Kesley asked tonelessly. - -"I'm here to show you the way back to your home." - -"My home's in Kansas Province." Stubbornly. - -"Your home is in Antarctica, Dale. You might as well admit it to -yourself now." - -Strangely, the words had little effect on Kesley. He had already been -shocked past any point of surprise. - -For four years, he had been persuading himself that he had come -from Kansas Province. He had gone on thinking that, all the while -subliminally aware that there was no rational reason for that belief, -that he had no memories of his earlier life whatever. - -Kansas Province had seemed as likely a homeland as any, and he had -clung to the idea. As each year passed, it had seemed more and more the -truth to him--until van Alen came. - -Now he was ready to believe anything. The barriers were down. - -"Antarctica?" he repeated. - -Van Alen nodded. "You've been the subject of the most intensive -manhunt in the history of humanity." That seemed to amuse him; he -stopped, chuckled. "A history, to be sure, that stretches back all of -four hundred years--but a history, nevertheless. Dale, we've searched -through every one of the Twelve Empires for you. You were finally -located here, in Iowa Province. The search is over; it took four years." - -"I'm happy for you," Kesley said. "You must be pleased to have found -me." His voice was restrained, matter-of-fact. "So the search is over?" - -"Partially," van Alen said. "We have the treasure, now; we lack only -the key to the box. Daveen the Singer, the blind man. The search for -him continues." - -Kesley frowned impatiently. "What the hell is this all about, van Alen?" - -Van Alen smiled warmly. "I'm sorry, Dale. I can't tell you anything, -not until Daveen has been found. But that can't take long, now that -we've located you." - -"Who's this Daveen?" - -"A poet," van Alen said. "Also a remarkably skilled hypnotist. -We'll find him soon, and then the search will really be over." The -Antarctican seemed to be gazing _through_ Kesley, as if he were staring -all the way to his distant homeland. His eyes had turned cold again; -his face had hardened. - -"Suppose I tell you you're a lunatic?" Kesley asked. - -"Suppose you do," van Alen said animatedly. "You'd have every right to -the opinion. Care to join me in lunacy?" - -"Eh?" - -"Will you come with me--to Antarctica?" - -"I'm not _that_ crazy," Kesley said. He laughed. "You want me to drop -everything--the farm, my whole life, just to go off with you to--to -_Antarctica_?" - -"This is not your life," van Alen said. "Antarctica is. Will you come?" - -Kesley laughed contemptuously, but said nothing. - -There was a knock on the door. - -"Come on," he said roughly. "Enter." - -Tina came in and looked defiantly at both of them. She was a tall, -red-haired girl in her late twenties, wide-shouldered and high-bosomed, -and her eyes held the flash and fire that must have belonged to old -Lester once. She and Kesley had been sharing a room for six months. - -"Still talking?" Tina asked. - -"Is there anything special you want?" Kesley snapped. - -"Just wanted to tell you lunch is getting cold, that's all. And you -left your plough standing in the field. That crazy mutie horse of yours -looks like it's asleep on its feet." - -Kesley frowned. "Tell Tim to go down there and finish the furrow, will -you? I'll be in for lunch in a couple of minutes." - -Tina glanced curiously toward van Alen and said, "With or without -company?" - -"I'll be leaving in a few minutes," van Alen told her. "You needn't -prepare anything for me." - -"Sorry to hear that," Tina said acidly. "We were looking forward to -feeding you." She turned and flounced out. - -"Who's that?" van Alen asked. - -"Lester's daughter--Lester's the old man. Her name's Tina. She lives -with me." - -There was a visible stiffening of van Alen's manner. Leaning forward -anxiously, he said, "You--have no children yet, have you?" - -"You kidding? That's all I need. Things are complicated enough around -here without--" - -Van Alen rose abruptly. "I see. Well, I'll have to be leaving now, -Dale." He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders tightly and walked -across the living room. "It's going to be a long hard journey to the -Pole; I must begin at once." - -He put his hand to the door. Kesley watched him open it. - -"Hold it, van Alen. Don't go." - -"Why?" - -Kesley shook his head without replying. Van Alen looked at him for a -moment, shrugged, and turned a second time to leave. - -Without really knowing why he was doing what he was about to do, Kesley -cupped his hands. "_Tina!_" - -The girl reappeared and confronted him quizzically. - -"Get upstairs and pack my things," Kesley ordered her. "I'm leaving." - -"Leaving?" - -"Right this minute," he said. "I'm leaving with _him_." He pointed -squarely at van Alen. - - - - - II - - -City noises--the dizzying chaos of the metropolis. Kesley and van Alen -reined in their mounts at the gates of the city of Galveston, capital -of Texas Province and a main bastion of Duke Winslow of North America. - -It seemed to Kesley that they had been riding for months. Actually, -it had been only a matter of weeks for the long ride through the -farmlands, down through Texas to the Gulf. - -They moved along now at a slow canter, guiding their horses into a line -that disappeared between the heavy copper gates surrounding the walled -city. Galveston was an encircled peninsula, guarded by land, open to -the sea. - -Men in the green-and-gold uniforms of Duke Winslow's guard rode -alongside the line, keeping the jostling crowd in order. - -"Better get your coins ready," van Alen muttered, as they drew near the -gate. - -"Coins?" - -"This is a fee city. A dollar a head to enter the gate." - -Kesley made a face and dug a golden dollar from his pocket. He looked -at the tiny, well-worn coin almost wistfully. "The good Duke takes -care that his subjects are never weighted with overmuch coinage," he -observed. "The Duke's men relieve us of it joyfully." - -They rode past the gate. A sleepy-eyed toll-keeper sat, impassively -watching, as each newcomer to the city deposited his dollar in the till. - -As Kesley passed the tollbox, he flipped the coin in casually. It -clinked against several of the others, spun, and bounced out, rolling -some ten feet away. Kesley shrugged apologetically and continued ahead. - -"Hey there!" The guard's voice was loud and harsh. "Get down there -and--" - -The voice of the toll-keeper died away. Kesley looked around and saw -van Alen down on his knees in the well-trampled mud, rooting in the -filth for the coin. The nobleman seemed to show no compunction about -crawling before the toll-keeper. - -"Here you are, sir." Van Alen obsequiously deposited Kesley's dollar -in the tollbox, added one of his own, and handed a third coin to the -toll-keeper. - -"The boy is sick," van Alen murmured, gesturing significantly. "He does -not know what he does." - -The toll-keeper nodded curtly and pocketed the dollar. "Get moving, -both of you," he snapped. - -Kesley, who had trotted a few feet further, halted to let van Alen -catch up with him. - -"That's a good way to assure a short life," the Antarctican said. -"Toll-keepers are notorious for their quick triggers. Don't make -needless trouble for yourself, boy." - -"Sorry," Kesley said. "It riled me to see him sitting there so smug and -taking our money. I didn't really mean to throw the coin on the ground." - -Van Alen shook his head sadly. "It riled you," he repeated, his voice -mocking. "You've been lucky so far--each time you've lost your temper, -you've survived. But better learn to curb it. These people are your -superiors, whether you like it or not, and if a Duke wants a dollar to -enter his city, you put down your dollar or you ride the other way." - -"Superiors, hell! They've got no right--" - -"You're just so much dirt, Kesley," the Antarctican said with sudden -force. Oddly, the words did not stir Kesley to anger. "Learn that -lesson now. Whatever you may think you are, that doesn't alter the fact -that you're nothing more than dirt." - -Kesley swallowed hard, but said nothing. Van Alen was right, he was -forced to admit. The Twelve Dukes ruled supreme, and beneath them came -a complex and sharply-defined hierarchy in which, as a farmer, Kesley -was close to the bottom. He had no call to flare up at toll-keepers. - -But yet-- - -He shook his head. The fact of his insignificance was one he could -accept intellectually, but he couldn't _believe_ in it. And he never -would. He had never been able to master the trick of lying to himself. - -"What's on the schedule in Galveston?" Kesley asked, as they rode -into the town. They entered a wide, crowded thoroughfare; mechanical -transportation was forbidden in most parts of North America, but -there were plenty of horsecarts and carriages--most of them drawn by -variegated mutants of one sort or another, but a few by authentic -horses of the Old Kind. - -"We'll stay here overnight," van Alen said. "Tomorrow we pick up the -steamer for South America. From there it's straight down to Antarctica." - -"And then?" Kesley prodded. - -"And then you'll be in Antarctica." - -That was all the information van Alen would ever give. From time to -time on the trip down from Iowa, Kesley had found himself wondering -just why he had pulled up roots and struck off with van Alen. - -It was probably a combination of factors. Curiosity, certainly. -Antarctica was the world's great mystery, keeping itself utterly aloof -from the doings of the Twelve Empires. And then there was the vague -unease he had felt during his stay in Iowa, the knowledge that he -belonged somewhere else. And there was a third factor, too--a kind of -randomness, a compulsive but seemingly unmotivated action whose nature -he did not understand. He had agreed to come--that was all. _Why_ never -entered into it for long. - -He was being led. Well, he would follow, and wait for the threads to -untangle themselves. - -Right now he was in a city for, supposedly, the third time in his life. -He had the biographical data down pat: three years ago he had gone to -market in Des Moines for his horse, and a year later he had made the -trek down to St. Louis to sell grain. Both times he had been repelled -by the bigness and squalor of the city. He felt the same emotion now. - -But, as had happened the two previous times, there was also the feeling -that the city, not the farm, was his natural habitat. - -The street before them seemed familiar, though he knew he had never -been in Galveston before. It stretched far out of sight, bordered on -both sides by low, square, old houses and brightly-colored shops. -Hawkers yelled stridently in the roadway, peddling fruits and -vegetables and here and there some comely wench's favors. - -Van Alen pointed toward a rickety building on their right and said, -"There's a hotel. Let's room up for the night." - -"Good enough," Kesley agreed. - -The proprietor of the hotel was a short man in his early fifties, -chubby and prosperous-looking, with an oily stubble of beard darkening -his face. His bald head gleamed; it had been newly waxed. - -"Hail, friends. In search of lodgings?" - -"Indeed we are," van Alen said. "My friend and I are tired, and can use -some rest." - -The hotelman chuckled. "One room?" - -"Suitable," van Alen said. - -A thick eyebrow lifted. "Will you boys be needing a double bed?" - -"What the hell do you mean--" Kesley began hotly, but van Alen cut him -off and said in a calm voice, "Twin beds will be fine, if you've got -them." - -"Of course," the proprietor said. "Beg pardon." He reached behind him -and fumbled on a board laden with keys, mumbling cheerfully to himself. -Finally he decided on an appropriate room and unhooked the keys. - -"Three-fifty," he said. - -Van Alen placed four one-dollar pieces face upward on the desk. The -hotelman looked at the coins, grinned, and scooped them up, putting -a fifty-cent piece in their place. Van Alen ignored it, and after a -moment the hotelman scooped that up as well. - -"Come this way, please." - -He showed them to a room on the third floor, which was the topmost. It -was a boxy, green-walled room with a single naked fluorescent running -along its ceiling. Kesley had vaguely hoped that the room would have -floor-to-ceiling luminescence, as some of the oldest city hotels were -reputed to have, but no such luck. This one had been built since the -Blast; no fancy trimmings here. - -There were two beds, both without spreads. The part of the sheet that -was visible at the top was gray and frayed, though apparently clean. A -slatted screen stood folded between the beds. - -"Cozy, isn't it?" the proprietor asked. He seemed to be oozing filth. -"It's one of our best doubles." - -"Glad to hear it," van Alen said. "We've traveled far. We're tired." - -"You'll rest well here," the hotelman said, and backed out the door. - -"A greasy customer," Kesley commented when he was gone. - -"No more so than usual," said van Alen. "They seem to be a breed. He -means well, though." The Antarctican shrugged out of his cloak and -draped it over a chair. Casually he unfolded the screen, dividing the -room in half. - -"Economy calls for a single room," he explained. "But privacy is still -a fine thing." - -Kesley shrugged. He had no intention of violating any of van Alen's -personal crotchets. Approaching his own bed, he turned down the sheet, -slipped off his clothing, and climbed in. - -He discovered he had no desire to sleep. After tossing restlessly for a -while, he rolled over on his back and sat up. "Van Alen?" - -"What is it, Kesley?" - -"How big is Galveston?" - -"About a hundred thousand people," van Alen said. "It's a very big -city." - -"Oh." After a pause: "Bet New York was much bigger, wasn't it?" - -"Cities were bigger in the old days. Too big. It drove people mad to -live in them. That's why the cities were destroyed. Your Dukes make -sure the same thing doesn't happen again by building walls around the -cities. Galveston won't ever get any bigger than it is." - -"Is that the way things are in Antarctica, too?" - -"You'll find out about Antarctica when you get there. Go to sleep--or -at least let me sleep." - -Van Alen sounded irritated. The Antarctican was a queer duck, Kesley -thought, as he lay awake in the silence. Van Alen was a slick operator, -calm and self-assured, but there were strange chinks in his armor. He -blew up, occasionally, lost his temper--not often, but sometimes. And -there were many questions he would not answer, and others that seemed -to disturb him more than they should. - -He conducted himself strangely, too--doing things almost without -motivation, it seemed, though Kesley felt that deep calculations lay -behind the seemingly gratuitous acts. Such things as picking the first -hotel they saw, or tipping the proprietor a needless half dollar. They -stood out sharply against the fabric of reality. They were unnecessary -actions--or were they? - -Kesley didn't know. And Kesley resolved, in that moment, not to try to -find out. He would abrogate all responsibility, let happen what might. -It was the only way to ward off the terrors of unanswerable questions. -Away from his home, away from the farm, he simply was not equipped to -act independently--_yet_. He decided to sit tight, ask no questions, -and look for no answers. - - * * * * * - -They left Galveston early the next morning, via the _Snowden_, a creaky -old second-class freight-steamer, carrying eight other passengers and -a small herd of cattle on their way to Cuba. Van Alen had made all the -traveling arrangements; Kesley, having no idea how such things were -managed, had done nothing. - -The ship docked at Havana, discharged its load of kine, and moved -unsteadily southward. From Havana to Merida, in Yucatan; from Merida to -Panama. The charred wreckage of the old canal was gauntly visible as -they steamed past the Isthmus. - -Skirting the east coast of South America, the _Snowden_ pulled into -port at Bahia Blanca, in Argentina Province--and here, van Alen and -Kesley disembarked. - -"This is as far south as any ship goes," van Alen said, as the tug drew -them toward the dreary harbor. "The rest of the trip is overland." - -"To Antarctica? How?" - -Van Alen smiled. "Overland through Argentina, at any rate, and down -into Patagonia. There'll be transportation waiting for us there." - -Fifteen minutes later, they were waiting at the customs shed for their -horses. A bored-looking little customs official in blue shorts and gold -brocaded jacket approached them, clutching a clipboard and a stubby -pencil. - -"Where are you from?" His voice was thickly accented but understandable. - -"North America," van Alen said. "We're vassals of His Liege Duke -Winslow." - -The customs man scribbled something on his clipboard. "You are now in -the lands of His Highness Don Miguel, Sovereign Ruler and Duke of South -and Central America. Entrance fee to His Highness' lands is for you ten -dollar American. You have?" - -Kesley scowled but produced the fee without question. Van Alen handed -money over as well. The customs officer smiled coldly and nodded. - -"Very well. You may enter. There will be no inspection of your -belongings." - -"Trusting fellow, isn't he?" Kesley asked, as they saddled their -animals. "No customs inspection." - -"They're very trusting down here, especially when you give them ten -dollars too many. Don Miguel's Dukedom isn't particularly noted for its -high ethical standards, Kesley. Everyone's fantastically loyal to the -Duke, but they stay loyal to themselves as well. See?" - -"You know, you've spent more cash in bribes on this trip than I've ever -seen in my life," Kesley said. - -"A well-greased road makes for a smooth journey," van Alen intoned. -"Another important lesson for you." - -Kesley smiled and goaded his horse on. The road out of Bahia Blanca was -a long and winding one; from this vantage-point, Argentina Province -looked limitless. The air was cold and clear, down in this continent -where winter came in July. Kesley let the constant rhythm of his -galloping horse lull him into a veiled patience; he rode impassively, -listening to the repeated _clickety-clack_ of well-shod hooves coming -from van Alen's Old-Kind horse, and the less distinct, thumping sound -of his own mutant steed's three-toed paws pounding the roadway. The -sounds tended to hypnotize him. At any rate, they kept him from -thinking too seriously about the unknown destination that lay ahead. - -The journey continued. By evening of the next day they had left the -city far behind and had ridden into the heart of a broad, apparently -endless, green plain covered thickly with coarse, matted grass and -dotted with short, heavy-boled trees. Conversation between the two men -had long since dwindled to a mere interchange of grunts. - -But the monotony of the journey was short-lived. Near midnight, from -over a slight rise in the plain, eight men appeared, riding lowslung -mutant ponies. They were heading straight for van Alen and Kesley. - -Kesley saw them first. He nudged van Alen. - -"Bandits," the Antarctican said immediately. "Let's split up. You go to -the east; I'll head the other way." - -"And how do we get together again?" - -"I'll find you afterward. Get going!" - -Kesley dug in his spurs and the horse leaped forward. The bandits -bore down on them as the two men rode in opposite directions. And, to -Kesley's horror, he saw the bandit group splitting in two. - -Instantly, van Alen doubled back and beckoned to Kesley to do the -same. If the bandits had detected the maneuver and were sweeping off -to intercept them, there was nothing gained by dividing. They stood a -better chance back-to-back. - -Together, then, they struck out along a side-path toward a thick copse. -Kesley's hand slipped down from the bridle to feel the comforting hilt -of his knife at his waist. He glanced at van Alen, and saw that the -Antarctican's blaster gleamed dully, ready for use, in the man's hand. - -The eight bandits drew up in a tight phalanx facing the copse. They -were swarthy, dark-skinned men with heavy mustaches. - -"Off your horse," van Alen whispered. - -Kesley slipped to the ground and began to tether the mutant to a -low-hanging branch. - -"No," the Antarctican said harshly. "Let the animals roam free. Their -noise will confuse the bandits." - -"Right." - -He released his grip on the reins and slapped the beast affectionately. -The swaybacked mutant began to amble off into the depths of the copse, -crashing down on fallen branches as it went. Van Alen's horse struck -out in another direction. Kesley grinned suddenly; the sight of his -clumsy old horse thrashing away into the darkness was utterly ludicrous. - -Then Kesley glanced back at van Alen. The Antarctican was kneeling in a -soft mossbank, aiming his blaster. - -He squeezed the firing stud. A bright beam of light licked out. The -horse of the leading bandit whinnied and looked down in amazement at -the pastern that was no longer there, and then toppled, dropping its -rider. - -Van Alen fired again and a second horse went down. At that the bandits -scattered. The two men on foot hit the ground; the other six rode off -around the copse. - -A loud report sounded from the left, followed by an agonized neigh of -pain. Kesley stiffened. _They shot my horse_, he thought. For some -reason, hot tears of rage came to his eyes. The awkward-looking mutant -horse had been a good friend for four years. Kesley felt as if his last -bond with Iowa Province had just been severed. - -He yanked out his knife. Pale moonlight flickered on the polished -blade. Van Alen tapped Kesley's arm, shook his head cautioningly. -Kesley saw the Antarctican aim the blaster. - -Another spurt of light. The smell of singed leaves, sharp and -acrid--and then, the smell of singed human flesh. A dull groan. - -"That's one," van Alen muttered. "Seven to go." - -Branches rustled behind them. Kesley whirled and raised his knife, but -it was only van Alen's horse returning to its master. At a gesture from -van Alen, Kesley slapped the steed's rump and sent it roaming again. -Overhead, hoarse-voiced birds chattered their angry commentary on the -conflict below. - -The blaster spurted again, and in its sudden light Kesley saw a -shadowed figure outside the copse char and fall. - -Kesley began to perspire. There were still six bandits at large out -there, and eventually van Alen's blaster would run out of charges. - -Another bullet came whistling through the woods and thunked into a tree -overhead. - -"They've spotted the source of the beam," van Alen said. "Let's get -moving." - -"Where to?" - -"Anywhere. We've got to misdirect them. I've only got two charges left." - -Again came the rustling of branches behind them. _Van Alen's horse -again_, Kesley thought, but this time he was wrong. The bandits were -upon them. - -All six at once--making a suicide charge on the man with the blaster. -They came piling into the copse on foot, swarming around Kesley and van -Alen, leaping and clawing and punching. - -Van Alen's blaster spurted once, and a sharp-featured bandit took the -charge in his stomach. He pitched forward on the Antarctican, who tried -desperately to wriggle out from under the corpse. He did--but not -before another bandit had seized the hand that held the blaster. There -was a bright flare overhead suddenly, and the birds shrieked wildly. -With an angry curse at having wasted the last charge, van Alen broke -free of the man and hurled the useless blaster away. - -Meanwhile Kesley found himself busy. His knife dripped red; he had -slashed it into one man's arm, then ripped downward. Another had seized -his wrist as he drew back for a second thrust. - -Kesley grimaced and groped for the other man's eyes. In the darkness of -the copse not even the moon aided vision; it was impossible to see more -than a foot or so, and Kesley contended with half-seen shapes rather -than men. - -The bandit twisted upward sharply. A bolt of pain shot through Kesley's -arm. Numbed, he let the knife slip from his grasp. It vanished -underfoot. - -"Dale?" The half-grunt came from van Alen, somewhere to the left. "The -blaster's dead." - -"And I've lost my knife!" - -"Try to get free. If we can slip through them and outside the copse, we -can grab their horses and--" - -"We also speak English, _norteamericano_," a wry voice said suddenly. -"Your strategy is no secret." - -Kesley turned and jammed a fist into someone's stomach. He felt arms -groping for his arms, and shrugged himself free. He stepped back, -kicking out with his heavy boot. - -His foot struck--but as it did, someone else hit him from behind and -knocked him off balance. He slipped, rolled over and tried to pull -himself up. Three men were on him in an instant, pinioning him. - -He heard the click of a gun's safety going off, and a quiet voice said, -"Hold fast or we will explode your head." - -Instantly Kesley stiffened. "I'm holding fast," he said. He saw no -point in resisting, not with three men squatting on him and a gun -pointed at his head. - -A short distance away the sound of struggle could still be heard. _Good -for van Alen_, Kesley thought. - -A knife flashed suddenly. A man howled: "Ricardo, you have cut _me_!" -Angrily, in Spanish. - -_Spanish? Where did I learn Spanish?_ Kesley wondered. - -He heard van Alen's ironic chuckle. "How are you doing, Kesley?" - -"I'm caught. They're sitting on me." - -A pause. Then: "Too bad, Dale." Van Alen's deep voice sounded distant -and troubled now. "I'm going to have to--" - -His voice broke off abruptly. After a moment of silence, Kesley heard -footsteps pounding rapidly away through the forest. Van Alen running -away? _Why?_ - -One of the bandits fired. The forest was illuminated briefly by the -flash of gunpowder, and Kesley thought he heard something like a grunt -of pain, followed by a frantic threshing in the underbrush. - -"I got him," a voice said. - -"What of the other one?" - -"We have him here." - -"_Muy bien!_ Don Miguel will be glad to see him." - -Kesley was lifted to his feet. Dimly, he saw five men guarding him, -and a sixth crouched a few feet away with his hand clapped to a raw -knife-wound in his shoulder. - -Efficiently, the bandits roped his arms to his sides. - -"I have a safe-conduct from Duke Miguel," Kesley protested, as they -hustled him out of the copse. - -One of the bandits snorted derisively. "Safe conduct? Pah! Don Miguel -gives no safe conducts!" - -"But--" - -They were in the open now. There was no sign of van Alen or of van -Alen's horse. - -The six small ponies of the bandits were grazing in a wide circle; near -the edge of the copse lay the two horses van Alen's blaster had brought -down, and a few feet away were the sprawled, blackened corpses of the -two dead bandits. - -The night was silent. Even the birds had ceased their harsh noise. -Kesley tensely allowed himself to be tethered to a pommel. - -"Where are you taking me?" he demanded. - -The bandit leader chuckled, showing a set of gleaming teeth. -"Buenos Aires. The capital of Duke Miguel, no? Miguel is collecting -_norteamericanos_ this week!" - - - - - III - - -As well as being the chief city of Argentina Province, Buenos Aires was -a Ducal capital--the first such city Kesley remembered having entered. - -He knew the names of the others: Chicago, Tunis, Johannesburg, -Stockholm, Canberra, Strasbourg, Kiev, Hankow, Calcutta, Manila, -Leopoldville. They were strange and alien names; to him, abstract -symbols of Ducal power rather than concrete geographical localities. - -It was easy to see that this was Miguel's abode. The walls of the city -bristled with dark-skinned riflemen in blue shorts and gold brocade, -zealously guarding their Immortal's city against armed attack. Standing -outside the city walls, Kesley could see, looming above the blocks of -low, grubby buildings, the arching sweep of Don Miguel's palace. A -gleaming spire almost a hundred feet high topped the vaulted building, -which looked down upon the nest of small houses clustered around it as -a giant would upon worms. - -There seemed to be a jam-up at the gates. Traffic was heavy at a Ducal -capital. All around him, swarthy men on burros or horses or stubby -piebald mutant beasts waited patiently to be admitted. Most of them -were clad in broad-brimmed _sombreros_ and colorful _serapes_; Kesley -grinned wryly at that. South America was an unchanging microcosm. -Beneath the friendly sky, life, frozen always in a stasis of todays, -moved on slowly, with _manana_ never quite arriving. - -Kesley wondered about van Alen. The Antarctican had run away, and -presumably had been shot by a bandit. Was he dead, his corpse lying -rotting on the plain? It didn't matter, now. Kesley was in the hands of -Duke Miguel. His destiny was no longer bound to that of Dryle van Alen. - -"Get along, now," a voice drawled. The line moved up. Slowly, the long -queue was passing through the great double doors and into the city. -Kesley's six captors surrounded him, three before and three aft. Their -conversation during the long trip north to the capital had been limited -to occasional rapid-fire bursts of incomprehensible Spanish, and Kesley -still had no idea of the fate that awaited him. - -"We go to the Duke," the taciturn bandit leader said as they reached -the gatekeeper. He gestured at Kesley. "We bring him a prize." - -"_Norteamericano?_" - -"_Sí_." - -The gatekeeper flicked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go in." - -Kesley's horse moved forward, and they entered the Ducal capital of -Buenos Aires. - -_Cities look pretty much alike_, Kesley thought, as they entered. His -short acquaintance with van Alen had made him more observant, more -analytical. And, looking around, he framed the generalization. He might -just as well have been in Galveston, or St. Louis. - -There were differences, of course, but they were not fundamental ones. -The dirt was a constant, the litter and the smell, and the undercurrent -of noise. The crowds, too. And also the houses: squat, two- or -three-story affairs, in the universally accepted architectural design, -with gray whorls of greasy smoke spiralling up from their hearth fires. - -Kesley wondered what cities had looked like in the Old Days, before -the rain of bombs had leveled the world. New York had had millions of -people in it. Buildings had towered to the skies. Kesley remembered -how old Lester described a visit he had made to New York forty years -earlier. The blistered hulks of the great towers still stood, jagged -shells clawing at the sky. Forty, fifty, eighty stories high--it was -unbelievable. - -Cities were different now. The Twelve Dukes had laid down the unvarying -pattern for the cities during the Time of Rebuilding, four hundred -years before. The old names had been kept, and the old locations. But -a city of the Twelve Empires now had a certain prescribed shape, and a -city in Argentina Province looked much like one in Illinois Province, -or Capetown Province. There was the wall, first of all, high and thick -and protective. Within the wall, the radial spokes of streets, and the -circling network of avenues, lined with low houses. At the heart of -the city, the Building of Government or, as in Buenos Aires and eleven -other cities in the world, the Ducal Palace. - -Markets, shops, houses, schools, meeting-halls--these were all provided -for, all according to plan. - -"Why are you taking me to the Duke?" Kesley asked, as they trotted -toward the towering palace. - -The bandit chief shrugged. "The Duke wants _norteamericanos_. He pay us -to bring them; he tell us where you and your friend are. We bring. See?" - -Kesley nodded. It was the truth, he saw; the bandit had merely been -following instructions. - -_Everyone follows instructions_, he thought suddenly. He had followed -van Alen's orders; the bandits were puppets of Don Miguel. And Miguel? - -Who, he wondered, pulled the Duke's strings? - -Kesley smiled. Van Alen had tainted him with philosophy. Life would -undoubtedly have been much simpler if he'd remained in Iowa Province, -on the farm. - -The contradiction followed at once: he _hadn't_ been happy there, he -realized. Life had never been simple--not even in a world where the -benevolent Dukes tried manfully to avoid the fatal complexity of the -Old Days. - -They reached the approaches to the Palace, now. It was an imposing, -almost breathtaking building. In seeing to it that the short-lived -peoples of the world remained properly close to the ground, the Dukes -had stressed their own grandeur. The milk-colored Palace swept upward -like a bright fang piercing the sky. It was perhaps three blocks square -at its base, and rushed upward for more than a hundred feet before its -firm lines were broken by as much as a window. - -The building's facade was frosty white and immaculate, a solid wall of -irradiated polyethylene. Spotlights--even now, in the daytime--played -against its shining bulk. The building was awesome, magnificent, a -monolithic monument to a fortuitous mutation affecting but twelve -men--and, thought Kesley, its very grandeur was faintly ridiculous. - -A row of blue-clad guards was arrayed before the main entrance. -Kesley's captors rode to the approach, and the bandit chief engaged in -a brief colloquy, at the end of which one of the guards vanished within. - -He returned a few moments later, bearing with him a small brown leather -pouch. The bandit accepted the pouch eagerly, and tossed it to one of -his men. - -_My price_, Kesley guessed in wry amusement. - -He was right. The bandit undid him and hauled him down from his mount. -As Kesley gratefully flexed his numbed arms, the bandit shoved him -toward the waiting guard. - -"_Adios, norteamericano!_" The six bandits grinned cheerfully, -pocketing their bounty. They remounted, and rode away. - -"Come with me," the guard said stiffly. He drew a pistol, but Kesley -shook his head. - -"I won't make trouble. You can put that thing away." - -The great door swung open and Kesley was conducted into a vast -courtyard lined with flowering shrubbery. At the far end of the yard, -Kesley saw a small group of men standing in irregular formation. - -"We go there," the guard said. He pointed, and Kesley started off in -the direction indicated. - -There were about ten men waiting there, under the surveillance of one -of the Duke's guards, who watched them with drawn gun. As Kesley drew -near, he saw that the men were, like himself, North Americans. - -"Where are you from?" a white-haired man called. "Up north?" - -"Iowa Province," Kesley said, joining the group. "You?" - -"Illinois." The other's voice was bitter. "I'm from the court of Duke -Winslow. He'll hear of this; he'll--" - -The guard yelled: "Quiet down there!" - -"What is all this?" Kesley whispered. - -"I don't know. Miguel's evidently rounding up all the North Americans -in his territory. It's illegal! It's--" - -The guard whirled suddenly and struck the Illinois man across the face -with his pistol. "Silence!" - -Kesley felt a surge of anger, but restrained it. He bent and lifted the -older man to his feet. Dazed, the courtier wiped blood from his tunic -and dabbed gently at his gashed cheek. "Damn him," he muttered. He -groped at his hip for a sword that wasn't there. - -"Hush," Kesley said. "They'll only knock you down again. Fall in line -and keep quiet. We'll find out what's going on later." - -It was the only way to stay alive, he told himself. Fall in line; ask -questions later. - -Another door opened, and they entered the palace of the Duke. - -"This way," the guard called. "After me." Shepherding them with his -drawn pistol, he led the way, while three other guards closed in at -each side of the group. Kesley looked around. They were in a long -corridor which headed toward a descending staircase. The dungeons, -obviously. - -They kept walking. _Fall in line; ask questions later._ Kesley repeated -it to himself. - -Suddenly he stiffened. He had fallen obediently in line when van Alen -had appeared from nowhere--and the questions that arose had never been -answered. Now, perhaps, he was marching unquestioningly to his death. -_I won't do it_, he thought defiantly, and stepped out of line. - -He yanked the pistol from the astonished guard near him and slid his -hand around the thick butt. The gun had an unfamiliar feel to it; it -was heavy and clumsy. But he raised it quickly to shoulder-level and -fired. - -The guard at the front of the line yawped and clutched his shoulder. -Kesley fired again. A second guard dropped. The other men in the line -caught on, now, and charged the remaining pair of surprised guards. -Kesley heard a pistol crack, and saw that it was in the hands of a -North American. - -_This_ was the way. Act, instead of being acted upon. - -Guards were coming down the corridor now, waving pistols. "Over here," -Kesley yelled. He started to run back the way he had come. Turning -the corridor, he collided with a surprised-looking fat man in reddish -velvet robes, who had been moving forward in stately fashion, oblivious -to the conflict ahead of him. - -Kesley knocked the fat man off his legs and kept running. Behind him -came the sounds of pistol shots echoing down the halls, and the clatter -of feet. Guards were coming from all over. He turned, fired three more -times, and threw the useless gun away. - -Four guards dashed toward him and, quickly, he backed into a dark -alcove. There was a door. Impulsively, he threw it open and stepped -inside. - -A fist rocked him almost before he had crossed the threshold. Dizzily, -Kesley wobbled backward to get a view of his assailant. - -He was a big, broad-shouldered, black-bearded man wearing embroidered -robes and a shimmering gold tiara. A _noble_, Kesley decided. _He packs -a mean punch._ - -The big man reached upward and yanked on a bell. Almost instantly, -the room was full of guards. Determined to do as much damage as he -could before being retaken, Kesley sprang forward. He clawed at the -embroidered gold robes, feeling gold inlay ripping away under his -fingernails. Then the noble hit him again, sending him staggering up -against the wall. Two guards seized him. - -"One of the escaped prisoners, _señor_," a guard babbled. "How he got -in here we do not know. He--" - -"Enough, _payaso_. Take him away. Kill him." - -A tired frown crossed the big man's forehead. "No. Forget that. Tie him -to a chair, and leave him alone here with me." - -The guard looked up doubtfully, but quickly concealed his misgivings. -"Of course, sire." - -"Send in my clothier also. This idiot has ruined my robes." - -Kesley allowed himself to be tied to a chair. - -"You're a bold fool," the big man said, coming over to glower down at -Kesley. He knotted his fingers in his thick, tangled dark beard, and -smiled, baring stained yellow teeth. Kesley met the noble's gaze evenly. - -The deep eyes were set in a network of fine wrinkles. They were not the -eyes of an ordinary man. They were heavy with the shadow of a hundred -thousand days gone by, and infinities of days to come. Kesley realized -that the man before him was no mere noble. He could only be Don Miguel, -Duke of South America. - -An Immortal. - - - - - IV - - -Kesley watched Miguel pace uneasily back and forth. The room he had -blundered into was evidently one of the Ducal offices; a broad desk at -the back was littered with a great many official-looking papers, and -on one wall hung a glossy shield bearing Miguel's coat of arms. - -Suddenly Miguel turned. "Where are you from?" he asked. His voice was -deep, resonant, commanding. - -"Iowa Province. I was a farmer." - -"Oh? Then what might you be doing in my lands?" - -Kesley saw that he had blundered. Farmers, normally, did not take -pleasure jaunts to South America. He tried to repair the damage. "I was -on a buying tour. I was down here for cattle, and grain, and--" - -Miguel chuckled. "Enough, please. One does not have to be an Immortal -to see through your lies." He pulled out a chair and sprawled his big -form down. Smiling strangely, he said, "You can speak the truth. Why -are you here?" - -"I--I--" Kesley's face reddened. He realized that he had no rational -answer to give. He was here only because van Alen had led him here--and -van Alen was dead or wounded now, far to the south. - -Miguel sighed. "You assassins are all alike. At the moment of capture, -you lose the sacred fire." Swiftly he leaned over and undid Kesley's -bonds. - -"There. You are free. Kill me, now. We're alone; this is your chance!" - -Miguel slipped an ornamented stiletto from his sash and handed it to -Kesley. Opening his cloak, the Duke fumbled with buttons and pulled the -cloth aside, baring a broad, muscular chest covered with graying hair. -"Here! Plunge the dagger in--_now_!" - -Kesley weighed the stiletto in his hand, balancing the haft on his -palm, fingering the weapon's keen point and well-honed blade. Miguel -waited patiently. One corner of the Duke's wide mouth was drawn up in -a cold smile; the other sagged almost uncontrollably into a drooping -sneer. - -"Well?" - -Kesley feinted with the stiletto and flicked it through the air past -Miguel's head and into the center of the arms-bearing shield on the -wall. The Duke, who had not so much as blinked, laughed heartily. - -"A good man with a knife! A good man indeed." Serious again, he said, -"But you could have killed me. Why didn't you?" - -"Kill an Immortal?" Kesley replied listlessly. "I'd sooner try to -harness a whirlwind. How could I possibly kill you?" - -"By plunging the knife into my heart," Miguel said. "You obviously fail -to understand the true nature of our immortality." - -"Which is?" - -"Cell regeneration. Gradual rebuilding and replacement of decayed -cells. We remain as we are because the decays of age are counteracted -as rapidly as they occur. There are no organic defects to plague us. -This process, however, does not guard against a knife in the heart, or -a slit throat, or a bullet in the back." - -"And yet you gave the knife to me. Why?" - -"I knew you wouldn't use it," Miguel said. "You short-lived ones are so -terribly easy to understand. Only...." - -The Duke's voice trailed off. "Only _what_?" Kesley prodded after a -moment. - -"Only nothing," Miguel said. He rose. "Come upstairs with me, young -one, to my office. I am a slave to my duties ... more thoroughly -enslaved than the basest serf on my lands." - -Miguel touched a panel in the wall and it slid back, revealing what -looked to Kesley like an adjoining room. - -"My private elevator," Miguel explained. "Come." - -The elevator rose silently. When it stopped, the door slid open and -Kesley found himself in an even vaster room, almost completely lined -with books on one wall from floor to ceiling. Another wall was bright -with paintings; on a third, strange lights flickered on a wide board, -and glowing above their multicolored glitter were eight rectangular -gray screens. - -Seeming to forget Kesley, Miguel strode across the room and seated -himself in an imposing chair facing the screens. He covered the -flashing red light with his palm. The upper-most of the screens became -illuminated. Kesley gasped as the face of a man grew visible. - -The man in the screen gesticulated humbly. "Your blessing, sire. -Mendoza of Quito reporting, Don Miguel." - -"Speak, Mendoza." Miguel's tone was regally impatient. "It has not -rained here for sixteen days, sire," Mendoza said anxiously. "The -people are discontented. Crops are dying, and--" - -"Enough." Miguel flipped a switch and a second screen came to life. -"Luis, take care of this fool from Quito, and explain to him that we -have no control over the weather. Then transfer all these other calls -to your own line. I'll be busy for the next fifteen minutes." - -The screen went blank; the flickering lights died away. - -"What is that thing?" Kesley asked. - -"Closed-screen television. I use it to keep in contact with my -governors in the various provinces." - -Miguel took a seat behind a desk; this one, like the other downstairs, -heaped high with papers. He lowered his great, bearlike head between -his hands and stared at Kesley for what must have been more than a -minute. Finally he said, "I offered you a chance to kill me. You -declined it." - -"Perhaps if I got the chance again, I'd act differently," Kesley said. - -"Perhaps. But the chance comes but once. I am not yet tired of -life ... I think." The Duke's eyes drooped wearily. They seemed to be -staring backward into yesterday--and ahead at the burden of an endless -tomorrow. "Four hundred years is many years, though. Are you married, -young man?" - -Startled, Kesley said: "Huh--no. No, not yet." - -"I have been married thirty-six--no, forty-one times. The longest was -the first: twenty-six years. We were both thirty when we met. When she -died, she was fifty-six; I was still thirty. I was just finding out, -then." - -Miguel toyed with a sparkling, many-faceted gem on his desk. "Most of -the other marriages were short ones.... I couldn't bear to watch them -grow old. Now I do not marry at all." - -"Do you have children?" Kesley asked. - -Miguel flinched as if struck. His wide lips tightened in anger; then -his face softened again. "The gene is recessive," he said quietly. "And -lethal in early childhood, if not immediately after birth. My dynasties -have been short-lived. I have had eight children; seven lived less -than a year. The eighth reached the age of nine." - -He laughed hollowly. "Out of eternal life, nothing but death. No, I -have no children, young one." - -"I--see," Kesley said. He peered closely at the Immortal, feeling a -strange flow of pity for the timeless man. Immortality was a costly -gift, he saw. Suddenly, Kesley wondered how many other Immortals there -had been beside the Twelve--Immortals who, once they realized the -terrible nature of their breed, had taken their own lives. More than -one, he thought. - -And how often did Miguel himself consider suicide? Had he had some -hidden protection against Kesley's knife, moments ago downstairs, or -had the Duke been half-hoping the blade would strike true? - -Perhaps. - -"Why do you keep me here?" Kesley asked. - -Miguel looked up slowly. His eyes, deep and piercing, bored into -Kesley's. "You amuse me," Miguel said. "When one is more than four -centuries old, one is hard put to find amusement. I am amused by the -possibility that you might strike me dead at any moment." - -"It's really very funny," Kesley said. - -"I'm amused by the fact that you're not afraid of me. Awed, yes, but -not servile. How many times a day do you think I hear that hateful word -'Sire'? _Sire!_ Me, who has sired eight dead babes and nothing more." - -Kesley looked away, embarrassed. "Sire also means ruler," he pointed -out in a muffled voice. - -"That, too," Miguel said. "I rule, and it is my life to rule. I have -ruled four hundred years, and I will rule four thousand more--or four -thousand thousand, or four million. But I can never stop ruling. It is -a burden I can never put down. Who would fill the vacuum I would leave?" - -"There were rulers before the Twelve Dukes." - -"And they destroyed the world! Destroyed it--and in so doing, brought -_us_ into being. No, stranger, my Dukedom I can never put down. But it -wearies me to make always the petty decisions, to govern the lives of -petty--" - -"Why are you telling me all this?" Kesley burst out. - -"Mere amusement," Miguel said evenly. "I enjoy talking to you. What is -your name?" - -"Dale Kesley." - -"Dale Kesley," Miguel repeated. "A fine North American name, square-cut -and undistinguished. I like it." - -The Duke gestured toward a communicator-tube on his desk. "Bring that -to me." - -Shrugging, Kesley handed him the tube. Miguel switched it on. "Send -Archbishop Santana here at once," he barked, and cut the channel. - -He glanced at Kesley. "The Archbishop will swear you to my service, -Dale Kesley." - -"But I'm a vassal of Duke Winslow," Kesley protested. - -Miguel chuckled heartily. "A vassal of Duke Winslow," he mimicked. -"Vassal, indeed. You turn down my offer? You throw Duke Winslow in my -face?" - -"An oath is an oath, Don Miguel." - -"Oaths? Who are you to talk of oaths? You're nothing but a paid -assassin--don't think I haven't overlooked that." - -Kesley started to protest, but saw there was nothing to be gained by -arguing. Miguel would never believe him. - -"His Holiness Archbishop Santana," the wall-announcer said. - -The door slid open and the Archbishop entered. As the plump figure -waddled into the room, Kesley grinned in recognition. The Archbishop -was the fat man in velvet robes whom he had bowled over in his mad -flight downstairs. - -Now the priest wore a simple black surplice and mitred hat and carried -the crook symbolic of his office. He was a small, rotund man with dark -olive skin and a thin, sharply-hooked nose that seemed highly misplaced -in his otherwise plumply rounded countenance. He paused at the door, -smiling benignly, and made the sign of the cross with two swift motions -in the air. - -"Come on in, Santana," Miguel ordered. - -The priest approached Miguel and bowed deeply, then glanced at Kesley. -Suspicion was evident on his smoothly-shaven face. - -"This is Dale Kesley of North America," Miguel said. - -"We have met," the priest said unctuously. "This young man knocked me -down while fleeing from your guards, sire." - -Kesley grinned imperceptibly, catching Miguel's faint, involuntary -wince at the _sire_. "It was an accident, Father. I was fleeing -hastily; I didn't see you." - -"Time wastes," Miguel said. "Santana, swear this young man quickly into -my service. I have work for him." - -The priest began to raise his crook, but Kesley shook his head. "No, -Don Miguel. I told you I'm a vassal of Duke Winslow." - -Miguel smiled. "But Duke Winslow's oath is no longer binding upon his -vassals, you know." - -"I didn't know. When did this happen?" - -"It hasn't, yet. But it will shortly--when Duke Winslow is -assassinated." - -"But--when--" - -"Soon," Miguel said. His cold smile was painful to watch. "And your -hand," the Immortal continued, "will be the one that strikes him down." - -"You're crazy," Kesley said shortly. - -Miguel paled, and Santana crossed himself rapidly several times. - -"You don't talk like that to your Duke," the Archbishop said. - -"_My_ Duke? But--" - -Don Miguel regained his composure and put one hand on Kesley's -shoulder. "I ask you to join me and perform this service. I am prepared -to pay well for it." - -"The price?" - -"My daughter," Miguel said. "Kill Winslow, and she's yours." - -"Your _daughter_? But I thought--" - -"_Adopted_ daughter," Miguel said smoothly. "My ward. The girl is but -twenty-two, and lovely. Kill Winslow, and she's yours." - -Kesley felt perspiration dripping down his body. Kill Duke Winslow? -Upset the balance of the Twelve Empires, break the fragile harmony on -which the world depended? It was impossible! - -But-- - -He realized suddenly that he was a totally free agent, detached and -uninvolved. Van Alen had led him forth from Iowa Province, and van Alen -was dead. He owed nothing to van Alen, nothing to Iowa. - -He stood alone, unknown and unwanted in the world of the Twelve -Empires, able to shape his own destinies. And Miguel was offering him a -title, a home, an allegiance, at the cost of an assassination. - -_Well, why not?_ he asked himself. _My hand is free. Why not strike -down a Duke?_ - -He moistened his lips. "I'll consider it," he said. "But first--let me -see the girl." - - * * * * * - -Alone, waiting for Miguel to return, Kesley tried to think. - -Kill Winslow? - -Kill a Duke--an Immortal? - -The idea seemed incredible, almost obscene. It was like saying, "Snuff -out a star," or, "Destroy a world." The Dukes were centers of their -universes, and one did not kill them. - -Yet-- - -Kesley's self-searching in the past few minutes had revealed one -jarring fact: he did not have the qualms he had supposed he would have. -Assassinating Winslow would not be star-snuffing; he knew he could do -it as casually as van Alen had blasted the blue wolf, back in Iowa -Province. - -He knew he should be quaking at the thought of murdering his own Duke, -but the necessary quaking refused to come. - -_What's wrong with me?_ he asked himself desperately. _Why am I -different?_ - -A man was supposed to feel loyalty to his Duke. Kesley did not. _Why?_ - -He had had a chance to kill Miguel. Perhaps that had all been illusion; -perhaps he would have been struck down by an invisible guard the moment -the knife's tip approached the Immortal's flesh. Perhaps not. He had -drawn back, only because he had nothing to gain by killing the Duke. - -And now he was asked to kill another. _Dale Kesley, Hired Assassin. We -Kill Dukes._ He grinned mirthlessly. - -The faint hum of the sliding panel sounded behind him. He turned. - -"Have you reached any decision yet?" Miguel asked, stepping into the -room. - -"You know what I'm waiting to see," Kesley said. - -"Of course." - -Miguel beckoned to someone standing beyond the panel. "My daughter," he -said to Kesley. "The Lady Narella." - -No one appeared. Miguel scowled and reached through the open panel. He -yanked--and The Lady Narella appeared. - -"Oh," Kesley said. - -Narella was quite a woman. - -She stood with her hands on her hips, smoky, violet-hued eyes blazing -in defiance of Kesley and even of Miguel. She was making it clear that -she was no one's pawn, not to be bandied about. - -Narella wore an ermine wrap, and a low-cut tunic that clung tightly -to her high breasts and lean form. She was a tall girl with wide hips -and shoulders. Dark hair fell loosely about her face; she wore the -diamond-encrusted tiara of a Ducal Princess, and her full lips were -bright with a fluorescing cosmetic of some sort. Here and there--on -her forehead above the left eyebrow, on her right cheek, on the creamy -flesh where the base of her throat swelled into rising breasts--she -wore a scintillating dab of brightness, a dot of some chemical that -glittered radiantly from its own inner light. - -Kesley had never seen a royal woman before. Strangely, or not so -strangely, he felt all the reverence for her that he had failed to feel -in the presence of the Immortal alone. Had Miguel not been there, he -probably would have knelt despite himself and begged to kiss the tip of -her cloak. - -"Is this the man, sire?" she asked. Her voice was a fit complement to -her body, deep and warm, throbbing and throaty. - -"It is," Miguel said. "Dale Kesley--the Lady Narella." - -"Hello," she said coldly. - -A muscle quivered in Kesley's cheek. He nodded curtly to the girl. -"Hello." - -She ignored him and turned to Miguel. "Is this the man to whom you're -selling me, sire?" - -Miguel grimaced. "You wound me, girl. I'll leave the two of you -together to talk." - -"No!" she said imperiously, but it was too late. Miguel, with an -enigmatic smile, had bowed and stepped backward into the waiting -elevator. The panel slid shut. The wall was once again unbroken. - -Slowly, she turned to face Kesley. "I won't have any part of this! -I don't belong to Miguel! He can't give me away like this--to a -_commoner_!" - -Kesley smiled. "Your nostrils flare very nicely when you're angry, -milady." - -She whirled and stalked across the room, where she stood, her back to -him. Kesley grinned amiably. This display of temper was enjoyable. The -girl had spirit. Kesley liked that. - -"Miguel called you his _daughter_," he said loudly. "How come? That's -impossible, of course." - -"How do you know?" she snapped, turning to face him. Her dark eyes -glittered angrily. "I'm Miguel's daughter. Who says I'm not?" - -"Miguel. He told me you were adopted. He told me Immortals were -sterile, that their children didn't survive. Whose daughter are you?" - -"What is it to you?" - -Kesley shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. You're quite lovely, you know." - -She said nothing. - -"You're supposed to thank people when they compliment you, milady. It's -hardly polite to--" - -"Quiet!" She crossed the room and faced him across a desk. At close -range her faint perfume reached Kesley's nostrils; it was a delightful -odor. The violet of her eyes, he saw, was flecked lightly with gold. -"Why has Miguel promised me to you?" - -"He wants me to carry out a job--an assassination. You're the price." - -"Blunt, aren't you?" - -"Would you rather have me lie?" - -"No," she said, after a moment's thought. She threw back her shoulders -and glared defiantly at him. "Well, do I pass your inspection? Am I fit -for you?" - -Kesley made no answer. Instead, he circled deftly around the desk, drew -her close, pulled her mouth up to his. He kissed her warmly without -eliciting any response. She remained passive in his arms, as if she -were a particularly lovely statue rather than a living woman. - -He released her. "Are you through?" she asked acidly. - -"You pass the test," he said. Then he shook his head tiredly. "No. This -is insane. Narella, who are you?" - -Apparently his sudden sincerity, after the romantic pretense of the -minutes before, told upon her. "My father was a court singer in -Chicago, court poet to Duke Winslow. I was raised at the court. Four -years ago, my father disappeared. Then Duke Winslow gave me to Miguel -as a wife, but Miguel didn't want any wives. He adopted me instead. -I've lived here ever since, as his daughter. As for my father, I -suppose he's dead. He was blind, and--" - -"_Blind?_" Kesley snapped instantly out of his mood of weariness as if -a bolt of electricity had seared through him. "Did you say your father -was a blind court singer?" - -"Yes," she said. - -Words came from nowhere and rumbled in Kesley's mind, words spoken on -an Iowa farm in the deep, booming voice of van Alen the Antarctican: - -"_We have the treasure, now; we lack only the key to the box. Daveen -the Singer, the blind man. The search for him continues._" - -Slowly Kesley raised his head. He blinked a little as his eyes -encountered the flashing glitter of the girl's jewelry; then he looked -at her eyes and at the lips whose cosmetic fluorescence remained in -neat array despite his kiss. "Your father's name--was it Daveen?" - -"Yes," she said. "Yes! But how do you know?" - -"I don't. It's a name I've heard mentioned, a name that has something -to do with me. Only ... have you ever seen me before?" - -"I think so," she said slowly. "But I don't remember it. Were you ever -at the court of Duke Winslow?" - -"Never. But I recall you from somewhere. I--" - -Dizzily, he looked away as a burst of sudden pain flooded his mind. He -shuddered and felt sick. - -"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously. - -"I--don't know." - -"You look ill. You've gone completely pale." She put her arms around -him as if to steady him, and her warmth sustained him through the -moment of terror that had overtaken him. It was as if he had struck -some particularly sensitive nerve, and the resonances were carrying -agony through his body. - -When it was over, he mopped the beads of cold sweat from his forehead. -He looked up at her and saw that her glacial remoteness had been -replaced by a sort of feminine warmth, almost a maternal solicitude. - -"Would you like to find your father again?" he asked in a low voice. - -She nodded. - -"So would I. I don't know why, but I feel Daveen holds the key to the -hidden areas of my life, the inconsistencies. I'd like to find him for -myself. And for you." - -"Would you?" - -"First ask, _could you_? Your father may be dead, for all I know." He -took her hand. "Narella--you don't want to stay here with Miguel?" - -"No," she said. - -"Good. Listen carefully. Does Miguel have big ears?" - -She frowned. "I don't understand." - -"Never mind. Come here." - -She came close and he pulled her up against him. This time her lips -rose willingly for the kiss, but he brushed her pale cheek instead -and let his mouth graze lightly along her face until it reached the -tip of her earlobe. "Does Miguel have this room wired for sound?" he -whispered. "Can he hear what we say?" - -She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Probably," she whispered back. - -"That's what I thought. Stay close to me, then, and hear what I have to -say. If he's watching he'll think we're making love." - -"Go ahead," she said. - -"I'm going to accept Miguel's commission and leave here to assassinate -Duke Winslow, as ordered." - -She gasped. "Assassinate--" - -"That's the terms of our agreement," he said. "One Duke more or less -doesn't matter to me. I'll go to Winslow's court and try to find out -what happened to your father. Somehow I'll give Winslow what's due him. -Then I'll return here and claim you as Miguel's agreed, and we'll go -looking for your father together. If you're willing, give me a kiss." - -She hesitated for just a moment, then lifted his face from her ear. -Their eyes met. She was pale, he saw, and frightened; the aloof -haughtiness of the court lady had been almost completely replaced by an -appealing little-girl terror. - -He looked past her to the brooding eyes of Don Miguel glowering down at -him from the row of paintings on the wall. _After Winslow--Miguel_, he -thought with sudden savagery. The unprovoked thought surprised him. - -"Very well," she murmured. She touched her lips lightly to his, -and then gave herself to him with a sort of desperate abandon that -astonished Kesley. - -After a moment or two, he slipped from her grasp and looked around the -room, wondering if he'd find a concealed television camera or something -similar. There was nothing. The battery of screens and lights on the -far wall seemed dead, as they had been since Miguel had shut them off. - -Finally he cupped his hands. "Miguel!" - -The Duke reappeared almost instantly, followed closely by the chubby -form of Archbishop Santana. The Archbishop once again performed the -sign of the cross piously as he entered. - -"Well?" Miguel asked. - -"State your terms once again," said Kesley. - -Miguel frowned. "The room is crowded." - -"I know, sire. Witnesses may be in order." - -"Very well," Miguel said wearily. "In return for services to be -rendered, I do promise the hand of my ward, the Lady Narella, to Dale -Kesley of my vassalage." - -"When?" - -"Upon his return from the successful completion of his endeavors in my -behalf." - -"Said endeavors being?" Kesley prodded mercilessly. - -"The elimination of Duke Winslow of North America," Miguel said. "His -death by any means whatsoever." - -"All right," Kesley said. He glanced from Miguel to the Archbishop--who -seemed somewhat pale beneath his olive skin--to Narella. "Now that -terms have been stated, we can talk business. Miguel, what assurance do -I have that I'll get the girl when I come back?" - -"An Immortal is good to his word," the Duke said gruffly. "You have a -witness in the person of the Archbishop." - -"Surely you will not require the Duke to swear an oath?" Santana -exclaimed in a shocked voice. "My presence will certify--as if -certification were necessary--that--" - -"Enough, padre," Kesley said. There was nothing to be won by forcing -Miguel into an oath; he had already given his word as an Immortal, and -if he would break that, it was reasonable to suspect that no other oath -would bind him. - -He looked at the girl again. _Daveen's daughter_, he thought. He -wondered what tangled relationship of cause and effect had brought him -to this place at this time, and where van Alen, who had set the whole -chain of events in motion, was now. - -In a month's time Kesley had been transformed from an ignorant Iowa -farmer into a killer of Dukes and a wooer of noble ladies. It was -a strange progress, but it was hopeless, Kesley thought, to try to -account for the vagaries of fate. - -"Will you accept and enter my vassalage?" Miguel asked. - -Kesley met the Immortal's gaze squarely and this time, it seemed to -him, it was those dark, four-hundred-year-old eyes that gave ground -instead of his own. - -"I accept," he said. - -He forced himself to kneel and kiss the golden hem of Don Miguel's -jeweled cloak. - - - - - V - - -The ducal capital of Chicago sprawled in a lazy ring on the banks of -Lake Michigan, in Illinois Province. As Dale Kesley and his small -retinue waited outside the city's walls before requesting admission, -the thought occurred to him once again that the world's cities were -similar. As he looked at Chicago, it seemed to him that he might never -really have left Buenos Aires. - -Duke Winslow's palace, visible high in the background overlooking the -calm lake, might have been an exact replica of Don Miguel's, except -that its flat walls were hewn from broad slabs of flesh-red feldspar -instead of spun, as Miguel's were, from shimmering polyethylene. In the -stagnant, late-August air, the sun's rays hit the palace walls weakly, -giving them an oily glare that Kesley found displeasing. But still -he preferred the natural blockiness of the stone to the consistent -slickness of the plastic that formed the walls of Miguel's palace. -Polyethylene walls were the products of controlled hard radiation and, -controlled or no, Kesley, like all men, found the concept of radiation -repugnant. It jarred against ingrained taboos. - -His eye, becoming city-familiar now, began to detect other differences -between Winslow's capital and Miguel's. The guards posted in Chicago's -outer walls lacked the tense urgency of the small brown men who -protected Buenos Aires; they stared outward with a sleepy complacency -that seemed to characterize the entire city and possibly, Kesley -admitted, the entire North American Empire. Here in the north, there -was none of the crackling atmosphere of tension that seemed to prevail -in Buenos Aires. - -Kesley's horse, a firm-fleshed black thoroughbred of the Old Kind, -furnished by Miguel and transported with finicking care from South -America, pawed impatiently at the layer of fine ash that covered the -ground outside the city, and snorted. Kesley steadied the animal with -soothing pressures of his calves and thighs; the horse detected the -signals and subsided. - -"Shall we go in?" Kesley asked. - -"Why not?" came the reply from his left. Kesley glanced over at the -rider, Archbishop Santana. "We are here, and the time is proper," the -priest said. - -Kesley turned in the saddle to gesture at his six men. They rode behind -at a respectful distance, six well-muscled members of Miguel's guard, -resplendent in their imperial blue shorts and flashing yellow jackets. -Kesley urged his horse forward; Santana, a surprisingly good horseman -despite his unathletic physique, did the same, and the six guards -followed. They advanced to the wall. - -A toll-keeper waited there, a dried old man in Ducal uniform seated -beside an immense tollbox ornamented with Duke Winslow's arms. Kesley -reined in before him and drew out a jangling leather pouch. - -The toll-keeper's lips moved silently as he counted the party. "Eight -dollars," he said. - -"_Por cierto._" Kesley leaned far to the right and handed the man the -pouch. "Eight dollars of that is for toll, _amigo_." - -Frowning, the old man undid the drawstrings, emptying the contents of -the pouch into his wrinkled palm. Eight tiny golden dollars rolled out, -followed by a massive imperial doubloon of Miguel's coinage. A faint -blink was the only acknowledgement the toll-keeper showed; nodding -curtly, he dropped the eight dollars in the till, pocketed the doubloon -as if by divine right, and gestured casually within with a quick toss -of his head. - -As Kesley and his party proceeded through the heavy gate, Kesley -grinned quietly to himself. He wished van Alen could have seen the -strange metamorphosis of his one-time protege: here he was, clad -in the lustrous velvet robes of a Knight of the Empire of South -America, riding a full-blooded, spirited, Old-Kind horse instead of -a swaybacked, scaly old mutant, and distributing largesse with the -natural air of the high-born. - -He entered the city proper at a slow canter, the Archbishop at his -side, his men behind. The streets were crowded. Chicago, built on the -very ashes of the Old City of that name, was the largest city of Duke -Winslow's territories, home to some three hundred thousand souls. -Kesley saw eyes brighten at the sight of his magnificent horse; men -in the streets cleared back, giving way, as the South American party -entered. - -"We should find an inn first of all," the Archbishop advised. -"Tomorrow, you and I will try to seek audience with the Duke." - -Kesley shook his head. "We announce ourselves to the Duke at once; we -tell him we'll have an audience tomorrow. None of this begging for an -appointment." - -Santana shrugged. "As you wish, _Señor Ramon_." The sudden, hard, -sardonic inflection in the Archbishop's purring voice mocked the false -title Miguel had bestowed on Kesley for the purpose of the journey. - -Kesley rode silently on, brooding over his mission. He had agreed -lightly enough, back in Buenos Aires, to the assassination of Winslow, -but now that he actually was in Winslow's own capital, with the rosy -bulk of the Ducal Palace towering ahead, he wondered how he could have -acceded so casually to so dangerous and so terrible a mission. - -The looming palace ahead was the nerve-center of a continent, and one -man--_one man_--controlled the multitude of ganglia. The entire vast -spread of North America, from the dismal radiation-roasted Eastern -seaboard to the broad plains of the Middle-West farming country to the -open, relatively unscathed lands of the far West, depended for its -organization on Chicago and on Chicago's Duke. - -For the first time, Kesley realized the immensity of the confusion that -would result when he struck down Winslow. He had no motive for the -crime, either; it would be a sheerly gratuitous act, performed as a -gesture of disengagement and nothing more. - -But what could Miguel's motive in upsetting the balance of the world -possibly be? Surely, Kesley thought, the South American Duke knew what -would happen once Winslow was removed. The taut framework of North -American life would collapse inward on itself like a puffball that had -discharged its dusty cloud of spores. - -Who would profit? Miguel? Were assassins now drawing near the Ducal -Palaces of Stockholm, of Johannesburg, of Canberra, readying themselves -to rid the world of all Dukes but Miguel at one bold stroke? If so, -why? Did Miguel want the crushing responsibility of the entire globe's -governance strapped to his shoulders for all eternity? - -It seemed unlikely. Kesley thought of the Immortal's deep, weary eyes, -and of the moment of weakness when Miguel had let his heavy head sink -between his hands. No, Miguel had some other motive. - -Amusement, perhaps. - -Kesley nodded. That was it: amusement. Having long since exhausted the -pleasures of his power, having tasted everything human life had to -offer, the timeless man was searching desperately for a relief from -boredom. - -For that reason he had bared his chest to Kesley's knife and, perhaps, -he had not cared whether Kesley struck or not. For the same reason, he -had chosen Kesley at random to remove Winslow, to upset the balance, to -_change things_. - -Kesley shuddered. What a nightmare an Immortal's life must be, he -thought, once the first few centuries had passed. - - * * * * * - -Later, Kesley rode back from the palace with a little less lordliness -than he had had going forth. - -"That major-domo had nerve," he remarked mournfully, as the little -band of South Americans trotted through the broad palace approaches -toward the gate leading back into the city. "An appointment next week! -Who does Winslow think he is? And what does he think of Miguel, if he -treats his ambassadors this way?" - -"Peace, son," the Archbishop said. "Be philosophical. Duke Winslow is a -busy man and a proud one. I warned you this would happen." - -"But we're _ambassadors_!" - -"Exactly so. Had we been ragamuffins we would have had a better chance -of an immediate audience." Santana shook his head. "You fail to see -that Winslow is deliberately humbling us to stress his own superiority -over Miguel." - -"I hadn't thought of it that way," Kesley admitted. "Of course. He was -just telling us to stand outside and wait around until he was ready to -let us kiss the Ducal robe." - -"Precisely. And our course now is simple. We find lodging, and we allow -a week to pass. Then, Winslow will see us. And then, my friend, the -time will come for you to carry out our Duke's command." - -"I know." - -Kesley felt himself perspiring heavily beneath his ambassadorial -robes, and not entirely because of the humid air. He knew--and Santana -as well, evidently--that he had no plan for slaying Winslow. He was -counting on some random twitch of the Immortal's psychology to put the -Duke in his power. But would Winslow, as had Miguel, bare his chest -willingly to the blade? - -Probably not, Kesley thought balefully. From what he had already -deduced of the workings of the Immortal mind, it was hardly likely that -any two Dukes would share a behavioral pattern. And that left Kesley in -an awkward position. - -"A week is a long time," Kesley said, as they rode through the gates. -The double doors clanged shut behind them, sealing off Winslow's palace -from the city. "I'll be ready when the time comes, padre." - -"I hope so. I will pray for your soul," the priest intoned. - -"Fine," Kesley said savagely. "Pray for me sincerely, father. _Pater -noster_--" - -"Don't mock what you don't understand," Santana said. He crossed -himself fervently. "Your soul is in danger, _Señor_ Ramon." - -"_My_ soul? What about yours, you old windbag?" - -Santana squirmed in the saddle, faced Kesley. The plump priest's sad -eyes gazed mournfully into Kesley's. "My soul?" Santana repeated. "My -soul is long since forfeit, but I pray constantly for my salvation." - -Kesley reddened. "What do you mean by--" - -He cut himself off in mid-sentence and pointed to the left. "What's -_that_?" he asked hoarsely. "Mutant?" - -"Yes," the Archbishop said. "There are many of them in Chicago. I think -he plans to make trouble; be ready to defend yourself." - -The creature was coming toward them out of a jumble of -clumsily-thatched huts strung in a wobbly circle around a gullied heap -of slag at the extreme left side of the road. It was tall--nearly seven -feet, Kesley estimated--with elongated spidery limbs and a bloated, -almost hydrocephaloid skull, devoid of hair. The mutant wore only a -rag twisted carelessly about its middle; the body thus revealed was -grotesquely piebald in color, blotched and spotted, the purpling skin -lying loosely and peeling away in great leprous flakes. - -Kesley had seen mutants before: mutant horses, mutant wolves, other -products of ravaged genes, but he had never before been this close to -a _human_ sport, other than Miguel. Miguel was human in all physical -aspects save his life span; the creature shambling toward them now -could be called "human" only by the loosest of definitions. - -As the mutant approached, a musty odor of decay drifted before him. -Kesley shuddered involuntarily. - -Once, he knew, the cities of the world had been populated by almost as -many mutants as normals. That had been in the days immediately after -the great blast, before the Dukes had taken command of the world. - -But most of these mutants had been sterile, carrying, like the Dukes, -lethal genes. Others carried recessive characteristics only. Gradually, -through the centuries, the mutant population had died out and dwindled -away into scattered groups here and there in the biggest cities--and, -word was, there was one city somewhere in Illinois populated only by -mutants. - -This one was blind, Kesley saw now, but it moved with unerring accuracy. - -"Archbishop Santana!" the creature called, in a hoarse croak of a -voice. "Wait for me, Archbishop!" - -"How does he know you?" Kesley asked. - -"Some of them have strange powers," Santana whispered. He nervously -undid the crucifix that hung from the breast of his surplice and held -it before him, as if to ward off the Devil. - -The mutant merely chuckled. "Put away your toy, Archbishop. I don't -frighten so easily." - -"Stay back," Kesley snapped. "Keep away from us." To Santana he said, -"Let's get out of here. Spur your horse and let's go. - -"No. Let's hear him out." - -The mutant stationed himself directly in their path and pointed a -twisted, lumpy forefinger at Santana. "Behold the man of God," he -croaked hoarsely. "_Ecce homo!_" - -"What do you want?" the Archbishop demanded. Kesley saw that Santana -was sheet-white beneath his outward duskiness. - -"I want nothing. I merely came out here to laugh at the Archbishop of -God who has come to Chicago on a mission of _murder_!" - -Kesley stiffened in the saddle, but Santana caught his arm just as he -was about to go for his gun. "What is this talk of murder?" Santana -demanded. - -Late afternoon clouds were dropping over the city now, and a cool wind -came sweeping in from the lake. Kesley shivered as the mutant grinned, -baring scraggly stumps of yellow teeth. - -"Murder? Did I say murder? But there will be no murder, milord. Merely -betrayal--and betrayal again." - - * * * * * - -That night, in the rooms they had taken near the city's central -marketplace, the image of the mutant haunted Kesley, imposing itself -before his eyes with demonic insistence. - -Betrayal? No murder? The paradoxes and cloaked ambiguities the -grotesque creature had uttered ground into Kesley's already sensitive -consciousness, bringing with them the sharp image of the piebald spider -of a man that was the mutant. - -Kesley looked across the room to Santana. The plump Archbishop, having -divested himself of his traveling costume, wore a loose cassock without -surplice. He was thumbing the pages of his breviary, flicking rapidly -over matter long since committed to memory. - -"Padre?" - -"Eh?" - -"That mutant this afternoon--" - -"Don't speak of him," Santana said. - -"But he bothers me, Santana. I can't get him out of my mind, him or -that crazy nonsense he was muttering." - -"That was not nonsense," the Archbishop said in a hollow voice. "He -struck at the heart, that man." - -"I don't understand." - -"You yourself made the same comment earlier, when you remarked that -I, a man of God, am with you to participate in this unholy mission. -Why, you ask. You asked me if I were not risking my immortal soul by -accompanying you." - -"And you said--" - -"I said that I had little to risk. Strange words, coming from an -Archbishop, but my soul is long since forfeit. God works in strange -ways, and so his servants follow." - -"You're still talking in riddles," Kesley complained. "Why did you come -along, then, if you knew it would damn you?" - -"I am _already_ damned for serving Miguel!" Santana cried. His doughy -face was taut with sudden animation. "Don't you see that Miguel and his -Dukes have overthrown Rome, have supplanted Christ with themselves? And -we continue to serve them, not because we desire it, but because we -must!" - -Kesley frowned. A light of torment, almost of martyrdom, gleamed in the -Archbishop's eyes now. - -"What difference does it make," Santana asked, "if I help you kill -Winslow? I cannot be any more damned than I am already--and possibly, -possibly the consequences of your act will--will--do you see?" - -"Killing Winslow will topple the whole apple cart," Kesley said softly. -"You're gambling an already assured damnation against the chance that -knocking off one Duke will crush all the rest and restore your religion -to supremacy." He chuckled quietly. "I sometimes wonder just _whose_ -catspaw I am," he said. - -"Everyone's," the priest remarked. "Poor pawn, you've fallen fair of -everyone's scheming." - -The priest continued to read for a while, then uttered a brief prayer -in rapid Spanish--perhaps it was even Latin, Kesley thought--and blew -out his candle. Kesley closed his eyes and tried to sleep. - -Sleep would not come. Brooding, he rolled and fidgeted, seeing over and -over again the loose-jointed, hideous figure of the mutant. - - - - - VI - - -"I'll be back later," Kesley said in the morning. His eyes stung as if -they had been sandpapered during the long, sleepless night; his lips -were dry and cracking, and the oppressive city heat hung around him -like the caress of a giant velvet glove, smothering without actually -touching. - -"Where are you going?" Santana asked, not looking up. It was a -mechanical question asked out of mere courtesy, and Kesley ignored it. - -"Saddle my horse," he told one of the men. "I won't need any of you to -go with me." - -The morning air was already steaming as he rode out into the city. -The market was crowded with sleepy-eyed Chicagoans haggling for the -fruit and vegetables that had been brought in while they slept. Kesley -traversed the marketplace in a wide circuit and struck out along the -broad cobbled road that led to Duke Winslow's palace. - -About halfway there, he cut sharply and veered to the right, guiding -his horse down a steep hill and off onto a narrow, red-brown unpaved -road. Looking ahead, he could see his destination: the impossibly -untidy bramble of shanties that was the ghetto of the mutants. - -Even at this distance, he could see bizarre creatures moving idly back -and forth down below, wandering from porch to porch in the isolated -colony. He whitened at the sight of some of them. - -There was one round, orange, doughy mass of a man that looked like some -sort of giant fruit, except for the enlarged features and the tiny, -stick-like legs and arms that projected from it; nearby, walking in -confused circles, was a mutant with a pair of dissimilar writhing heads -and an uncountable number of busy legs. - -Lazy curlicues of smoke hung wavering in the air above the shacks. -Kesley looked around. - -_Great God_, he thought suddenly. _They're people!_ - -He rode down into the ghetto, feeling ashamed of his own bodily -symmetry and genetic heritage, which seemed abnormal here. He, alone, -of all the human beings within a half-mile radius, was untainted, and -the thought made him feel strangely humble. - -"Who is it you want?" a man asked. _The toll-keeper_, Kesley thought -with sudden weird irony. - -The "man" facing him was more nearly human than most; only a blob of -flesh dangling from his forehead and a wattled reddish dewlap swinging -pendulously below his chin qualified him for the ghetto. Kesley forced -himself to stare rigidly over the man's shoulder while he replied. - -"I'm looking for ... I don't know his name. He's tall, very tall, -and--" He broke off, overwhelmed by self-conscious guilt, unable to -recite the catalogue of one mutant's alienness to another. - -"Go ahead," the mutant said with surprising warmth. "Tell me what he -looks like and I'll see if I can find him. I'm not offended." - -Kesley licked his lips and proceeded to describe the man he sought as -vividly as possible. When he was through, the mutant nodded. - -"You look for Lomark Dawnspear, friend. Has he wronged you?" - -"No," Kesley said hastily, beginning to wish he had never come. "I just -want to talk to him." - -"Wait here. I'll try to bring him to you." - -Kesley waited. The mutant vanished in the confusing tangle of -closely-packed shacks. - -In the midst of this poverty and genetic horror, Kesley held himself -perfectly still, hoping not to call to himself the attention of some -unfortunate who might be jealous of his fine clothes or unscrambled -chromosomes. But no one approached him. The mutants held their -distance, eyeing him with unashamed curiosity from the cramped porches -of their huts. - -It was a panorama of total ghastliness. Kesley could see now where the -horror with which men regarded the Old Days had arisen: the people -here were living reminders of the crime of the Old World--a crime, -Kesley thought, whose consequences were visited upon the tenth and the -twentieth generations. - -"You seek me?" a harsh voice said. - -Kesley snapped to attention and saw the hoarse-voiced Jeremiah of the -streets approaching him, escorted by the dewlapped one. Kesley nodded; -this was the man. In such profusion of mutation, there would hardly be -two so marked. - -"Do you remember who I am?" Kesley asked. - -The mutant chuckled. "Could I forget? You're the young killer from the -southlands, up here to do away with--but hush! I must not give it away!" - -Kesley gripped the mutant by the baggy folds of flesh that hung loosely -on one spidery arm. "How do you know anything of who I am?" - -The mutant shrugged. "How could I keep from knowing?" His voice was -mild and apologetic now, with little of its earlier raucous quality. "I -can no more keep from knowing, than you--than you can keep from needing -food, or seeing when your eyes are open. I ... _know_." - -"How much do you know?" - -"Why you are here, and where you are from ... and where you will go, -and what you will become." Lomark Dawnspear's voice had modulated into -a dull, almost ritualistic drone. "I see these things, and I do not -speak. I speak, but you do not see. Blind, I know you. Eyes open, you -march into treachery." - -Kesley released the mutant and stepped back. He was shaking with inward -horror; his empty stomach seemed to be squirming. "What are you talking -about?" - -The mutant smiled feebly. "Counter-question: who is your father, -handsome blond man?" - -"My father? I--" - -"You do not know?" - -"All right--I don't know. Do you?" - -"How could I not know? Can the maggot restrain its hunger? Can the -Earth forget its orbit?" - -"You know, but you're not talking. Is that it?" - -Dawnspear shrugged again. "You would not want me to tell you," he said -softly. "I see that, too." - -"All right," Kesley said, irritated. "Forget all about that. Give me -some other answers." - -"If I can." - -"The man named van Alen--is he dead?" - -"No." - -"Where is he?" - -"In his home. Antarctica." - -"It was true, then," Kesley said. He stared into the mutant's dead -eyes. "Who is he?" - -"A noble of the Antarctican land," Lomark Dawnspear said. "Forget van -Alen. Watch Miguel ... and Winslow. Watch everyone, youngster. Watch -Santana, the greasy prelate. Watch me. Watch the fool stealing up -behind you this very minute." - -"The oldest trick in the world," Kesley said skeptically. But he felt -a sudden cold sensation between his shoulder-blades, and whirled -quickly. Another mutant stood there, a wide, slablike thing with four -arms pivoting off jointed shoulders. One of its thick-fingered hands -clutched a rock, jagged and heavy. - -Moving instinctively Kesley grasped the arm holding the rock and -yanked it down, smashing a fist into the broad creature's stomach at -the same time. The rock thudded to the ground; the four arms windmilled -aimlessly for a moment or two, and then the mutant backed off mumbling -stertorous, incomprehensible curses. - -"You'd better leave," Lomark Dawnspear said. "Some of the slower ones -are beginning to realize you're here. They're likely to make things -dangerous for you." - -"But you haven't told me a thing," Kesley said. - -"The answers lie ahead of you ... the answers and the questions. Now -go." - -Scowling, Kesley drew his robe tighter around his sweating body and -remounted his horse. The mutant ghetto seemed like a nightmare world, -shifting in and out of reality almost at random, blurring into dream -and then focusing sharply on hideous actuality. Without looking back, -he spurred his animal and rode hastily out of the valley. - - * * * * * - -Somehow, the long week passed, and somehow Kesley endured it. Each -day brought him closer to the audience with Winslow, when he would be -called upon to act as assassin. - -And he still had not a shred of plan. - -Kesley's imagination had throbbed in constant feverish play all week, -picturing and re-picturing the scene. Winslow--what did he look like? -Suave and bearded, with dark tired eyes like Miguel's? Thin, pallid? -Bloated? - -It didn't matter. There was _a_ Winslow on the throne, faceless and -personalityless, and surrounding him were blurred shadows of courtiers: -a priest perhaps, a few generals in formal armor, men like that. Kesley -saw himself kneeling in the Duke's long hall, rising to advance on -nerveless legs to the throne-- - -Plunging a knife into the Ducal bosom. - -Firing an echoing pistol shot as he rose from obeisance. - -Leaping forward and throttling Winslow on the throne. - -Actually, he knew, it would not be that way. A Duke had an eternity to -lose at an assassin's hands, and would be expected to surround himself -with protection. No one, not even Miguel, would place himself at the -mercy of anyone begging audience simply for the sake of "amusement." -There were too many years to be lost. - -Yet Kesley's active mind continued to develop a multitude of -alternative methods for the killing, and always the picture ended with -the moment of death. He found himself unable to project the action past -the actual assassination; the sequel escaped his mind completely. - -Seven days passed and, on the eighth, Kesley and Duke Winslow were to -come face to face. - -On the morning of the final day, Kesley rose early. Sleep had been -intermittent during the just-ended night, and he left his quarters -wearily shortly after dawn. On foot, he wandered through the awakening -city, in full regalia. - -By now it was generally known that ambassadors from Miguel's court -had been in Chicago for the past week, and he drew uneasy stares from -the curious early risers. He walked on, down one cobbled street after -another, smelling the early morning smells of fresh air and the fresh -food offered in the stalls. - -The bright sunlight was glinting off Winslow's palace, sending down -showers of scattered light. _Winslow is awakening now_, Kesley thought. -_For his last morning. After four centuries he's come to his final day._ - -Suddenly hungry, Kesley turned into a food shop that appeared a few -feet away. - -"Good morning," the proprietor said unctuously. - -Kesley swung himself down into a booth without replying. After a -moment, he looked up. "Coffee," he said. - -"Certainly, _señor_." - -The white-uniformed counterman seemed delighted to be serving one of -the South Americans. He bustled out officiously from behind the counter -and put the cup before Kesley. - -He tasted the coffee. The synthetic beverage was tepid, slightly oily. -Nevertheless, he forced himself to finish it, then sat broodingly in -the booth staring at the gray film of dinginess that overlay the empty -cup. - -"Something else maybe, _señor_?" - -"No--nothing," Kesley said. "I'm not very hungry." - -"Too bad, _señor_. Has the trip north disturbed your appetite? The food -you're accustomed to--" - -_Damned chatterbox_, Kesley thought, irritated. - -"My appetite is fine." He dropped a coin ringingly on the counter and -walked out, into the warm, stale morning air. - -Glancing around tensely, he let his hand slip to the hilt of his -dagger. He caressed it absently for a moment, scowling. The minutes -were crawling by like snails; the audience with Winslow would _never_ -come. - -Dispiritedly, he turned his steps back toward the hotel. The desk-clerk -looked up idly as he entered. - -"_Señor?_" - -"What is it?" Kesley snapped. - -"The man from Duke Miguel--have you seen him?" - -"What man?" Kesley asked, puzzled. - -"He arrived while you were out--a small man with a heavy mustache. His -horse was nearly dead; he must have come in a great hurry." - -Kesley frowned. He was expecting no one from Miguel. Hope flashed -brightly: perhaps it was a last-minute reprieve for Winslow, and -thus for Kesley. Perhaps, he thought, it was a cancellation of the -assassination order! - -"Where is he?" Kesley asked hurriedly. - -The desk-clerk jerked his head upward. "He went upstairs. Oh, about ten -minutes ago. I guess he's still there." - -"_Gracias_," Kesley said. With sudden excitement he dashed up the -stairs, threw open the door, and looked around. - -No one was in the outer room of the suite. From within came no -sound--not even the usual boisterous horseplay of his men. Cautiously, -Kesley opened the inner door. Within, he saw Santana huddling over his -breviary in his usual chair. - -"Santana?" - -There was no reply. - -"Padre?" - -The priest appeared to be totally absorbed in his reading. Annoyed, -Kesley crossed the room and grabbed Santana roughly by the shoulder. -The plump Archbishop spun limply, sagging backward as Kesley touched -him, and dropped heavily from the chair. - -Kesley paled. The red velvet of the Archbishop's robes was stained -with a deeper red, already turning a crumbling brown. A knife had been -thrust through the folds of fat that covered the priest's heart, and -had found its mark. Santana had attained the martyrdom he coveted. - -"Feliz! Domingo!" Kesley shouted. His voice sounded harsh, dry. "Luis! -Where are you?" - -He strode to the adjoining door and threw it open--and his men, as if -they had been held back by a spillway, came pouring forth. - -All six rushed out and, Kesley saw, there was a seventh with them, a -small dark man who was apparently the courier from Miguel's court. -Kesley leaped back and had his pistol and knife out almost before his -mind was aware that he was under attack. - -The gun barked. One man fell. The courier leaped forward, knife-blade -high; Kesley sidestepped and ripped through the flesh of the man's back -with a fierce downstroke. Turning quickly, he kicked a third man in the -stomach, and backed toward the door. - -They had no guns, but they outnumbered him six to one. Tossing his -mantle to one side for greater freedom, Kesley chopped downward with -the knife and drew blood again, while one of the grooms sidled toward -him and slit his arm shallowly with a rapid lick of his blade. Kesley -fired again, and the man fell. - -Then he managed to bull out the door and down the stairs, with the five -remaining South Americans thundering after him. At the first landing -he paused to fire; a body tumbled toward him, and he caught the small -man and wedged him crossways in the stairwell just as the other four -approached. Kesley ducked as a thrown knife whizzed past his ear, and -kept running. - -He dashed out past the astounded clerk and into the courtyard. The -hotel's ostler, a tall, bony old man with walrus mustaches, was -puttering around Kesley's horse, rubbing it down with the tenderness a -skilled groom would devote to a choice animal. - -"Get out of the way, you idiot!" Kesley yelled as he entered the court. -Bewildered, the old man looked up, smiling mildly. - -"Your horse is not yet curried, sir, and--" - -"Out of the _way_!" - -Kesley shoved the oldster to one side just as the four swarthy -assassins swept into the courtyard and swarmed toward him. The old man -tottered and took a couple of staggering steps that led him straight -into the path of the South Americans; Kesley, mounting the horse, -winced sympathetically as they collided with him and threw him roughly -to the ground. - -But the delay allowed Kesley to mount his animal and, even without -spurs, he was able to bring the horse under quick control. He wheeled -it toward the onrushing assassins. The magnificent beast whinnied and -plunged forward. - -Surprised, the South Americans yielded before this frontal attack; -one aimed a knife blow at the horse's flank, but Kesley's boot caught -the man's face and sent him reeling away. Kesley charged through the -straggling, disarrayed South Americans and out of the courtyard into -the main thoroughfare. - -He rode three or four blocks, then pulled up, gasping for breath, and -guided the horse into a side-street for a moment. For the first time in -the last six minutes, he had a chance to evaluate the situation: - -Point: Santana was dead. - -Point: his six men had turned against him, and only their stupidity and -his agility had kept Kesley from sharing the Archbishop's fate. - -Point: someone had arrived from Miguel's court shortly before. - -Therefore, Miguel had changed his mind and had ordered the -assassinations of Santana and Kesley. Or _had_ Miguel changed his mind? -Perhaps this entire expedition had been a complicated way of wiping out -a troublesome Archbishop? - -Kesley's fingers quivered. Anything was possible--_anything_--when -dealing with immortals. - -"_Betrayal and betrayal again_," the mutant Lomark Dawnspear had -prophesied. And the mutant had been right. - -For one reason or another--or perhaps none at all, Kesley thought -coldly--Miguel had betrayed him. - -And the counter-betrayal? Kesley smiled. Fifteen minutes ago he had -been steeling himself for the work of assassinating Duke Winslow. -Now he would, rather, swear allegiance to him. The decision was made -quickly, for Kesley saw it was the only path open to him. - -He rode out of the shadows and onto the main stem again, moving -cautiously as if expecting to see the four small Argentinians charging -madly out of nowhere toward him. But they were not to be seen; the -street was crowded with Chicagoans going about their morning business, -and a sickly aura of heat was starting to descend as the August day -edged toward noon. - -Clamping together his tattered sleeve over his flesh-wound, Kesley -rode out and toward a mounted policeman who sat stiff and proud in his -green-and-gold uniform, looking down on the pedestrians. - -"Officer?" - -"Yes, _señor_?" - -The title pleased Kesley; that meant he had been recognized. "There's -been a disturbance down at my inn. My men were drinking, apparently. -They've assassinated His Holiness, and attempted to kill me when I -returned from my morning walk." - -"How many are there?" - -"I killed three in escaping. There are four left still at large down -there." - -The policeman drew a whistle and uttered a brief, sub-sonic blast. -Almost instantly, a second mounted man rode up, and at his request -Kesley repeated the story word for word. - -"I'll go down there," the first officer said. - -Kesley turned to the other. "Would you conduct me to the Palace? I -feel I should seek sanctuary with the Duke until affairs are more -stable." - -"Of course." - -Together they rode down the winding road that led to Winslow's Palace. -The policeman was a man of few words; once, he asked if Kesley had any -idea why he had been attacked. Kesley shrugged without replying. - -For the first time, Winslow's rosy palace seemed to Kesley a place of -refuge rather than the place where he undoubtedly would meet his death. -He smiled grimly. Assassins had become assassins' victims; the wheels -had turned, and the positions on the board had altered. For Santana, -it had been check and mate; Kesley had escaped, through no fault of -Miguel's. - -But what if Miguel's messenger had come too late? Suppose Kesley had -already seen and killed Winslow? Kesley frowned; it was impossible to -divine just what Miguel's real motive was. But now there would be no -more dealings with Don Miguel. - -A phantom thought struck him, and his lips curled upward. What if -Winslow were to engage him in similar service and send him back to -assassinate _Miguel_? - -It was possible. Anything was possible, Kesley thought dismally. -Anything was possible at all, in this chess game with all moves masked. - -They drew near the palace. As usual, the guard at the gate inquired -what business Kesley had within. - -"I have an audience with the Duke," Kesley told him. - -With great punctiliousness, the gateman disappeared into his tower and -returned clutching a lengthy appointment sheet. - -"The audience is at two," Kesley said impatiently, as the gateman's -eyes wandered all over the sheet. - -"Indeed so," the guard replied after a moment. "And I believe it's no -more than ten now. Duke Winslow will see you in four hours, no sooner, -_señor_." - -Kesley wiped away sweat and fought down an impulse to cut the guardsman -down with an impatient blow of his dagger. "It's an emergency. Tell the -Duke that. Tell him that the Archbishop's been assassinated, and that -I must see the Duke now!" - -A flicker of interest crossed the guard's eyes. "I'll tell him that. -Wait here." - -Ten minutes later the guard returned. "Go in," he said laconically. - -"You need me any more?" asked the policeman at Kesley's side. - -"No--thanks, you've been very helpful." He handed the man a coin; as an -afterthought, he gave one to the gatekeeper as well, and entered. - -A _déjà vu_ emotion filtered through him at the sight of the interior -of Winslow's Palace grounds. There was the same broad courtyard as at -Miguel's, the same distant entrance. This time, though, a cold-faced -man in Imperial uniform was waiting for him. - -"I'm here to see the Duke," Kesley said. - -The guard nodded. "Certainly. Duke Winslow will see you at once, -_señor_. Please follow me." - -Kesley followed. The great inner doors swung open, revealing a -brightly-lit throne room on the ground floor. A row of unblinking -retainers with halberds lined the room; there must have been -twenty-five on each side, Kesley thought. His throat parched at the -thought of the task he would have faced trying to escape from this room -after assassinating Winslow. - -On a raised dais at the far end, beneath an immense figured shield and -between two dark columns of glossy, grained onyx, sat a man who could -only have been Duke Winslow. For the first time in his life, Kesley -approached the man who ruled all of North America--the man whose life -he had, not so long ago, pledged to take. - - - - - VII - - -Winslow had none of Miguel's crisp, compact muscularity, Kesley saw, as -he hesitantly approached the throne. North America's Duke sprawled as -massively across his gleaming white metal throne as the broad continent -he ruled did across its hemisphere; he was an enormous, ponderous, -obese man. Winslow's sobbing intake of breath was plainly audible even -at the distance Kesley maintained. - -"Your Highness," he said, and knelt. - -"Rise," Winslow ordered. His voice, like Miguel's, was deep, but -Winslow's voice had a soft, throaty liquidity to it that was most -unlike Miguel's compelling boom. - -Kesley rose and faced Winslow squarely. The Duke's features were -blurred and indistinct, misshapen by the billowing puffs of fat that -sagged from his cheeks. He wore a thin fringe of golden-red beard which -screened a thick, many-chinned throat. - -"Our audience was scheduled for this afternoon," Kesley said, since -Winslow was evidently waiting for him to speak. "However, a change of -schedule was made necessary by--" - -"I have heard," the Duke murmured lazily. "News travels swiftly here, -sir. The Archbishop lies dead in an inn, is that it?" - -"Dead at the hand of his own servants, Duke Winslow. Betrayed." - -"Indeed?" The sleepy eyes of the gross-bodied Duke stirred; Kesley -observed that behind the outward facade of sloth lay the nervous -reflexes of a cat-keen intellect. "Betrayed? And by whom, _señor_?" - -Kesley glanced uneasily around the room. "May we be alone, Duke -Winslow?" - -Chuckling, the Duke said: "Certainly not. My life is much too important -to me, young one. But you can speak freely here; the word of my court -is sacred." - -"Very well, then. I'll begin at the beginning." Drawing a deep breath, -he said, "I was sent here to assassinate you." - -Around Winslow, courtiers paled and reached for their weapons at -Kesley's flat admission, but Winslow himself showed no reaction -whatever. It was infuriating to see the slow smile finally spread over -his face. "How unfriendly," he observed at last. - -"I had no intentions of actually carrying it out, of course." - -"Of course." With biting sarcasm. - -"I accepted the order in an attempt to free myself of Don Miguel's -power. I had every intention of swearing allegiance to you, and--" - -It seemed to Kesley that some ugly thought had passed at that moment -through Winslow's mind and, disconcerted, he halted. Then, recovering, -he continued: "On the other hand, Archbishop Santana came here with the -definite intent of doing away with you. - -"However, this morning a courier arrived from Miguel, instructing our -retinue to set upon us and kill us." - -"A noteworthy aim," Winslow said. "One which, I take it, was only -partially accomplished." - -"Yes." - -"Why are you telling me all this?" - -"I want to expose Miguel's treachery. I want to make everything clear -to you, show you what's been going on." Kesley spoke with desperate -sincerity now. - -Winslow laughed suddenly, his entire body quivering. "This is very -funny," he said, when he had subsided. "Miguel sending men here to -assassinate me--and then having his own assassins assassinated!" He -narrowed his eyes and peered curiously at Kesley. "Why do you suppose -he would do a thing like that?" he asked. - -Kesley moistened cracking lips. "It is not for me to understand the -ways of Dukes, Sire." - -"I hardly expect it of you." - -"Then--" - -"You wish to enter my service?" Winslow asked. "It is strange that a -former assassin would beg me to gather him to my capacious bosom. It is -an amusing idea." - -Suddenly Kesley felt like an insect being toyed with before having -its wings plucked. Dizzily he glanced at the long rows of halberdiers -standing like carven images, at the wax-faced courtiers grouped about -Winslow's throne, and for a bewildering instant he thought that this -was all some kind of dream from which he would soon wake and find -himself back behind the plough, awaiting Tina's call to lunch. - -"I never intended to strike a blow against you, Sire," Kesley lied -humbly. "You believe that, don't you?" - -"Of course I do," Winslow said gently, and without any trace of -sarcasm. "Perhaps that's why Don Miguel decided to blot you out. -However," he said, sighing, "I'm afraid you represent as great a threat -to the Twelve Empires as has ever been born, my young friend." - -He gestured to a hawk-faced man in somber robes standing to his left. -"Lovelette, take this man and convey him to the dungeons. Tomorrow, -he's to be executed. Is that clear?" - -"Certainly, Sire." - -It had happened so quickly that Kesley did not fully understand it. One -moment he had been on dangerously thin ice but managing to keep aloft; -the next, he had plunged through into utter cold. - -He felt thin fingers bite into his bicep, and a low voice say, "Come -with me." - -Two halberdiers advanced mechanically and took their posts at either -side of him. Numb, he allowed himself to be marched away from Winslow's -presence, with an infinite series of maddening _whys_ screaming at him -all down the long hall. - -Why this sudden reversal on Winslow's part? Why the execution order? -This, not Kesley's switch of allegiance, was obviously the "_betrayal -again_" Lomark Dawnspear had foretold. - -As Kesley was led from the Ducal presence, he heard Winslow's sardonic -chuckling coming from behind. Tomorrow, he thought bleakly, it would be -the headsman who would chuckle. - -He had changed his coat once too often. Going to Winslow had proved a -fatal move. - -Kesley resolved that if he ever escaped from Winslow he would stay as -far as he could from all the Dukes. Life was hard enough without making -one's self subject to the caprices of life-jaded Immortals. - -But, as the dark corridor leading to the dungeon opened out before -him, he saw clearly that there was little chance of an escape this time. - - * * * * * - -During the rest of the day and the long night that followed, Kesley, -alone in the darkness, had plenty of time to think. - -He was in complete isolation, somewhere in the depths of Winslow's -palace. He had been thrust in; microrelays had clicked, and a heavy -metal door had whirred creakingly closed. Air came filtering in from -a dimly-visible grid in the ceiling, twelve feet above. There was no -furniture in the cell, not even a cot. He could stand, or he could lie. - -He stood for a while, pacing the length and breadth of the cell until -that palled, and then he stretched out full length to wait for morning. -There was no point wasting energy in fruitless escape tries; he had -determined very quickly that his cell was proof to any attempts. - -One dull gray thought flickered monotonously through his consciousness: -tomorrow his life would end. That wasn't so bad, he thought; everyone -dies--everyone but the Twelve. What hurt more was the rasping -realization that he had never really lived at all. - -What had he done, in the twenty-four years he'd had? Twenty of them -were blank, cloaked by darkness more complete than the inkiness that -surrounded him in the cell. He had lived and farmed in Kansas, he told -people, but he knew it was false, and van Alen, whoever _he_ had been, -had known it was false. - -Van Alen had confronted him with the naked lie he had been living, and -it had hurt. Probing the past caused pain. All right. Blot out twenty -years, begin life four years ago, ignore the mystery that cried to be -solved. - -_What kind of world is this_, he asked himself, _where you never start -to live?_ - -He had never known the rules. He never knew who made the moves, who -played the game. Unseeingly, he had shunted from one pattern of action -to another, without ever understanding the world he was in. It was -ironic. A world carefully tailored for simplicity, a world scrupulously -designed by its proprietors to avoid the complexity that had destroyed -the previous civilization--and here he, after twenty-four years, was -going to his death uncomprehendingly. - -Something was terribly wrong with a world like that, Kesley thought. -Perhaps its goals had been good, once. But as the Immortals had moved -timelessly on through the years, they had grown remote from the charts -and maps of society, and begun to play some inscrutable, unfathomable -game of their own. - -"It isn't fair!" he said out loud. His protesting voice echoed weirdly -in the confines of the cell, bounced back grotesquely from the metal -walls. He knew that if there were a light in the cell he would be able -to see his own distorted image on their shining surfaces. It would be a -mocking clown-face, laughing at him for his own ignorance. - -But there was no light. There was only darkness, and the silence of -solitude. - -And then, after hours passed, there came the faint humming sound of -relays clicking in the massive door. - -_Morning already?_ Kesley wondered. - -Time had passed; he knew that. But so much time? Was so little left? - -The door was undeniably swinging open. - -He had remained alone for almost a day and a night, and had returned no -answers to his many questions. Shrugging, he waited for the Duke's men -to take him away. _Maybe there aren't any answers_, he thought dismally. - -He heard soft padding footsteps in his cell, and felt a cool hand grasp -his. - -"Stand up," a whispered voice said. - -Wondering, Kesley pushed himself up from the floor. "You're not the -headsman," he said. - -"No. The headsman waits for morning." - -"Isn't it morning yet?" - -"The hour is four," the strangely familiar voice whispered. "The Palace -lies asleep." - -Dimly, Kesley realized that this was some sort of impossible -rescue--unless, that is, it was another hoax. Frowning into the -impenetrable darkness, he said: "Who are you?" - -There was no answer. But gradually a faint glow enveloped the cell, -flickered warmly for a bare instant and died away. - -"Dawnspear!" - -"Speak quietly, friend. It was not easy persuading the guards to sleep." - -Kesley rubbed his eyes, tried to peer into the darkness. The momentary -glow of light had revealed the bizarre, piebald mutant towering above -him. Cautiously, Kesley extended his hand and felt the rough, cool skin -of the mutant's bare chest as if to confirm his vision. - -"What are you doing here, Dawnspear?" - -"There are those who would not have you die," the mutant replied. -"Winslow and Miguel know you. Two Dukes are in league to take your -life, now. They can be dangerous enemies. Come." - -Dawnspear grasped Kesley's hand firmly and guided him forward. As they -passed through the open door of the cell, the metal began to swing shut -again. Kesley heard a faint clang as the cell closed. - -Outside, in the dim light of the dungeons, Kesley made out sleeping -forms lying here and there, slumped over their weapons. Guards. - -"Did you drug them?" he asked. - -"They were very sleepy," Dawnspear said ambiguously. "We must hurry, -now." - -They glided through the dungeon together, the man and the mutant. -Kesley walked on tiptoe, moving delicately as if he were walking on -the fragile surface of a dream; at any moment he expected Dawnspear to -vanish and the entire illusion to drift into nothingness. - -But then he smelled fresh air instead of dungeon mustiness, and he knew -he was free. - -"The gate is open down there," Dawnspear said, pointing. "The guards -are lost in slumber." - -Together they crossed the palace grounds and passed through the -gate. Kesley turned to the gaunt figure of the mutant to demand some -explanation, but Dawnspear had released his hand and was pointing -toward the distance. - -"Within a minute they will all be awake. You will be missed. Flee now, -while you have the chance." - -"Wait a second! How did--why--?" - -Kesley's whispers died away impotently. Dawnspear had slipped away -silently into the night. "_Dawnspear!_" he called harshly. There was no -reply. - -_There never are any answers when you call_, Kesley thought sourly. He -wheeled, looked back at the sleeping Palace. Lights were beginning to -flicker on here and there; the mutant's influence had ended, and the -sleepers were waking. - -He was free to fly. Once again, he was his own master, bound to no one. - -The guards stirred within the walls. He could imagine their dismay when -they found him gone. Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, he edged -off into the night. - -A horse, first. Then, out the walls some way or other, and to freedom. - -Both Winslow and Miguel would be hunting him, why, he could not say. -But both his fealties stood revoked; his Dukes sought his life. - -Well enough, Kesley thought. He had no debts to either Miguel or -Winslow. Once again he stood alone. Where to, now? - -He thought of Narella, in Buenos Aires. She would be waiting for him to -come back--or was she, too, only part of Miguel's scheming. He didn't -want to believe that. - -Van Alen had told him he belonged in Antarctica. Suddenly the image of -the mysterious continent rose in his mind. He saw a vast wall. Nothing -more was visible. - -It took only a moment to frame a resolution. Find Daveen. Find Narella. - -_And then_, he thought, _to Antarctica. To Antarctica!_ - - - - - VIII - - -The sleep-wrapped city was dark and silent. Kesley raced down the -quiet streets, cutting laterally once to avoid the yellow glare of a -wandering patrolman's swinging sodium lamp. - -He knew he had to move quickly. The city's gates would, of course, -be barred, and he had no desire to try the lakefront way of leaving -Chicago. He was no swimmer, and the lake, unguarded though it was, -seemed endless. There was only one way out. - -Pulling his richly-brocaded cloak around him, he looked ahead for some -sign of the night patrolman who had just passed. Finally he found him, -far down the opposite street, swinging his lamp as he made his routine -rounds. - -Cautiously, Kesley began to advance. - -The watchman's broad back was turned; a heavy truncheon hung at his -side, and the butt of a pistol gleamed in a holster. His lamp cast long -shadows down the empty street. - -Kesley sidled up behind him and clubbed downward efficiently with the -side of his hand just as the watchman noticed the advancing shadow -behind him. The man had half-turned when Kesley's hand cracked sharply -into the column of his neck below his left ear and jawbone, and the -watchman emitted a feeble gagging cry and fell. Kesley caught him -neatly, grabbing the all-important lamp. - -Moving quickly and smoothly, he stripped the patrolman, donned his -clothes, and bound the unconscious man with his ambassadorial robes. -The guard stirred; Kesley stunned him with a blow of the truncheon and -dragged him into the courtyard of a small, private dwelling. Stuffing -him into a garbage bin that stood outside the door, he straightened -his clothing and stepped back into the street, swinging the lantern -nonchalantly. - -Moments later, horses' hooves thundered down from the Palace, breaking -the quiet. Acting the part of a good watchman, Kesley ran out into the -darkened street, holding his lamp up so its brightness would blur his -face. - -"What's going on? Where are you coming from?" - -Two or three riders passed, ignoring him. - -"I say, stop!" - -A fourth rider leaned down from his horse. "Duke's guard, watchman. -We're chasing an assassin!" - -"Assassin? The Duke dead?" - -"Heaven forbid. No; it's one of those South Americans. The Duke ordered -him executed, but he escaped!" - -"Dreadful," Kesley exclaimed, and released the bridle. The horse sped -away into the night as another wave of riders followed down. Winslow, -aroused, was probably sending his whole guard corps out to search for -the fugitive. - -Lights were going on all over the city now. Sudden bright, yellow eyes -winked down from unshuttered windows. Kesley stepped back into the -shadows and let five more horsemen go by. - -A sixth came down the road. Kesley flagged him down with his lantern. - -"What's going on, friend?" - -"Haven't you heard? We're chasing an escaped assassin." - -"What's that?" Kesley assumed an expression of horror. "What did he -look like?" - -"Big man in royal robes. One of those South Americans." - -"No! I just saw one go into that house over there." He indicated a home -which had not yet awakened to the clamor of the streets. "I'm sure it -was the South American," Kesley continued. "I was going to ask him -where he was going, but then I saw he was an ambassador and--" - -There was no need to chatter further. The horseman, his mind set on -medals, was dismounting. - -"Which house?" he asked tensely. "That one?" - -Kesley nodded. "Want me to help you?" - -"That's all right," the guard said. "Stay out here and tend my horse. -I'll go in and look around." - -"Good luck," Kesley said. He let the man take six steps toward the -silent house, then whipped out his truncheon and brought it down with -skull-crumpling force. Hastily he dragged the man behind a low, bunchy -shrub, ran back to the street, and clambered aboard the waiting horse. - -As the animal began to move, yet another wave of guards swept down from -the Palace. Kesley fell in with them, peering grimly forward into the -night as they rode. They dashed on, clattering up the main street and -splitting off there to explore any byway where the fugitive might be -hidden. Atop his horse--a scale-covered, dusky mutant with many-jointed -legs--Kesley choked off a chuckle and forced his face into the solemn -mask of the dedicated pursuer. - -In the morning, the elaborate, half-mythical tracking devices would -be brought into play: the needle-snouted, mechanized bloodhounds of -legendary dread, the whirling radar parabolas, the ingenious screens -and devices inherited from a culture long dead. It wasn't much of a -secret that the Dukes maintained many of the taboo devices of the Old -World, and used them for their private ends. Miguel's closed-circuit -TV, Kesley thought, was an example. - -But the bloodhounds wouldn't be called out till later. Right now the -reaction was one of simple hysteria; heads would be rolling at the -Palace if Kesley were not found at once. And, he thought, riding atop a -Ducal horse, clad in Ducal uniform, it wasn't too likely that they were -going to find him. - -He glanced ahead. The guards were riding together, forming an anxious -little circle. Evidently someone had called a halt and was about to -organize a systematic search. - -Further ahead, the towers set in the wall ringing the city were -lit; the guards there had been roused as well, it seemed. Kesley -surreptitiously cantered out of line and cut off down a dark -side-alley, taking care that none of the guards were following him. - -A few minutes later he reached the West Gate--smaller than the -other three, and lightly guarded. Drawing his horse up before the -guard-tower, he shouted: "Open the gate, you idiots! The assassin's -escaped, and he's heading west." - -"What are you saying?" - -"I said _open the gate_. I'm Duke's guard. You're holding things up. -The assassin's out there at large someplace!" - -The door swung back. - -"Thanks," Kesley yelled. He kicked the mutant's scaly hide to make the -beast spurt ahead. He raced through the open gate and out of Chicago. -The confused shouts of the guards echoed faintly in the distance as he -urged the horse on. - -Breaking out into the flat country that ran westward, he rode hard -without any direction or destination in mind. Once he looked around -and saw three riders about two and a half miles back, pelting steadily -after him. - -They were on to him then. He hadn't fooled them completely. But it had -worked well enough to get him clear of the city and, if he could put -more space between himself and Chicago before they turned the hounds on -him, he'd be all right. - -The road veered suddenly and split into a network of forks. Almost -without thinking, he grabbed the south fork and urged the horse -on. He didn't know the country at all down there, but there were -cities--Peoria, St. Louis, Springfield, Cairo way down on the river. -Somewhere between those empty names, he had heard there was a Mutie -City--a regular refuge for mutants, a walled city of some sort where -not even Duke Winslow's hand could reach. - -He bent low over his horse's stringy mane and urged the gasping beast -on. Glancing back, he saw his pursuers--and dim in the night was -something dull and metallic grinding toward him down the flat road. - -Bloodhound. - -They had the hounds out after him already. Winslow wasn't going to let -him escape lightly. - -Shortly after sunup, his exhausted horse stumbled and fell, pitching -him to the ground. Kesley rolled to his feet, glanced once at the -animal's splintered leg doubled beneath its body, and looked back. No -sign of his pursuers now. - -He destroyed the horse with a single bullet and started moving, on -foot, through the underbrush. He had no idea where he might be, except -that he was somewhere south of Chicago. - -Through the rest of the morning he hacked his way through the wild -vegetation that had sprung up in this uncultivated area. Exhausted -finally, he stopped near noon to rinse some of the sweat from his face -at a clear blue brook. - -Wearily, he scuttled away from the brook and started to get to his -feet, without success. He remained kneeling, staring at the quivering -tips of his fingers, smelling the warm morning air and listening to the -singing of the untroubled birds, and finally slumped forward, face down -in the fertile soil, and slept. He had been awake almost fifty hours. - - * * * * * - -Later, Kesley felt gentle hands slide under his body and scoop him up. -Foggily, he opened one eye and fought to focus it. Deep in his mind, -he was struggling toward wakefulness, acutely aware he should flee but -unable to make his exhausted body respond. - -"Let go of me," he murmured, clawing fitfully at the hands that held -him. He blinked. "Where are the hounds? Don't let the hounds near me." - -"There are no hounds," a purring voice told him. "Winslow's men turned -back hours ago." - -Some of the cobwebs cleared from his brain. "No hounds? You're not from -Winslow?" - -"Look at me and see." - -The hands released him and slowly Kesley turned. Standing behind him, -arms extended uneasily in case Kesley should topple, was a graceful, -seal-like creature with glistening, golden-brown skin. A slit-like -mouth was bent into a clumsy smile; narrow yellow eyes gazed warmly at -him. - -"I'm ... very tired," Kesley said. - -The mutant nodded gently. "You should be," he said. He took a step -forward, and caught the exhausted Kesley just as he began to fall. - - - - - IX - - -Sanctuary--for a while. - -"So I'm not to be allowed any rest," Kesley said bitterly. "Three days -here and you're tossing me out, is that it?" - -He glared sourly at the little group of mutants facing him. "Well?" - -"You've been here three days," Spahl pointed out. The seal-like mutant -shrugged sadly. "That's three days longer than any non-mutant's ever -spent in this city, Kesley. We can't keep you here much longer." - -"Why do you want to stay here?" asked Foursmith, an angular, -knobby-looking mutant with a row of inch-long red nubbins protruding -through the flesh of his back. "You've got to get going, you know. -Daveen's not here." - -"I don't know _where_ Daveen is!" Kesley said. "Can't you let me catch -my breath?" - -"You'll have to leave tomorrow," Spahl said. "We'll give you a horse." - -"Thanks." - -This was the third day since Spahl had rescued him in the forest and -brought him to Mutie City; they had fed him and rested him, but now -they insisted that he leave. - -He couldn't blame them; the city was a refuge for harried mutants, -not a harbor for escaped turncoats. They ran the risk of incurring -Winslow's displeasure by giving him sanctuary. Yet, he thought, as long -as they'd admitted him they might as well have let him stay long enough -to get his bearings, to have some of the furor over him die down. - -Well, at least they'd taken him in. A small blessing, but a real one. - -"I'm sorry," he said humbly, walking to the window of the room they had -given him. He looked out over the variegated city below--strange and -motley compared with the neat regularity of all Empire-built cities. - -"I'm imposing myself, and I'm acting like a fool." He wet his lips. -"I'll go whenever you want me to." - -"Don't misunderstand," Foursmith warned. The mutant with the extended -vertebrae was the current head of the mutie enclave. "We're not -throwing you out. We think you should leave, that's all. For your good -and ours." - -"Agreed," Kesley said. In the street below, a two-headed woman was -making slow progress pushing a perambulator in which squirmed a -many-armed monster-baby. He shuddered. He still was not used to such -sights. - -This was the world's genetic refuse heap, the city where the alien race -in mankind's midst could live in peace and security. Gradually, Mutie -City was enfolding in itself the mutants of the Ducal cities; here, the -grim souvenirs of the time-shadowed great war could walk unmolested. - -He could see the logic behind the agreement of the Dukes granting Mutie -City total independence. The mutants came here and, gradually, the -contamination of their genes would be localized, the cancer of mutation -penned into one tiny area. Kesley wondered whether, on the day when the -last mutant had left the Twelve Empires and entered Mutie City, the -Dukes would bomb the city to shreds and thus restore mankind's genetic -homogeneity. It was a terrible thought. - -He turned. There they were, Spahl and Foursmith and Ricketts and -Huygens and Devree, each one looking as if he had come down from a -different world. They ruled the city. - -"Why did you take me in?" he asked. - -"There were reasons," Huygens, the double-header, said resonantly. - -_Always reasons_, Kesley thought. _And everyone knows them but me._ - -"This Daveen--he's not a mutant, is he?" Kesley asked. - -"No," Foursmith said. "I saw him once, in the court of Duke Winslow. He -is very tall, without hair, and blind. He's not one of us." - -"And you don't know where I could find him?" - -"You might try the Colony," Foursmith suggested. "He might be in hiding -there, among the other artists. At any event, the Colony is safe from -Winslow, too. Perhaps you could stay there for a while." - -"Good enough," Kesley said. - - * * * * * - -The Colony sprang from the blue-green grass of Kentucky like a -sprawling, segmented worm. Its architecture bore no resemblance to that -of any city Kesley had ever seen; broad, rambling, almost ramshackle, -it presented an even more disorderly appearance than had Mutie City. - -He wheeled the exhausted, six-legged horse the mutants had given him -up the final stretches of the roadway, looking around cautiously as he -rode. It had been a tense but, happily, uneventful journey down from -Illinois. - -The Colony, like all other cities, was walled. But it was as if a -different architect had planned each segment of the wall. Here, it -was high and carved from blocks of pink granite; there, it was a lazy -stile of limestone. Towers of black basalt capped the wall at irregular -intervals. - -He rode toward the gate--an open gate. Pulling his mount to a halt as -he approached, he turned toward the guard. - -"Who are you?" questioned the guard, looking up from a notebook. Kesley -saw a series of interlocking doodles scrawled on the man's page. - -"My name is Kesley. I'm here seeking sanctuary from Duke Winslow. I'm -also looking for a blind poet named Daveen. Is he here?" - -"He has been," the guard answered. "You armed?" - -"Pistol and truncheon," Kesley said. - -"Leave 'em out here. You can pick them up when you're leaving." - -Kesley didn't like the idea of parting with his weapons, but he seemed -to have little choice. Reluctantly, he surrendered them and rode -inside, into what seemed to be a park. - -A fantastic array of houses was visible beyond the park. For a moment, -Kesley thought he had wandered into a lunatic's asylum. Then he -remembered it was simply an artists' refuge. - -A nude girl stood unashamedly in the center of a lawn not far away, and -clustered about her, sketching furiously, was a group of painters. -Beneath a live-oak tree behind her, a fat, balding man squatted on the -ground, playing a wooden flute. Elsewhere, other members of the colony -seemed to be busying themselves at their various interests. - -Kesley tethered his horse at a hitching-post just inside the main wall, -and looked around for someone who might be in authority. - -After a moment, a girl in a brief halter and shorts approached him. -"Hello, friend. My name is Lisa. Where from?" - -Her voice was clear and firm. Somewhat hesitantly, Kesley said, -"Chicago, mostly." - -"Oh? What do you do?" - -"I don't understand," Kesley said. - -"Paint, sing, write? Light-sculpture? Architecture? Come on," she said -impatiently. - -"I see. No, I'm not an artist. I'm ... just here visiting. Looking for -someone." - -"That's nice. Who?" - -"A poet. Daveen the Singer, they call him. Is he here?" - -The girl frowned. "Daveen? I recall the name--but I don't think he's -living here now. You'll have to ask Colin about that. He remembers -everything." - -"Where can I find this Colin," Kesley asked. - -"Over there." She pointed to the group surrounding the nude girl. "The -old lecher's busy sketching Marla. He doesn't know any more about -sketching than I do, but he loves to look at a pretty body. He's the -bald one, right down in front. You'd better not bother him now." - -"I'll wait," Kesley said. He could hold his own among assassins, but he -could see that he was going to be sadly out of his depth here in the -Colony. - - * * * * * - -The Colony was even more grotesque and wonderful a place than Kesley -had imagined, in that first dazzling introduction in the park. After -the darkness of the world of the Twelve Dukes, and the different -darkness of Mutie City, the Colony stood forth as a land of beacon. - -Total anarchy prevailed, for one thing. People lived where they liked, -ate as they pleased, worked or did not work. There was always enough -food. The Colony was self-sufficient, insular, smug in its seclusion. -And inscribed in deep-cut letters over the inside of the main gate were -four words: - - _DO WHAT THOU WILT_ - -"The guiding motto of the Abbey of Theleme," Lisa explained, when -Kesley commented. - -"Theleme?" - -"A reference to Rabelais," she said. "Oh, I see you don't know that -either. It's a book--I mean, he was a writer. You don't read much, do -you?" - -"No," Kesley said distantly, staring at the huge letters in the stone. -_Do What Thou Wilt._ They were shattering words; he wondered what Duke -Winslow's reaction would be if he ever had an opportunity to see them. - -But there wasn't much chance of that. The Colony was even older than -the Twelve Empires, having been established back in the days of the -chaos by a group of artists and poets determined to preserve their -way of life while the rest of the world crumbled about them. They had -succeeded; and now, the outside world did without them. They had no -part in Empire doings, and the Empire kept its distance from them. It -was, Kesley was told, all part of the uneasy balance in which the world -was held. No one dared tip the scales. - -He was welcomed to the Colony warmly, even though he was quick to make -clear that he himself was no artist and that he was here solely in -quest of Daveen. The night of his arrival they held an immense party, -supposedly in his honor. - -He recognized a few faces. The girl named Lisa had appointed herself -his guardian; she stayed close by his side. Somewhere else in the huge -roomful of milling people, he spotted the man named Colin, looking like -an aging Silenus with his baggy eyes and fuzzy crown of graying hair. -He was engaged in animated conversation with the girl Marla, who had -modeled nude that afternoon. Now, she wore a transparent plastic blouse -and tights; it was an even more startling costume. - -Finally, Kesley got to speak to Colin. - -The balding man was very fat and very drunk, he noticed. He stared -curiously at Kesley for a few minutes, then said, "You're the newcomer, -aren't you? The one we're all here to honor?" - -"I'm looking for a man named Daveen. You know him?" - -"No," Colin said loudly. "Never heard of him. Want a drink?" - -Kesley shook his head. He flicked a glance warily at Lisa, who was -smiling enigmatically. "He's a poet," Kesley said. "A blind man. Lisa -thinks she remembers him." - -"Lisa will say anything. I don't remember any Daveen." - -"Daveen? Who's talking about Daveen?" a deep voice asked. Kesley -glanced to his left and saw a tall, burly, blond man with long curling -hair. The big youth was smiling sweetly. - -"I am," Kesley said. "I'm looking for him." - -From somewhere in the background came the discordant shrill of a -strange musical instrument. Kesley winced. - -"What do you want Daveen for?" the blond boy asked. "You from the -court?" - -"I'm _running_ from the court. Winslow wants to kill me. I have to find -Daveen." - -The tall youngster chuckled raucously. "Daveen hasn't been here in -years. You'll _never_ find him!" - -An atonal blast of the weird music blended oddly with the harsh -laughter that suddenly surrounded him. Defeated, confused, Kesley -looked at the alien faces of the men and women in the room. It was as -if they wore masks of desperate gaiety, hiding a deep inward brooding. - -He realized it had been a mistake to come here. In the middle of the -room, a lithe girl of about nineteen was taking off her clothes to the -accompaniment of an ecstatic chant from a ring of onlookers; a spindly -man of about forty was intoning what was probably poetry, and the blond -boy had gone into a frenzied solo dance. - -Distortion upon distortion, darkness within darkness. Kesley felt cold -and alone. At his side, Lisa clung tightly to him, sliding her hands -playfully over the flat, hard muscles of his chest, giggling and -whispering. The party was reaching a peak of wild license now. - -This was what happened when walls closed around people, he thought. The -mutants in their city; the poets in theirs. The Dukes in their Empires. -And somewhere, far to the frozen south, the Antarcticans behind their -blockade. They all interlocked, meshed in a tightly-geared procession -to nowhere. Grimly, Kesley watched the blond boy dance himself into -exhaustion, watched the girl in the middle of the room whip off her one -remaining garment and stand totally naked. - -Lisa was chanting, "_This is the way the world ends, this is the way -the world ends._" It was probably a line from some poem. But it was -more than poetry, thought Kesley. It was truth. - -Truth. - - - - - X - - -When morning finally came, Kesley had long since decided to leave the -Colony. - -As the first rays of dawn broke, he rose and made his way over the -huddling sleepers in the room. Lisa stirred; the poetess had slumped -over yawningly more than an hour before. On the floor, between the -sleepers, lay remnants of artistic achievement--strewn manuscripts, -curious statuettes, musical scores, musical instruments and such -things. Kesley carefully avoided stepping on them. He wanted no contact -here. - -"Where are you going?" Lisa asked, looking up. Her eyes were red and -raw looking; the copper mesh of her blouse was stained with the thick -amber fluid of the drink she had laughingly poured between her breasts -at some wild moment of the night before. - -"Outside," Kesley said. - -"Wait a minute. I'll go with you." - -Shrugging, he stepped outside and she followed him. The dawn was coming -up fresh and clear, with dew hanging brightly in the air. It would, -Kesley thought, wash away the pollution in the air from last night's -party. He tightened his lips nervously. - -"Which way is the gate?" he asked. - -"That way. Are you leaving? Why? Don't you like it here?" Impulsively, -she tugged on his arm. "Answer me, Dale." - -He looked wearily down at her. "I don't like it here. This place is -poisoned. I want to get away, before I catch whatever all of you have." - -"I don't understand you." - -"Naturally not. Look, Lisa, you and your fellow esthetes have been -bottled up in here since--since--when? The year two thousand?" - -"John Harchman came here to found his colony in 2059," she said as if -repeating a catechism. - -"The year doesn't matter. You've been cooped up five hundred years. And -what do you have to show for it? Great works of art? No--just drunken -parties." - -"We've produced wonderful things. Colin's done a glorious visomural, -and the sensotapes--" - -"You've produced nothing," Kesley said inexorably. "You create for -yourselves--each other, at best. But not for the world outside." - -"The world outside doesn't want us." - -"Wrong. We don't understand you. And it's as much your fault as ours." -Kesley turned away. "Leave me alone, Lisa. I should never have come -here. I want to leave." - - * * * * * - -The jagged, violet blades of knifegrass glinted strangely in the -morning sun. Kesley waited patiently while his hungry horse grazed. -Mutant horse, mutant grass, the cycle held firm. Spindly, six-legged -animal nibbling sharp-toothed, man-high grass. The purple blades -blended with the blue-green of the Old Kind. - -There had been no bombs over Kentucky, but the wind had carried the -drifting seeds, brought the zygotes of the strange new grass down here -to this unruined land. Now, a tough network of roots dug into the turf, -and from them sprang the metal-sharp grass the atoms had made. - - * * * * * - -Kesley rode south, his mind full of melancholy thoughts. - -The trail had completely trickled out--if there had been a trail. He -was chasing phantoms, will-of-the-wisps. - -Daveen, for instance. Who was he? A blind courtier who had vanished -some four years previously, whose name van Alen had happened to drop -and link with Kesley's. What relation did Daveen have to him? He didn't -know. What relation did van Alen have, for that matter? - -But he was searching for Daveen. The search had led to the Colony, but -that was a dead end. Daveen had been there, and Daveen was no longer -there, and that was all anyone could or would tell him. - -Then, Narella. A hauntingly lovely girl--but so, for that matter, was -the poetess Lisa. Narella was somewhere in Buenos Aires, at Miguel's -court. Would he ever see her again? Again, he didn't know. - -The horse plodded onward toward the mysterious city of Wiener. Kesley -knew nothing about the city that lay ahead except that Lisa had -recommended that he go there. It was another island on the continent, -untouched by Winslow. - -The picture of Winslow came to his mind, and immediately after, that -of Miguel. They were different and similar, the two Immortals: one fat -and gross, the other lean and hard, both complex and unfathomable, both -deep-eyed with the loneliness of the timeless man. Miguel had welcomed -him to his service, sent him off on a deadly errand, then reversed -himself and ordered his death. And Winslow had refused him sanctuary -and condemned him to death as well. Doubtless, there was now a price on -his head throughout all of North and South America. - -That left Antarctica, a complete unknown. Vaguely, he recalled that -that had been his original destination when leaving Iowa, months -before. But Antarctica was about as accessible as the moon, Kesley -thought. - -Then he thought of the mutants: Lomark Dawnspear, the blind one who had -unaccountably rescued him from Winslow's dungeon, and Spahl and Huygens -and Foursmith and the others of Mutie City, far to the north. What of -them? - -Lisa. The Colony, shallow and desperate and decadent, rotten from -within and unable to see it. - -Tiredly, Kesley rode on. - -Above, the sky was warm and bright, and the rolling hills of southern -Kentucky were broad, beautiful, dotted heavily with the purple -grass and the strange golden-leaved trees the wars had brought. The -vegetation was the only hint here that there once had been devastation -in the world; today, in this place at this time, it seemed as if -everything had been perfect forever. But he knew that it hadn't. - -He rode on. Wiener lay ahead. - - * * * * * - -A week later, the city of Wiener rose before him from the wide -flatlands of Northern Texas. He paused, reined in his horse, looked at -the low sprawling wall of metal that rambled out over the desert. - -He urged the tired mutie on. Hooves kicked up dry bursts of yellow sand. - -As he drew near he could see that the wall was solid from side to side. -This was no encircled city; it was one huge building, probably sunk -deep into the earth. - -Sunlight glinted flashingly off the metal wall. Kesley squinted, saw -a dot of brightness detach itself from the city and come humming -across the sands toward him. The City of Wiener was taking no chances, -apparently; they were going to intercept him before he got too close. - -He waited for the vehicle to approach. As it drew near, he saw that -it was unmanned, merely a hollow shell made of some bright metal, -teardrop-shaped and empty. - -"Please get inside," a dead-sounding voice requested. "We will take you -to the city." - -Shrugging, Kesley rode forward; the teardrop split into halves. He -guided his mount inside; the great door dropped closed again, and a -moment later he was heading at a terrifying speed toward the metal -city. - - - - - XI - - -The humming teardrop sped across the empty wastes; within, through a -clear plastic window, Kesley watched the metal building loom larger. - -Then they were almost next to it, and abruptly a section of the -building's gleaming wall opened. The teardrop shot in without reducing -speed, slid along a banked incline that swung it in a wide curve -through a vast enclosed area and gradually brought it to a halt. The -teardrop split open again and, somewhat shaken, Kesley and his mount -left it. - -He looked around. The place was brightly lit despite the total absence -of windows; the ceiling was some fifty feet above his head, and he -could see stairwells spiraling down deep into the earth. Along one -wall rose a shining mass of dials and meters, switches and complex -instruments which seemed to be moving rapidly from one position to -another sheerly of their own accord. - -All around him were machines. He felt a strange queasiness. Machines -were things to fear; they had destroyed the world, once. The sight of -them, clicking and humming and carrying out their unknown functions, -disturbed him immensely. - -Hesitantly, he began to walk. - -A long corridor sprang into being not far from where he stood, winding -narrowly away and downward. He decided to follow it. But after he -had proceeded no more than twenty yards into it, he discovered a -brightly-lit, little glass cubicle set into the wall, a small room -with a chair, a clock on one wall, and a coppery-looking grid set into -the other. He decided to investigate. Tethering his horse to a bracket -along the corridor wall, he pushed open the cubicle door, entered, and -placed himself in the chair. - -Instantly a voice said: "Welcome to Wiener. May we have your name for -benefit of our memory banks?" - -Alarmed, Kesley glanced around. The voice had seemed to come from the -wall-grid. "Dale Kesley," he stammered. - -"Welcome to Wiener, Dale Kesley." The voice was unemotional, -dead-sounding. Kesley frowned. - -"What sort of city is this?" he asked. - -There was silence for a long moment; he heard strange cracklings and -rumblings coming from the grid. Then: - -"The City of Wiener was officially founded on August 16, 2058, by Darby -Chisholm, C. Edward Gronke, H. D. Feldstein, David M. Kammer, and -Arthur Lloyd Canby, professors of cybernetics at Columbia University, -Harvard University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Colby -Institute and Swarthmore College. The avowed aim of the five founders -was to create a completely self-sufficient, automated cybernetic -community in a relatively nonstrategic area of the United States, where -experiments in non-limited automational control could be put into -practice. - -"The building of the City of Wiener was implemented by a government -grant of three billion dollars and private contributions. Four sites -were chosen: Juntura, Oregon; Lodge Grass, Montana; Wanblee, South -Dakota; Wilder, Texas. It was the original plan of the founders to -utilize all four sites and build identical cities at each, but the -precipitation of war in 2059 made it unwise to divert energies to so -large a project at that time, and the decision was made to limit the -experiment to the Texas site alone. This later proved to have been -wise, in view of the unexpected attacks on the three rejected sites in -the apparently mistaken impression that they had been the ones chosen. - -"The City of Wiener was completed on April 11, 2061, and the switch -feeding the first input was thrown by Dr. Chisholm of Columbia. A -series of cybernetic governors powered by a fusion-breeder reactor then -took full control of operations, and the City of Wiener was officially -born. It has--" - -"All right," Kesley interrupted suddenly, realizing he was about to -receive a detailed history of the City's activities over the past four -centuries. "I'd like to see whoever's in charge here. The Mayor, or -whatever." - -"Question has no cognitive referent," the dry voice said. - -"'_Seeing_' the controlling body is out of the question, as no human is -to be permitted access to the cybernetic governors under terms of the -original City contract established between the City of Wiener and its -five founders in--" - -Dumbstruck, Kesley said: "You mean a _machine_ runs this City?" - -"The question is inaccurate. The City _is_ a machine. There are no -human inhabitants." - -Suddenly chilled, Kesley looked up at the grid at which he had been -directing his words, and realized he had been holding conversation with -a mechanical brain, not some remote City official. Moistening his lips, -he said: "What does the City _do_?" - -"Question is unclear." - -_The precision of the mechanical mind_, he thought in amused -irritation. He rephrased the question. "What functions does the City -carry out, aside from the normal routine of--of self-repair?" - -"The City maintains a record of happenings in the Outer World; this -record is not completely available for examination at the moment, due -to unsettled conditions without. The City supplies manufactured goods -to those who request them, as prescribed by its founders. The City -endeavors to supply information within the bounds of self-safety, -likewise as prescribed. The City--" - -"Does the City know of a poet named Daveen?" Kesley broke in. - -"Question will have to be referred to Answering Banks." - -A pause, then, in a somewhat altered voice: "Information incomplete -on poet Daveen, no other name recorded, member of court Duke Winslow -Chicago North America 2504-2521, left court 2521, current whereabouts -unknown. Is full biography requested?" - -"No." Kesley crossed his legs and stared broodingly at his boots for a -moment. The entire City a vast sentient machine, then! No wonder the -Dukes left it alone; they knew they would never have the strength to -destroy Wiener, and so they preferred that the machine-hating populace -never learned of the City's existence. - -He found himself greatly curious about the City. His imagination was -engaged by the implications of a city-sized mechanical mind; he who -had never dealt with any machine more complex than a pistol, who had -had only fleeting acquaintance with the remnants of the Old Days, was -fascinated by this mightiest machine of all. - -"What can you tell me about Dale Kesley?" he asked on a sudden impulse. - -Again silence--silence while photon-tracers raced over cryotronic -circuits searching for information. Then: "Dale Kesley, farmer, entered -Iowa Province June 21, 2521, no previous record, left Iowa Province -undetermined time in spring of this year. Entered City of Wiener -unaccompanied except by one mutant horse Type VX-1342 on October 8 of -this year. Further information is lacking." - -"Thanks," Kesley said hoarsely. His first twenty years were blank to -the City, too. "Mind if I look around the place a little?" - -"Limited examination of City of Wiener is permitted," the metal voice -said. "Your animal has been removed for care and will be returned to -you upon request." - -He glanced through the thick glass window of the cubicle and saw that -it was indeed so. While he had talked, unseen hands--_hands?_--had -taken the horse away. Led it to pasture, Kesley wondered? - - * * * * * - -He wandered through the silent halls of the complex city, observing -with a sort of quiet horror the chill efficiency with which the robot -mind carried out its daily routine. - -The City _was_ populated. Kesley came across the inhabitants -immediately after leaving the glass-walled cubicle. They were man-sized -robots of blue metal, rolling on noiseless treads, equipped with -opposable-thumbed hands and filament-ended tentacles and wiry grippers, -seeing out of bright electrophotic eyes and gazing evenly ahead with -expressionless, shiny faces. - -One of them was squatting over an immense heap of coiled tape which was -growing almost as fast as he could scoop it up and feed it into the -chittering maw of some glossy data-eater in one wall. - -Another was repairing a mass of tangled circuits in an exposed ganglion -behind a section of wall. - -Still another of the mechanical men stood at some distance away, -holding a segmented tube to the mouth of Kesley's horse. The horse had -its jointed scaly lips pressed tight against the tube, and was eating -or drinking with evident contentment. - -Air-conditioners hummed gently in the background, keeping the -atmosphere pure and dustless. From the floor came the throbbing of some -mighty engines far below. Kesley wondered just how deep in the ground -the City penetrated. - -All around, computers chattered and whistled. Kesley felt his -astonishment growing with each moment. And beneath the astonishment, -there was a mounting resentment at the Ducal philosophy that had -blanked such achievements as this from the world. - -_Machines have destroyed civilization_, people said. But had they? No; -not the machines. It was man's _use_ of the machines; the machines -themselves were impartial, as disinterested in the currents of human -affairs as the moon and the stars. - -Yet the Dukes had risen to power on a program of throttled -technological development. Fleetingly, the thought went through -Kesley's mind that the Dukes had made a mistake. If only-- - -He stopped, feeling a shiver of pain. Once again he had touched some -reverberating rawness in the deep layers of his mind; once again, a -forbidden thought. - -In sudden inspiration he turned toward a grid set in the wall near him. - -"Can I get information from you?" he asked. - -"Answering circuits are functioning." - -"Can you tell me anything about Antarctica? Anything at all?" - -Silence for a moment. "Do you mean Antarctica before or after removal -of the ice?" the voice asked. - -"Afterward--I guess." - -"We have no information on Antarctica after 2062," the machine said. -"Ice removal was completed in 2021, and settlement proceeded along with -rapid technological development. In 2062 Antarctica ceased all contact -with the rest of the world." - -2062 was the year of the Great Blast, Kesley thought. And Antarctica -had drawn the curtain. - -He shrugged and walked away, taking a seat on a curved metal stanchion -projecting from the floor. Somewhere, locked in the obstinate memory -banks of this computer-city, might be the information he needed to -orient himself in the world, the missing data that everyone maddeningly -withheld from him. But where to find it? How to get it? - -Suddenly the City's voice said: "Dale Kesley!" - -"I'm here. What do you want?" - -"You will have to leave at once. We will tolerate a delay of no more -than five minutes, plus or minus one." - -"How come? Why can't I stay?" - -"The City of Wiener faces armed attack if you remain here. Therefore, -you must leave." - -_Very logical_, Kesley thought coldly. "Armed attack from whom?" - -A section of the wall near him rolled away, revealing a mammoth screen -that showed the outside desert with startling clarity. Kesley saw -figures huddled along the horizon, marching forward. An army. Duke -Winslow's army. - -"They're from the Duke, aren't they?" - -"Yes. They've come to get you." - -"And you're just going to turn me over to them?" Kesley asked -horror-stricken. - -"We simply are requesting that you leave. We do not wish to risk an -armed attack upon ourself." - -"You can defend yourself, can't you?" - -"We are not afraid of the Duke. We simply wish to avoid any conflict -as unnecessary expenditure of material and effort. You now have three -minutes, plus or minus one, in which to leave freely." - -Sweat began to pour down Kesley's back. He glanced at the screen, saw -Winslow's advancing forces. They had somehow tracked him to Wiener. - -But the City _couldn't_ throw him out now! It just wasn't fair! - -Grimly, he started to run. - -He charged forward toward the long shadowed corridor and heard his -footsteps ringing loudly as he ran. The corridor was a helix that wound -deeper and deeper into the Earth; Kesley ran, feeling the pure cold air -whipping past. - -Gleaming blue mechanical men turned to look at him as he went by. - -"Two minutes, plus or minus one," the machine warned. Its voice seemed -to be everywhere. Kesley saw the familiar grids studding the wall at -regular intervals. - -He had to hide. He had to avoid the City's commands, avoid Winslow, -stay here where he was safe. He found a dark alcove and stepped in. -There was a door; he opened it, stepped through, and found himself in -the midst of an intricate network of machinery, row on row of relay and -stud. - -"One minute, plus or minus one," the ubiquitous voice said. Kesley -scowled. There wouldn't be any escape, it seemed. He kept running. - -"We have requested that you leave. Your time is now exhausted, and we -must remove you." - -Kesley whirled desperately and saw four of the metal men coming toward -him. They seized him gently, grasping him in the thick paws of their -upper arms. His fists thudded against the solid metal of their chest, -bruising his knuckles but failing to stop their advance. - -They lifted him and began to move, sliding forward at an incredible -pace up the long corridor and toward the beckoning iris of an opening -door. - - - - - XII - - -Once again, he was fleeing. - -_Always on the run_, he thought bitterly, as the mutant horse flashed -over the prairie, its six legs pistoning as it drew away from Winslow's -men. - -The City had been considerate; the City had been kind. The -teardrop-vehicle had not deposited him sprawling at Winslow's feet, and -for that mercy Kesley had to be grateful. - -The four implacable robots had carried him effortlessly toward the -opening door; the uncomplaining horse had already been led through the -opening and into the waiting vehicle. Still yelling, Kesley had been -crammed into the silvery vehicle, and it had started away from the -confines of the City. - -Winslow's men were advancing steadily. The City had ejected Kesley to -save its own titanium skin, its own guts of transistors and cryotrons. - -He was ejected from the vehicle and left in the midst of the hot sands, -with Winslow's men still a distant green-and-gold blur on the horizon. -For a moment Kesley had stood there uncertainly, staring back at the -City that had cast him forth; then, mounting his wobbly-legged horse, -he began to ride. - -He headed north, back the way he came. Winslow had obviously pursued -him through Illinois, perhaps tracked him from Mutie City to the Colony -to Wiener--but the City had avoided disaster by ejecting him. - -Now, northward. - -Returning to the Colony was out of the question for many reasons. -Returning to Iowa would probably be fatal--Loren and Lester, good -subjects of the Duke, would turn the fugitive in without giving the -matter a minute's thought. South America was as dangerous a place as -Winslow's lands, and the Empires beyond the sea were impossible to -reach. There was little traffic between the Americas and either Asia, -Europe, Africa, or Australasia, and none whatsoever with Antarctica. - -If he allowed Winslow to catch up with him, it would mean sure death. -But one solution presented itself. _I'll return to Mutie City_, he -thought, spurring the bony beast on. _That's one place where Winslow -won't dare to come in after me._ - -Kesley squirmed in the saddle and peered around. Men were breaking off -from the column of horsemen and were starting to follow him. - -He gave the reins another tug. Whatever it was the City had fed the -animal, it was propelling the beast like gasoline. The mutant was -covering ground in a rocketlike fashion. But Kesley knew the pace could -never last. - -And, sure enough, the mutie began to falter after another half mile, -to drop back and lose ground. Four of Winslow's men were still on the -trail; Kesley computed that he was somewhere near the Oklahoma border, -and hoped no border guards would trouble him as he passed into the -adjoining province. - -He had a knife and a truncheon; the pursuers probably had pistols. He -wouldn't last long once they caught him. They'd gun him down on the -spot. - -And he'd never know why. - - * * * * * - -The horse gave out shortly after high noon. Kesley managed to guide the -winded beast into a thicket off the main road, and dismounted there, -crouching in hiding while the mutie gasped for breath and shook its -sweating sides. - -Before long the four pursuers arrived on the scene. For an instant -Kesley thought they would simply keep riding past, but he heard voices -commenting that the trail of hoof-prints ended up here. He tensed, -knowing they would soon be searching the bushes for him. - -"You go that way," someone said. - -Kesley tethered his tired horse and backed away a little deeper into -the underbrush. Several minutes passed. - -Then a figure in the green-and-gold Ducal uniform appeared, a tall, -dark-complected man with bare, burly arms. He clutched a drawn pistol -in one hand. - -"Hey, here's his horse--" he started to say, and Kesley leaped. His -attack was the sudden, quick strike and withdrawal of the forest -serpent; he sprang from the bushes, clubbed downward with the -truncheon, withdrew again as the man fell. He waited a minute; then, -seeing none of the other three approaching, Kesley quietly stole out -and seized the fallen man's pistol. Now he was armed. - -Cupping his hand over his mouth to muffle his voice, he shouted, "I -got him in here!" Then he ducked back behind a thick-boled tree. - -"We're coming, Gar!" - -Three more uniformed figures stepped into the clearing. Kesley squeezed -the trigger three times and they fell, their faces frozen in utter -astonishment. Kesley felt suddenly unclean; he had murdered three men, -injured a fourth. And those three did not know why _they_ had died, -either. - -He freed his own horse and slapped the weary mutant on the flank. "Go -ahead, fella. You're free. You've done your job." He could take his -pick from the four Ducal thoroughbreds waiting on the highway. - -Sadly he stepped over the fallen bodies. The man he had clubbed was -still breathing; he lay in a sticky pool of his companions' mingled -blood. Kesley knelt, saw the ugly, raw wound on the man's skull, the -welling blood matting the dark hair. Wedged in the soldier's sash was a -grimy, folded piece of thick paper. Kesley drew it forth. - -It was on Ducal stationery, with the familiar heraldic watermark -that he had seen on so many tax vouchers in his farming days. The -inscription, in large, dark, slightly smudged type, was a simple one: - - WANTED - - For High Treason - Against His Highness, - Duke Winslow of North America - Dale Kesley, farmer, of Iowa Province, also - known under the false name of Ramon, Ambassador - from Duke Miguel of South America. - - The said Kesley, having entered His Highness' court on the pretext - of an embassy from the Court of Buenos Aires, did make an attempt - on our Duke's life. Kesley is sought urgently. A reward of fifty - thousand dollars is offered for his corpse. - - The said Kesley is six-feet-two in height, with closely-trimmed - blond hair, full lips, nose set somewhat unevenly on his face. He - will probably be wearing stolen clothing and riding a stolen horse. - - * * * * * - -That was all. Kesley whistled; fifty thousand dollars was a staggering -sum of cash to offer. And they wanted his _corpse_; Winslow had no -interest in anything but a dead Kesley, then. - -He would have to look sharp. With fifty thousand riding on his head, -every loyal subject from Texas to Maine Province would be ready to sell -him to the Duke. - - * * * * * - -He lived a hazardous existence on the way north, eating off the forest -and staying out of the way of anyone official-looking. He travelled -mostly by night, creeping along cautiously during the day and making up -the delay by galloping furiously once the sun had set. - -Generally he had no difficulties. Crossing from Arkansas into Missouri -nearly caused trouble, when he blundered into a border patrol searching -for someone else. He never found out who it was they really wanted; -two of the guards stopped him, stared at his face in the light of a -flickering match, and, after a tense moment or two, incredibly sent him -along his way. - -In central Missouri he wandered into a hobo camp. Four -bedraggled-looking men were squatting around an iron pot in which -bubbled some sort of stew. Kesley had not eaten all day; he rode up to -them and dismounted, keeping a hand hovering near his weapons in case -they should recognize him. - -They didn't. - -"Come join us, brother," one of them invited. He was a heavy man with a -bulbous red nose. - -"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." Kesley lowered himself into the circle -round the fire. - -"You from hereabouts?" a lean man of perhaps sixty asked grudgingly. -"Don't spot your face." - -"I'm an Illinoiser," Kesley said. "Spent some time down in Texas. Now -I'm heading home again." - -He helped himself to a potful of stew. The stuff was hot and -bubbling--too hot, really, to taste, which perhaps was a sort of -blessing, Kesley thought. - -"Have any trouble with the border guards?" someone asked. - -"Little squabble down near Arkansas, that's all. They were hunting -someone or other, and took me for him." - -"They do that, sometimes," the red-nosed man agreed. "Times are tough -now. The woods are full of Winslow's men." - -"Oh? Something up?" - -"Seems someone tried to kill the old bird," the red-faced man said. -"Guess he got fed up after all these years." - -"I suspect it was that Duke from South America," the lean one remarked. -"Them Dukes are out for each other, mark my words!" - -The fire flickered and sent a spiral of smoke curling into the trees. -Staring at it, Kesley found the sight oddly soothing. He took another -sip of the stew. - -Chuckling, he said, "They must be chasing this guy all over the -country. I'll bet there's a nifty price on his head." - -"Seventy-five thousand, that's what it is!" - -Kesley frowned. Had the reward increased so fast--or was this just the -exaggeration of ignorance? It didn't much matter. - -"I'd like to catch some of that money myself, you know. Seventy-five -thousand, huh?" - -The red-nosed man laughed raucously. "You know, if I was the guy, maybe -I'd turn _myself_ in, for that kind of dough!" - -Maybe you would, Kesley thought, watching the ghostly shapes the fire -took. Anybody would do anything these days. - -"What would you do if _I_ was the guy?" he asked suddenly. - -"You?" The red-nosed man seemed to stiffen a little. "Why would _you_ -want to go killin' Dukes?" - -"Yeah," Kesley said. "That's right, I guess." - - * * * * * - -He moved on later that night, leaving his newfound companions behind. -They seemed happy there in the forest. He toyed with the idea of -telling them the truth before he left, but rejected the idea. There -was no telling how they'd react to the confession--but seventy-five -thousand was a lot of money, and he didn't want four more deaths to his -score. - -He kept riding. He passed through Missouri and up into Illinois, -following the Mississippi up from Cairo. The year was well into late -October and the evenings were chilly. He rode quickly; the horse he had -captured was a smoothly-functioning, full-blooded traveling machine. - -Up through Illinois, until finally the broad expanse of Mutie City was -visible through the dawn haze. For the first time since being cast out -of Wiener he had the feeling that he was approaching safety. Flight was -over--for now. - -Of course, the mutants had told him not to return. But this was an -emergency; surely they'd let him in. - -He entered the city shortly after morning. The mutants were stirring, -going about their early-day business. It seemed a savage parody of a -normal city's routine. The shops were crowded, and what difference did -it make if shopkeepers' heads were of spongy blue flesh and shoppers -had the arms of lizards? - -He felt terribly weary. As he entered the city, he was not surprised to -see Spahl coming toward him. - -"Hello," he said, dismounting. - -"We expected your return," the seal-like creature said without preamble -of formality. "We knew when we asked you to leave that you would be -back." - -"I want to rest," Kesley said. "This time don't throw me out." - -He allowed Spahl to lead him to the room he had occupied on his earlier -visit. A group of mutants congregated; he recognized Foursmith and -Huygen. There were some others, stranger and more bizarre than any he -had yet seen. - -It was odd, Kesley thought, that the one place on Earth he could go for -sanctuary was to this repository of freaks. Angrily, he brushed the -thought away. The mutants were--well, _people_. - -"I've been to the Colony and to Wiener," he explained. "I couldn't stay -there. Winslow's hunting me all over the country." - -"We know these things," Spahl said quietly. "We have followed your -path, Kesley." - -"And--?" - -"We have decided the time has come for you to go home. You've been long -awaited and we'll make sure you get there safely." - -"Home?" - -"Now your life is in danger. You endanger anyone you come in contact -with. Obviously you must not remain in Winslow's territories any -longer--or Miguel's." - -"And therefore," Foursmith added when Spahl ceased, "we will send you -forth. For your sake and ours." - -Huygens, the man of two heads, said: "Besides, Daveen has been found." - -"What? Where?" - -"He is in Antarctican hands now. We sent him there but recently. He -waits for you. Spahl, is it time?" - -"Not just yet," said the seal-man. "Kesley, will you remember what -we're doing--_later_? We're buying our lives from you. Will you -remember that?" - -"I don't understand a thing," Kesley said wearily. "I don't even think -I want to understand. But yes, I'll remember. Sure." He rocked forward -on his chair, dizzy, confused. - -The mutants gave way, and a new one entered the room--a small, very -pale man, normal except for the huge circumference of his skull. - -"Edwin is a teleport," Spahl remarked casually. - -"What--" - -Suddenly Kesley felt himself struck by a blinding bolt of force; it -spun him around, whirled him as if he were in a maelstrom, lifted -him up. He saw the smiling faces of Spahl and Foursmith, saw all the -mutants dwindle behind him. He rose, higher and higher, spinning -vertiginously, frozen in an instantaneous moment of time. Space hung -beneath him. - -Then he began to fall. - - - - - XIII - - -For a moment, after the spinning stopped, Kesley imagined he was back -on the sands outside Wiener. Then, gradually, his eyes began to shift -into focus. He looked around. - -He was in a room. That was the first thing to grasp. - -His senses told him he was in a room, high, with bare walls that glowed -of their own inner luminescence. - -Good. He was in a room. - -He was no longer in the _same_ room that he had been in in Mutie City. -He was sure of that, too. The big-skulled mutant named Edwin had lifted -him--_teleport_, Spahl said?--and had sent him somewhere. - -He was somewhere else than Mutie City. - -Patiently, his quivering mind reassembled the world of sense-constructs -and data from which he had been hurled. - -He was not alone. - -He made out the other figure clearly: a tall, old man, sitting upright -in a webwork chair halfway across the room. The old man's eyes were -closed; he grasped a small object, unfamiliar looking, in one hand. His -skull was hairless. - -Kesley assembled the data. - -"The mutants finally found you," the other said. His voice was deep and -musical, a rich basso with an underlying harmonic tremolo. "They were -searching quite diligently, you know." - -"Yes, they found me," Kesley said. "I'm here. Where's _here_?" - -"Antarctica," the old man said. - -Nodding, Kesley absorbed the fact and added it to those he had already. -The jolting shock of the teleportation was beginning to wear off now; -having been plucked from the spatial framework, he was returning to it, -somewhere else. His mind emerged from its numbness. - -"You're Daveen the Singer," he said calmly. - -"I am Daveen," the other admitted. - -Kesley studied the old man, realizing with a shock that he had almost -forgotten the contours of Narella's face until seeing the girl's -features mirrored here on Daveen's untroubled face. - -A tense silence prevailed in the room. - -Finally Daveen said: "Five years has changed you, young friend. You've -lost your youthful face; I see beginning wrinkles where smoothness once -was." - -Kesley frowned. "How do you know? You're blind, aren't you?" - -"The blind have ways of seeing. Besides, it's not a difficult matter to -guess that after what you have been through--" - -"Just what do you know about me?" Kesley interrupted. "Who are you, -anyway?" - -"I was," Daveen said softly, "for many years, poet and singer to the -Court of Duke Winslow. Five years ago I participated in the first -of your many rescues--the first time Winslow attempted to have you -killed." He chuckled musically. "Poor slovenly Winslow. Every time you -fall in his clutches, some blind man comes along to lead you to safety." - -"You rescued me? From what?" - -"That I cannot tell you yet. The Duke warns me that I must be very -careful with you, that I must not swamp your mind with too much -information at once." - -Kesley looked around at the bare, luminescent walls, at the smiling -figure of the gaunt-faced, old, blind man sitting opposite him. "Which -Duke?" - -"The Antarctican Duke. The man who has searched so long and patiently -to bring both of us together. You see?" - -"Yes," Kesley said faintly. "_He_ brought us here. But where were you?" - -"I fled from Winslow, five years past, after doing what I did. I sought -refuge in Scandinavia and sang for the Duke there until Winslow's men -found me and forced me to fly. I returned to North America, lived for -a while at the Colony--I believe _your_ odyssey brought you there as -well--and when life there became unbearable, I vanished." - -"Where? How?" - -"There are ways," Daveen said. "When one knows the arts of the mind, -one can do many things. I went into hiding. It was the only way for me -to remain alive. Winslow sought me with desperate urgency, for I had -betrayed him. Miguel had my daughter." - -"I know." - -"I continued to live in North America under Winslow's very nose. It was -a good joke; now that I'm free, I must let Winslow know about it. He -has a fine sense of the ironic." - -"Where did you stay?" Kesley prodded. - -"I lived in the ghetto." - -"Among the _mutants_?" - -"I _was_ a mutant. You knew me as Lomark Dawnspear." - -For a moment Kesley rocked crazily in his chair; things seemed to wheel -in a dizzy arc around him. - -"What?" he finally asked, recovering himself. - -"Mental projection, complete; constant hypnosis." - -"Dawnspear was blind, too," Kesley recalled suddenly. - -"Yes. It pleased me to retain the image of the blind man who saw so -well. Dawnspear was blind. Otherwise, he was a complete fabrication. -I invented a false background for him, persuaded people that he had -always lived in that house in that part of Chicago. And they believed -it. Unable to do anything else, I lived camouflaged, not knowing how -urgently I was sought." - -"And then I came to Chicago." - -"Then you came. And stumbled into Winslow's grasp exactly as you -had done before. And once again reached the dungeons. Again, it was -necessary for me to rescue you." - -"I did it once before, as Daveen. Five years ago. You came to Winslow's -court, and he delivered you to the headsman. I intervened." - -"Why? How?" - -"You loved my daughter. Furthermore, I thought you should not die." - -"I loved her even then?" Kesley asked, astonished. - -"Yes. She does not remember, nor do you--but you loved each other. When -Winslow ordered you killed, I determined to save you. I hypnotized your -jailers, slipped into the dungeon, freed you, led you out. It was a -gross violation of my oath to Winslow." - -Daveen paused, and Kesley stared intently at him, waiting for him to -go on. There was something grotesque about this calm, matter-of-fact -relation of actions he had been involved in and yet remembered nothing -about. Reality seemed to slide yawingly from moment to moment. He had -loved Narella five years ago? He had been at Winslow's court, and been -sentenced to death? - -Possibly. But it was as if those things had happened to someone else. - -"Go on," Kesley said hoarsely. "What was I doing at Winslow's court? -For God's sake, Daveen, _who am I_?" - -The singer shook his head slowly. "No. Not yet. Let me go on, and -you'll learn the rest in proper time." - -"Very well," Kesley said, mollified. - -"I took you from the prison, as 'Dawnspear' did just recently. I -attempted to contact those who would receive you safely, but could not. -Failing this, I had to make provision for your safety. I therefore -placed you in full hypnosis, wiped out all knowledge of your past -background, and substituted a pseudo-biography in which you had been -born in--Kansas Province, I believe. It was a slipshod job, but I was -in a hurry. Were there inconsistencies?" - -"Yes," Kesley said. "There were." - -"I feared as much. But it was the best I could do, at the time. I took -the precaution of webbing in a pain-threshold that would keep you from -probing your own past too deeply. Then I had you transported to Iowa -Province, safely out of Winslow's way, and established you as a farmer -there. It was a secure, rhythmic life; tied to the soil, you would -remain healthy and unmolested. Later, perhaps, I would be able to take -you from the farm and restore your identity. - -"I returned to Chicago. My daughter asked where you were; I found it -necessary to block her memories of you to prevent unhappiness. They can -be restored as well, when the time comes. Curiously, you and she came -together again later, neither knowing who the other was--and the result -of the meeting was the same as before." Daveen smiled. "This, I think, -should amply prove the strength of your love, at any rate." - -Kesley coughed. Nervously he said: "So you left me in Iowa. You never -came to get me--or were you van Alen, too?" - -"No. I was not van Alen. My plans were interrupted; Winslow discovered -how you had been freed, and in anger ordered my execution. I fled; -Narella was given to Miguel as a plaything." - -"He calls her his daughter," Kesley pointed out. - -"Fortunately. Miguel is going through a paternal cycle; for the -moment, he no longer feels fleshly desires. Narella was sent to be his -mistress--but became his adopted daughter instead. Dukes are difficult -to fathom in advance." - -"I know that well." - -"To continue: I fled. You remained in Iowa Province. Those who loved -you sought you, finally found you." - -"You mean van Alen? He tried to bring me here--to Antarctica." - -"Yes. He failed; you and he were separated. Once again you drifted into -dealings with the Dukes--and when they realized who you were, they -immediately desired your death, both Miguel and Winslow." - -"_Why?_ Why'd they turn on me like that?" - -"For that," Daveen said, "the simplest answer involves the lifting of -the first of the psychic blocks I laid upon you. Are you ready?" - -"I've been waiting for this since you started talking." - -Again Daveen chuckled melodiously. "In all your wanderings you've -learned but little patience. Now you will begin to understand." - -He held forth the object he had been holding. Kesley now saw that it -was a musical instrument of some kind, fashioned of a dark-hued, glossy -plastic. It had three hair-fine strings running its length; at the top, -above the bridge, were three white buttons. - -"My music-maker," Daveen said. "My constant companion always. It holds -the keys to your mind, my friend." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Listen." - -Daveen touched the three buttons lightly with his long fingers, and -a tone appeared, shimmering delicately, followed by a second and a -third. They hung in the air, meshing their subharmonics, quivering and -blending. It was, thought Kesley, like no music he had ever heard. - -Daveen began to play--a slow, mournful, lingeringly lovely melody. -Melodic lines intertwined in complex polyphony; Kesley found himself -following the music with breathless excitement. It soothed and tensed -him at the same time. - -Daveen sang a deep, lulling, wordless chant. Beneath his voice the -music swept to a gentle crest of subdued excitement, and Kesley felt -his nerves quivering with expectation. - -The music, strange, atonal now, shifting keys with impossible rapidity -of modulation, held suddenly. - -Daveen stopped. - -There was complete silence. - -In that silence, Daveen said, "_One!_" - -And Kesley felt light flash numbingly through him. - -He huddled in his chair while the frozen brain-cells at last discharged -the information they had stored for nearly five years. The words went -rumbling over his synapses, repeating themselves endlessly. - -Finally it stopped. Hesitantly, he looked up at the calmly smiling -Daveen. - -Then he looked down at his hands--his own hands, the hands he had -farmed with and killed with. - -The hands of an Immortal. - -"Me?" - -It was almost impossible. But he knew it was true. - -"You will never die," Daveen said. - -"I will never die." - -"_Two!_" said Daveen suddenly. - -Kesley was thrown back in his seat by the unexpected, second -data-release. When it was over, he looked up again, smiling. - -"An Immortal and the son of an Immortal. Small wonder Miguel and -Winslow wanted to kill me!" - -The words of Winslow's sentence came drifting back now: "_... you -represent as great a threat to the Twelve Empires as has ever been -born, my young friend._" - -Of course! Twelve sterile Dukes, blessed with eternal life but cursed -with the inability to reproduce--what would they do, how would they -react when they knew that one line of Immortals, somewhere in Earth, -bred true? That they were faced with the prospect of a gathering race -of Immortals threatening their powers as the years rolled on? - -"You see?" Daveen asked. - -"I understand now," Kesley said. "They _had_ to try to kill me. I was a -menace--an Immortal who wasn't a Duke, and whose children could breed -true!" - -He stared at his hands as if they were covered with suddenly alien -flesh. "I wasn't a Duke, was I?" He asked cautiously. Anything was -possible now. - -"No," Daveen told him. "You were never a Duke." - -Kesley smiled, thinking now of the centuries stretching endlessly -ahead. "A king without a kingdom, then. Well, there's plenty of time -for me to find one. But you still haven't told me who I am, Daveen." - - - - - XIV - - -There was silence in the bare room for almost a minute. Idly, Daveen -strummed his instrument; Kesley tensed, thinking another layer of his -mind-block was to be stripped back, but Daveen was merely striking -random notes. - -"Well?" Kesley asked. - -"The information you want is not mine to give." - -"All right," Kesley said. He rose and stared down at the blind man. "I -won't ask again." - -He had asked too many people too many questions, without result. Now he -would save his breath. - -As he stood there, a door opened silently out of the wall. - -"What's that for?" he demanded. Then, realizing the blind Daveen was -unaware of the occurrence, he added: "A door just opened in the wall." - -"Doors are for leaving rooms," Daveen observed. - -"I'll take the hint." Kesley hesitantly stepped through--and saw -Antarctica. - -He was standing on a short, jutting balcony that hung a few feet out -over the distant street below. Sudden vertigo gripped him as he looked -down, down. It was five hundred--no, a thousand--feet to the ground! - -Tiny dots of color moved rapidly far below on unceasing slide-ramps. -Down the center of the street, graceful cars of blue and gold and red, -topped with plastic bubbles, raced along. Buildings rose on each side -of the street--towering edifices, mighty vaults of steel and plastic. -Kesley sucked in his breath sharply. - -The sky overhead was warm and bright, and just below the clouds, far in -the distance, a curious, tingling, purplish light illuminated the sky. -_That's the barrier_, Kesley realized. The intangible wall of force -that separated Antarctica from the rest of the world. - -It was a mind-numbing sight, this fantastic city. It was like no city -he had ever seen in the Empires; it stretched to the horizon, tower -after massive tower. A graceful network of airy flexibridges hung like -gossamer in the air, linking building to building far above street -level. - -And the city was shining. - -That was the only way to describe it. The sleek sides of the huge -buildings gleamed brightly in the warm daylight. - -As Kesley looked out, it seemed to him as if so many thousand-foot -mirrors blinked back at him. - -He stepped back inside. Daveen had not moved. - -"You've never seen Antarctica, have you?" Kesley asked. - -The poet smiled. "I know what it must be like. How do you feel?" - -Kesley thought of the shining towers and compared them with the squat -tenements of Chicago and Buenos Aires. "It's an incredible city." - -"Yes," Daveen said. - -With sudden bitterness Kesley said: "Why does the Antarctican Duke keep -that barrier up? Why doesn't he invite the world down here to see what -he has? Why must ninety percent of mankind live in squalor?" - -"They want it that way," Daveen pointed out. - -He fingered his instrument gently; a mocking note crept forth. Kesley -remained silent in thought for a moment. - -Then he nodded. "You're right. The Dukes see to it that nothing -changes, that no progress is ever made. The Twelve Empires don't want -any part of Antarctica, and Antarctica doesn't want any part of them." - -Antarctica's Duke, for one reason or another, had raised an impregnable -wall around his fantastic paradise. The Twelve Dukes of the war-blasted -world had erected their own barriers. But who was to say those barriers -could not be thrown down again? There was a _fourteenth_ Immortal. And -he was free to act. - -Ten minutes ago such thoughts would have been nothing more than -bravado. Now, Kesley knew, he held power in his hands. - -"Daveen?" - -"Yes?" - -"I'm going to leave. I'm going to go looking for the Duke. Is there -anything else you want to tell me, before I go?" - -A calm smile spread over the tired face. "Not now," Daveen said. - - * * * * * - -Another panel in the wall opened as if at Kesley's request, and without -hesitating he stepped through. He found himself in a small rectangular -enclosure whose luminescent walls were inlaid with tiles of a glowing -green plastic. - -"Down," he said, and the enclosure sank. - -It glided downward with no illusion of descent, drifted through a -thousand-foot shaft and came to a silent halt. A wall opened. Kesley -saw that he was at ground level, in the vestibule of the great building. - -He saw the people: tanned, happy-faced people who did not seem to -notice him. They wore smooth, free-flowing tunics of what seemed like -an uncreasable fabric; it put the finest robes of the courtiers of the -Americas to shame. - -As he paused in the vestibule, not quite knowing which way to turn, he -heard a familiar humming sound, turned, and saw a mechanical man near -him. It might have been a twin of the ones he had seen at Wiener. - -"I give information," the robot said. - -"How can I get to the Duke's palace?" - -"Duke's residence is reached by travelling on slidewalk eleven blocks -north to crosspoint, transferring to eastbound slidewalk and continuing -until destination. You will be aware when reaching Duke's residence." - -"Thanks," Kesley said. - -"Is any other information requested?" - -"Not just yet," he said. He turned away and broke the photon beam that -controlled the front door. It swung open. He stepped out onto the -slidewalks. - -There were five of them, he saw, running in a parallel series--five -bright metal strips moving at different speeds. He was on the slowest -of the five; it glided forward effortlessly, seemingly without -friction. Carefully, he stepped to the adjoining strip, which was a -little more crowded, and picked up speed. He became intrigued by the -moving roadway and rapidly passed to the fastest of the slidewalks. - -By that time, though, eight blocks had slipped past, and he hastily -edged back to the slow walk. At the eleventh block, he cut off deftly -onto the eastbound walk that intercepted the one he had been on. - -Now he could see the Duke's Palace: a square, blocky edifice of lacy -foamglass that was dwarfed by the towering buildings to either side. -Remembering the awesome majesty of Winslow's and Miguel's palaces in -comparison to the rest of Chicago and Buenos Aires, he thought it -odd--and then not so odd--that Antarctica's Duke should affect a -small, relatively unimpressive home. - -The slidewalk brought him rapidly to the shining door that fronted the -Ducal palace. Kesley formulated his plan, set forth his demands in his -mind. - -It was a bold, rash idea. If it failed, he had lost nothing. And if it -succeeded-- - -He stepped off the slidewalk. The Duke's Palace seemed to beckon. - - * * * * * - -Inside, a robot attendant came humming up to him. Kesley confronted the -featureless face calmly. - -"I'd like to see the Duke." - -"Certainly. Have you an appointment?" - -"No," Kesley said. "Tell him--" - -"Just one moment," the robot interrupted. "I'll arrange for an -appointment. Your name, please?" - -"Dale Kesley." - -There was the momentary clicking of data-sorters over memory banks. - -Then the robot said: "Confirmation requested. Was the name Dale Kesley?" - -"That's right." - -"The Duke will see you at once, Dale Kesley. I will escort you to him." - -A little surprised, Kesley nodded. "That'll be fine." - -The robot glided away on its treads toward a lift-ramp. Kesley -followed, suppressing his impatience. - -He wondered if the Duke of Antarctica would be surrounded by long rows -of halberdiers. Somehow he doubted it. - -A pulse tickled annoyingly in the side of his throat as the elevator -rose. The trip was brief; the door-panel was sliding open almost before -it had closed. - -The robot rolled out first and started off down a long, bright -corridor. Kesley followed. - -The corridor seemed to be endless. Finally, the robot paused before a -richly-panelled door and touched a stud. "Yes?" a deep voice said. - -Inclining its speaking-grid toward a pickup embedded in the ornament of -the door, the robot said: "Dale Kesley to see you?" - -"_Kesley?_" - -"Dale Kesley to see you," the robot repeated impassively. - -Kesley heard stirring within. He tensed; this was suspicious. Was it -this easy to gain audience with a Duke? - -He waited nervously for the door to open. He had been hired to kill -Winslow; Miguel had begged him once to drive a knife into _his_ breast. -And now he was about to see a third Duke--the first he had any real -motive for killing. - -The door swung back. Another robot waited within. - -"Don't tell me _you're_ the Duke?" Kesley said, aghast. He had long -since learned that anything was likely. - -"Hardly," the new robot replied, with as much of an ironic inflection -as a robot voice could muster. "The Duke waits for you within. Come." - -Fingering the keen knife at his side, Kesley entered the Ducal chambers. - - - - - XV - - -The Antarctican Duke lived well, Kesley thought. His private apartments -were sprawling, luxurious, with more than one strange echo of Miguel's -room. For one, a wall of paintings looked down--but they were not -oil works such as Miguel had, but paintings done in some curiously -realistic technique that hardly seemed to involve brushwork at all. -They were more frozen images of life than paintings, he thought. - -In the distance he could see television screens, reminding him of the -closed-circuit battery taking up one wall of Miguel's study. The robot -led him on, gliding him from room to room. - -"This is the Duke's room," the robot said finally. "You may go in." - -Kesley approached the dark, paneled-wood door. It swung open without -his touching it. - -A man stood there, dressed in the customary Antarctican costume, -smiling, his arms folded. Kesley's eyes flickered in surprise; then he -crossed the threshold. - -"Van Alen," he said. - -The noble grinned. "Hello, Dale. I owe you an apology. I found it -necessary to flee, back there in the woods. But I've been following -your subsequent adventures with great interest, Dale." - -"I'll bet you have," Kesley said. He studied van Alen's powerful frame, -meeting eyebrows, wide-set eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again, -but here I am. I suppose you're here to take me to the Duke. Well, I'm -ready." - -Van Alen's smile grew broader. He extracted a jewel-studded, gold case -from his tunic, pressed a stud. A tiny yellow filament licked forth. He -touched it casually to his wrist; a fugitive tingle of pleasure passed -over his face. - -"Electrostimulator," he explained. "Sensory heightening. One of my -favorite vices; one that I had to leave behind when I made my abortive -journey to Iowa Province." - -"I'd like to see the Duke," Kesley repeated impatiently. - -Van Alen chuckled. "Look at my eyes, Dale." - -Kesley glanced up from the electrostimulator in van Alen's hand; his -gaze traveled up over the glossy, green fabric of the noble's tunic, -over his stiff reddish beard, his firm lips, the jutting nose, to the -eyes. - -The eyes. - -The deep, tired, weary, all-seeing eyes of an Immortal. - -Oddly, it came as no surprise. Double identity was almost the rule in -the world, it seemed. Daveen and Dawnspear, van Alen and the Duke, -Kesley and--who? - -Kesley groped unsteadily toward a chair; it sprang forward and settled -itself beneath him. "You, yourself--" - -"Antarctica is mine, Dale. I went north to bring you here, but I -failed. My life was threatened in the forest. I ran. An Immortal is -jealous of his life. Remember the scream of fear when you first drew -the knife on me, after I shot your wolf? That was _fright_--naked -crawling fright." The Antarctican shook his head bitterly. "I should -never have left here." - -"I've seen Daveen," Kesley said. - -"I know. The otter sent him to me." - -"Spahl?" - -Van Alen nodded. "That's his name. You owe your life to him many times -over, Dale." - -"I owe my life to everyone at least six times, it seems," Kesley said -sardonically. "It seems to be a game everyone likes to play--saving me." - -"Spahl found out who Lomark Dawnspear really was and sent him here. -Spahl was the one who arranged to have you sent here, by the only -method that can penetrate our Barrier. It was Spahl also, I believe, -who discovered you in the forest when you escaped from Miguel." - -Kesley frowned. "Enough of Spahl. I've seen Daveen. I know I'm -Immortal, now." - -"Of course." - -"Why didn't you tell me?" - -Van Alen spread his hands. "Would you have believed me?" - -Kesley paused, thinking for a moment. "No," he said finally. "But when -Daveen struck those notes on his instrument, I _knew_." - -He rose and began to pace nervously. His booted feet sank deep into the -glistening carpet that covered the entire room. - -"I want to tell you why I came to see the Duke, van Alen. I mean -that--I came to see the Duke as Duke, and the fact that he turned out -to be you doesn't matter a damn to what I'm going to say." - -Lazily van Alen touched the electrostimulator to his wrist again. "Go -ahead. I'm most interested." - -"From what little I've seen of Antarctica, it's a wonderful place. It's -the only place in the world where science didn't die with the Great -Blast--except Wiener, maybe, and there aren't any people in Wiener. -You've got technology, here; you've got a working society. I've only -been here a few hours and I don't know _what_ you have. But I do know -this: you've got the power to knock Winslow and Miguel and the rest of -them sprawling from their thrones, and break down the resistance to -progress that the Twelve Dukes have so carefully built up." - -The smile had left van Alen's face. The Duke was studying Kesley -reflectively, his lips drawn into a tight scowl, his lean fingers -knotted in the fringes of his beard. - -Kesley moistened his lips. "For one reason or another, you've set up -this impassable wall. You want to keep what you've got, and you don't -want anything to do with the rest of the world to the north. Is this -right?" - -"This has been my policy," van Alen admitted. - -Kesley glanced around uneasily. "Can you justify that policy?" - -"I see no need to." - -"All right," Kesley said. "Let me suggest an alternate policy: you step -down from the throne and appoint me Duke. I'm an Immortal too, I've -discovered lately; I'll take your job. And I'll break down all the -barriers that keep the people of the world penned away from each other." - -"Just how will you persuade me to allow this?" van Alen asked, with icy -calmness. - -_This is the moment_, Kesley thought. He stepped toward van Alen, -seized the momentarily relaxed arm quickly, twisted it up behind the -Immortal's back. At the same moment he drew his knife, touched it to -van Alen's throat just below the beard. - -"Miguel taught me that Immortals can be killed. He sent me off to kill -one. I don't want to drive this knife home, van Alen, but I will if I -have to. Get your robots in here and dictate a message of abdication." - -"If I don't--" - -Kesley twitched the knife slightly. Van Alen winced. - -"I can break your hold, you know," the Duke pointed out. - -"Probably." Kesley remembered the time van Alen had broken Kesley's -grip in the Iowa farmhouse, had removed Kesley's hands from his throat -as if he were a child. "But while you're doing that, I push the knife -in. You don't have a chance. Will you dictate the abdication?" - -"I've ruled here three hundred sixty years and more," van Alen said. -"It's not easy to give up a throne in a moment after so long." - -Again Kesley dug the knife in. This time, a few drops of blood trickled -down, staining van Alen's broad collar. Immortal blood. - -"Well?" - -Sweat mingled with the blood droplets on van Alen's throat. "I agree to -terms," he said hoarsely. "Snap on the recorder on my desk." - -Kesley looked suspiciously at the knob mounted in the cabinet. "If this -is a trick--" - -"No trick," van Alen said. - -Kesley backed across the room without releasing his grip on van Alen, -and spun the noble around. "Reach down and snap on the recorder -yourself. I'll be ready with the knife if anything strange happens. -Then start to talk." - -Van Alen shifted the position of the stud with an extended finger. A -faint hum resulted; otherwise, nothing happened. Kesley relaxed just a -trifle. - -"Talk," he ordered. - -Van Alen said: "People of Antarctica, hear and believe this message. - -"Today, in the three hundred sixty-second year of my rule, I am giving -up my throne. - -"I turn it over to the man named Dale Kesley--like myself an Immortal. -He will rule you wisely and well, I am sure, and will lead you to -greatnesses I never dared to attain. - -"Thank you." - -Van Alen shut the machine off. "There," he said. "When I touch the -spiral lever, the message will be beamed on wide circuit to the entire -continent. The robots will shift allegiance to you at once; the place -will be yours." - -"Touch the lever," Kesley said hoarsely. - -Van Alen reached out--but as he nudged the control, a bright green beam -licked out suddenly. Acting instinctively, Kesley jabbed at the Duke's -throat with the knife. - -There was no knife. - -The knife had been whisked from his hand the instant the beam had shot -forth. - -Van Alen turned, easily extricating his imprisoned arm from Kesley's -numbed grasp. His fist crashed into Kesley's stomach, rocking him -backward. - -_Cheated!_ Kesley thought wildly. He recalled an earlier, forgotten -resolution never to have dealings with Dukes again. - -Mechanically he raised a fist to defend himself. Van Alen's attack -drove through, and blows thudded against his face and chest. He tried -to fight back; he hit van Alen glancingly on the shoulder, struck for -his midsection. Another blow sent him staggering away. - -Desperately Kesley leaped forward and flung himself on van Alen. They -tumbled to the floor, rolled over several times, once with Kesley -on top. Then van Alen began to get the upper hand. The Immortal was -fantastically strong. - -He rose to a sitting position atop Kesley, gripping both of Kesley's -hands in one of his. He wiped flecks of perspiration from his chin and -dabbed at the tiny cut on his throat. - -"Sorry, Dale. In five hundred years I've learned a few tricks. That was -a teleport beam; your knife's now somewhere in the main routing depot -of my post office." - -Kesley muttered a harsh, wordless curse. Then he said: "You'll kill me -now, I suppose." - -"For reacting the way I expected you would? Nonsense." Van Alen rolled -off Kesley and stood up. Reaching to his desk, he pressed a buzzer and -said, "Admit Daveen." - -"Why do you want _him_?" Kesley asked. - -"You'll see." - -The panel glided open and Daveen stepped through, walking with uncanny -assurance. - -"Three," van Alen said. - -Daveen began to play the same haunting melody he had played before. -Kesley, lying on the floor, waited uncertainly for the moment when-- - -"_Three_," Daveen said. - -One crushing fact rolled down on Kesley like a shock wave. _One_ fact. - -He waited while its implications shuddered through him like -subharmonics from Daveen's music-maker. His dazed mind evaluated the -new datum. - -"Of course," he said finally, standing up. "Why else would you have -gone to Iowa Province looking for me? Why else would you be so -interested in my whereabouts?" - -"You see now?" van Alen asked. - -"I see part of it. I see that _yours_ is the line of Immortals that -breeds true, since I'm your son." - -"I thought you would have guessed that when Daveen rolled back the very -first layer of fog," van Alen said. "You didn't. But now you know _who_ -you are." - -"And why--why--" - -"Four," van Alen ordered. - -"_Four!_" Daveen cried. - -And Kesley began to understand. - - - - - XVI - - -"You know, now?" van Alen asked. - -Kesley smiled wanly. "This isn't the first time we've had this -discussion, then." - -"No. The last time, though, you had no knife." - -"If I had known who you were, I'd never--" - -"Certainly," van Alen said. "You're not to be blamed." - -"May I go?" Daveen interrupted suddenly. - -Van Alen nodded. "Of course, Daveen. You've done splendidly." - -"Thank you, sire," said the Singer gravely. Bowing, the blind man -backed unerringly out into the adjoining elevator. Van Alen turned back -to Kesley. - -"You remember, now, the circumstances under which we last met in this -room?" - -"Yes," Kesley said. "I came to you--to ask you to abdicate in my favor, -Father. You refused." - -"And you ran away." - -"What else could I do? You were Immortal; I was twenty-three, and you -refused to leave the throne. I thought you were wrong in your ways." - -"Twenty-three--and you wanted to rule," van Alen repeated reflectively. -"Now, of course, you have the wisdom of mature years. Why, you must be -nearly thirty, old man!" - -"Twenty-eight. And I'm still aging. What was it Stohrbach said, your -geneticist? That I'll continue to age until about the age of thirty and -then stop?" - -"Thirty-five. You haven't reached full maturity yet." - -"But my cells show the regenerative pattern of an Immortal." - -Kesley let the other newly-awakened memories filter through his mind. - -"I left you," he said. "Angrily. I had myself teleported through your -Barrier and into North America, where I intended to live under an -assumed name and work for the overthrow of Winslow--as a start." - -"Is that it?" van Alen asked. "I was never sure of your plan." - -Kesley nodded. "I intended gradually to seize the Twelve Empires--and -then ask you to lower your force-screen." - -Van Alen smiled slowly. "Worthy of a Duke, son. But it didn't work. -One of Winslow's mutant telepaths--now dead and out of circulation, -happily--discovered your true identity. Word traveled fast among the -Twelve Dukes that I had had a son who bore the Immortal traits. They -resolved to kill you, hoping I would never have another. And you were -caught, there in Winslow's own home yard. It was Daveen who rescued -you. The rest you've already relearned." - -Kesley nodded, calmly now. "I'm back home now, Father." - -"At last. Daveen hid you so well I thought we'd never find you. Finally -I decided to go myself. I found you--and lost you again." - -"You're missing my point," Kesley said sharply. "I'm _back home_." - -"And?" - -"And I haven't changed my ideas." - -Van Alen slipped the electrostimulator into his hand once again and -let the minute voltage caress his nerves. "So?" he said quizzically. - -"I still feel the force-screen ought to come down." - -Van Alen shook his head frowningly. "You're not the green boy you were -when you left, you know. You've seen the courts of the Dukes; you've -worked on a farm. You know what it is to flee for your life." - -"And I've seen Mutie City and the Colony and Wiener," Kesley added. -"I've really been around." - -"And?" - -"And I think the world's rotten at the core! I think _you_ can save -it--if you'll only lift your damned Barrier and give what you have here -to the rest of the world!" - -Pain filtered over van Alen's face. He stared sadly at Kesley for a -moment, with the timeless expression in his eyes that Kesley knew he, -himself, would one day acquire. "You still don't understand," van Alen -said huskily, "why that Barrier is up." - -"No. I don't." - -"You've dealt with three Immortals: Winslow, Miguel, me. What do we -have in common?" van Alen demanded suddenly. - -Startled, Kesley stopped to think of their common characteristics. -_Nothing in common_, he nearly answered. Then he saw he was wrong. - -Physical vitality. Long life. These things were obvious. - -The deepness of the eyes. Constant for all three. - -And a deepness of personality, a strange complexity of behavior, a -pattern of actions that appeared to be based on random selection. Yes, -that was it. "You're unpredictable," Kesley said. "One never knows what -to expect from you. It's as if you act without motivation sometimes." - -"It seems that way, doesn't it? But look: you're lying in a tub of -water, completely submerged. A hand suddenly breaks the surface of the -water and plunges a knife into you. All you see is the hand; for all -the evidence you have, that's all there is--just a hand. - -"It's completely unmotivated, isn't it? Why would a mere _hand_ want to -murder you? No reason at all. But suppose that hand is attached to the -arm of your most deadly enemy? It's not so unmotivated then, is it?" - -"You mean we only see segments of events; you see the entire happening. -That it?" - -"It comes with long life. You'll have it too," van Alen said. "It's a -curse. You'll be living in three dimensions and everyone else in two. -And no one will ever manage to understand you fully except another one -like you." - -"You're stalling. The Barrier," Kesley prodded. - -"The Barrier. I put that up out of fear." Van Alen's strong head -drooped; his ancient eyes looked bleak. "I'm safe, secure down here. -We've continued to progress. No bombs were dropped on Antarctica. I -don't want any bombs coming down." - -"But there won't be! There can't be! They've virtually reverted to -a pre-mechanical culture in the Twelve Empires. They've got as much -chance of being able to build bombs as you do of sprouting wings." - -A new thought occurred to Kesley. "When did you come to Antarctica? You -said you'd only been ruling three hundred sixty-odd years. The Blast -was more than four hundred years ago." - -Van Alen seemed to be trembling. "I came to Antarctica in 2164, -established control, and erected the barrier the following year." His -voice wavered. "Do you want the rest of it?" - -"I don't need it." Kesley jabbed a forefinger at the Duke. "You never -told me this, but now I understand. 2162--that's the year the Twelve -Dukes met and divided up the world, all except Antarctica. Right?" - -"Yes," van Alen said tonelessly. - -"Okay. In 2162, there were twelve Empires--and _thirteen Immortals_! -You were the odd man out!" - -Van Alen winced, and Kesley felt a surge of pity now that he finally -had voiced the words. Van Alen had lived alone with these memories for -hundreds of years. - -"They cast you out," Kesley went on. "You were an Immortal--it was -obvious, you were a hundred years old and still in the prime of -life--and everyone else grabbed a Dukedom before you did. So you slunk -off to Antarctica with your tail wrapped around your hind legs, and -founded yourself an Empire down here." - -"No more, please," van Alen said. "Please." - -"I want to go on." Kesley's eyes flashed. "You built that barrier -out of fear and hatred; you closed yourself away from the Twelve who -rejected you! And now--" - -"And now I'm very tired," said van Alen. He rose. "Five years ago you -argued for overthrowing the Barrier. I refused without citing reason. -Now you understand why." - -"It was because you didn't dare face your twelve old enemies," Kesley -said mercilessly. "Even though Antarctica had continued scientific -development and they had shunned it, even though you now had the -weapons and the techniques to blast the twelve of them off their -thrones at long distance, you still kept thinking of yourself as the -poor relation who got shunted away. That's why you ran away when the -bandits caught me in Argentina; you dreaded going before Miguel. You -had to escape even at the cost of leaving me behind." - -"That's part of it." Van Alen seemed to recover some of his former -poise. "If you'll remember, though, I couched my refusal of your ideas -five years ago in such a way that you'd almost certainly react by -running away." - -"I remember. Why?" - -"You've seen the world. You've seen other Dukes. You know what the -world is like. You've matured. It was a sink-or-swim process, and you -swam." - -Kesley began to see what was coming. His fingers started to tremble. - -"Five years ago," van Alen went on, "I said no. Today's answer is -different. It's _yes_." - -Van Alen laid his still powerful hand on Kesley's shoulder. -"I can't take down the Barrier myself. I need it up there, as -protection--protection against emotional fears that even I know, -intellectually, are foolish. - -"But _you_ can take it down, Dryle--as Duke of Antarctica!" - -Kesley had seen it coming. He nodded. "I'm so used to thinking of -myself as Dale Kesley that it's hard to remember my name's the same as -yours--Dryle van Alen." - -"_Dux et Imperator_," the older man added, grinning. "A little while -ago I dictated an abdication. At knifepoint, to be sure, but I kept my -voice calm. That message is still on the tapes. Any time you want, you -have my permission to broadcast it." - -Young van Alen stared evenly at his father. "The Barrier _will_ come -down. The Dukes will fall. I'll get Narella back from Miguel." - -"These things will happen. Remember, though, there will be others after -Narella. It's one of the prices you pay for long life." - -"I know," he said gravely. He grinned. "I'm still young, yet, and so is -she. There's time for me to start learning how to take the long view -later." - -He turned away and extended a hand toward the control that would -broadcast his father's message to all the continent of Antarctica. - -His hand hovered for a moment. - -Once, he knew, Antarctica had been covered with ice, a frozen, desolate -land. Men had cleared the ice and built a garden continent. - -Now, the new Duke thought, it was the other nine-tenths of the world -that lay under an icy pall. That could be altered, too. The Twelve -Dukes could be swept away; the walls around the cities and around men's -minds could be destroyed. And it was not necessary that the tragedy of -2062 be repeated. - -His finger brushed the stud and his father's words began to echo -through the city and out over the entire continent. - -"_People of Antarctica, hear and believe this message. Today, in the -362nd year of my rule, I am giving up my throne._" - -As the abdication decree resounded through the halls of the Ducal -palace, he turned and saw the robots rolling toward him, ready to give -allegiance to their new lord. - -He drew a deep breath. Plenty of work lay ahead. The years of the -freeze were at their end; the great thaw was just beginning. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 13TH IMMORTAL *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no - restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it - under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this - eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the - United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where - you are located before using this eBook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that: - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation's website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without -widespread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/65538-0.zip b/old/65538-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 10a3bb3..0000000 --- a/old/65538-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65538-h.zip b/old/65538-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4b36a60..0000000 --- a/old/65538-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65538-h/65538-h.htm b/old/65538-h/65538-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index b91b51e..0000000 --- a/old/65538-h/65538-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6379 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The 13th Immortal, by Robert Silverberg. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: 33.5%; - margin-right: 33.5%; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%; margin-left: 17.5%; margin-right: 17.5%;} -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -x-ebookmaker-drop {display: none;} - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -div.titlepage { - text-align: center; - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; -} - -div.titlepage p { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-weight: bold; - line-height: 1.5; - margin-top: 3em; -} - -.ph1 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -.ph1 { font-size: medium; margin: .83em auto; } - - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The 13th Immortal, by Robert Silverberg</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Title:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>The 13th Immortal</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> -<div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em'>Author:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Robert Silverberg</div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 7, 2021 [eBook #65538]</div> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> -<div style='display:table; margin-bottom:1em;'> - <div style='display:table-row'> - <div style='display:table-cell; padding-right:0.5em; white-space:nowrap;'>Produced by:</div> - <div style='display:table-cell'>Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net</div> - </div> -</div> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 13TH IMMORTAL ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter x-ebookmaker-drop"> - <img src="images/illusc.jpg" alt=""/> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> - -<h1>The 13th Immortal</h1> - -<h2>By ROBERT SILVERBERG</h2> - -<p>ACE BOOKS<br /> -A Division of A. A. Wyn, Inc.<br /> -23 West 47th Street, New York 36, N. Y.</p> - - -<p>THE 13th IMMORTAL</p> - -<p>Copyright ©, 1957, by A. A. Wyn, Inc.</p> - -<p>All Rights Reserved</p> - -<p>[Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any<br /> -evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]</p> - -<p>To Barbara</p> - -<p>Printed in U.S.A.</p> - -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">THE SECRET OF THE FORBIDDEN CONTINENT</p> - - -<p>"<i>Who was your father?</i>" the mutant asked Dale Kesley. And try as he -might, Kesley could not remember; his past was an utter blank. But he -knew one thing—the answer to his life's riddle lay in Antarctica, -the once frozen continent, now an earthly paradise surrounded by an -impenetrable barrier.</p> - -<p>But how to get there? The only means of transportation were the spindly -six-legged mutant horses. And it was suicide for Kesley to travel on -the American continents. Two immortal dictators had set king-size -rewards for his capture—dead or alive. But somewhere in the two -continents there was someone who would help him, someone he had to -find. The future of the world depended on his success.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">CAST OF CHARACTERS</p> - - -<p>DALE KESLEY - He couldn't find the answers until he knew the right -questions.</p> - -<p>DRYLE VAN ALEN - The South Pole was his summer resort.</p> - -<p>NARELLA - She loved two men with one face.</p> - -<p>DON MIGUEL - He was a childless sire, an impotent potentate.</p> - -<p>DUKE WINSLOW - Once he had been wise; twice he had been fooled.</p> - -<p>LOMARK DAWNSPEAR - In his blindness, he saw all things.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">Prologue</p> - - -<p>Centuries later, men would talk of those years as the Years of the -Freeze. They would mean the years between 2062 and 2527, the years when -mankind, shattered by its own hand, maintained a rigid cultural stasis -while rebuilding.</p> - -<p>Those were the years when what was, would be. The years when there -would be nothing new under the sun because mankind willed it so. The -century of war, culminating in the almost total global destruction of -2062, had taught lessons that were not soon forgotten.</p> - -<p>The old ways returned to the world—ways that had held sway for -thousands of years, and which had regained ascendancy after the brief, -nightmarish reign of the machine. Mankind still had machines, of -course; life would have been impossible without them. But the Years of -the Freeze were years of primarily hand labor, of travel by foot or by -horse, of slow living and fear of complexity. The clock rolled back to -an older, simpler land of world—and froze there.</p> - -<p>Like all ages, this one had its symbols and, conveniently, the symbols -of the status quo were actual as well as symbolic forces in maintaining -the Freeze. There were twelve of them—the Twelve Dukes, they called -themselves, and they ruled the world between them. They had no power -over the forgotten land of Antarctica, but otherwise they were -virtually supreme. North America, South America, East and West Europe, -Scandinavia, Australia, North Africa, Equatorial Africa, South Africa, -China, India, Oceanica—each boasted its Duke.</p> - -<p>They were products of the great blast of 2062, and they had found their -way to power tortuously. Most of them had lived ordinary lives, picking -their way through the wreckage with the others in the first three -confused decades after the great destruction. But the others had died -and the Twelve had not.</p> - -<p>They had endured through forty, fifty, sixty years, themselves frozen -indefinitely in middle life. And as the decades passed, each forced his -way to control of a segment of the world. Each carved himself a Dukedom -and, in 2162, the centennial of the Old World's death, they gathered -together to divide the world among themselves.</p> - -<p>There was a bitter struggle for power, but from it emerged the world -of the Twelve Empires, stable, sedate, unchanging, determined never to -allow the technology-born nightmare of old to return. The picture was -attractive: twelve immortals, guiding the world along an even keel to -the end of time.</p> - -<p>Rumors filtered through the Twelve Empires occasionally that danger -threatened from Antarctica. Man had redeemed Antarctica from the -ice before the great cataclysm, and the polar land was known to be -inhabited. But Antarctica remained detached from humanity, erecting -an impassable barrier that cut itself off from the Twelve Empires -as effectively as if it were on another planet. And so, the stasis -held. The battered world rebuilt, on a more modest scale than of old, -clinging to the simple ways, and froze that way. Here, there, an -isolated city refused to participate in the Freeze. They, however, -didn't matter. They intended to stay isolated, as did Antarctica, and -the Twelve Dukes did not worry long over them.</p> - -<p>In ninety percent of the world, time had stopped.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">I</p> - - -<p>Half an hour before the neat fabric of his life was to be shattered -forever, Dale Kesley was thinking desperately, <i>This will be a good day -for the planting.</i></p> - -<p>He stood at the end of a freshly-turned furrow, one brown hand gripping -the sharebeam, the other patting the scaly gray flank of his mutant -plough-horse. The animal neighed, a long croaking wheeze of a sound. -Kesley looked down at the fertile soil of the furrow.</p> - -<p>He was trying to tell himself that this was good land, that he had -found a good place, here in the heart of Duke Winslow's sprawling -farmland. He was compelling himself to believe that this was where he -belonged, here where life held none of the uncertainty of the cities of -the Twelve Empires. Right here where he had lived and worked for four -years, here in Iowa Province.</p> - -<p>But it was all wrong. Somewhere deep in the cloaked depths of his mind, -he was trying to protest that there had been some mistake.</p> - -<p>He wasn't a farmer.</p> - -<p>He didn't belong in Iowa Province.</p> - -<p>Somewhere, out there in the cities of the Twelve Empires, maybe in -the radiation-blasted caves of the Old World, perhaps in the remote -fastness of the unknown Antarctican empire, life was waiting for him.</p> - -<p>Not here. Not in Iowa.</p> - -<p>As always, a cold shudder ran through him and he let his head wobble as -the sickness swept upward. He swayed, tightened his grip on the plough, -and forced himself grimly back into the synthetic mood of security that -was his one defense against the baseless terror that tormented him.</p> - -<p><i>The farm is good</i>, he thought.</p> - -<p><i>Everything here is good.</i></p> - -<p>Slowly, the congealed fear melted and drained away, and he felt whole -again.</p> - -<p>"Up, old hoss."</p> - -<p>He slapped the flank and the horse neighed again and swished its bony -tail. It was a good horse too, he thought fiercely. Somehow, everything -was good now, even the old horse.</p> - -<p>Experienced hands had warned him against buying a mutie, but when he'd -bought the half-share of the farm he had had to do it. The Old Kind -were few and well spaced in Iowa Province, and all too expensive. They -fetched upward of five thousand dollars at the markets; a good solid -mutie went for only five hundred.</p> - -<p>Besides, Kesley had argued, the Old Kind belonged with the Old -World—dead five hundred years, and long covered with dust. Only the -distant towers of New York still blazed with radiation; the chain -reaction there would continue through all eternity, as a warning and a -threat. But Kesley wasn't concerned with that.</p> - -<p>He started down a new furrow, guiding the plough smoothly and well, -strong arms gripping the beam while the horse moved steadily onward. In -front of him, the broad expanse of Iowa Province stretched out till it -looked like it reached to the end of the world. The brown land rolled -on endlessly, stopping only where it ran into the hard blueness of the -cloudless sky.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, the horse whinnied sharply. Kesley stiffened. The old mutie -could smell trouble half a mile away. Kesley had learned to value the -animal's warning. He stepped out from behind the plough and looked -around. The horse whinnied again and raked the unbroken ground with its -forepaws.</p> - -<p>Kesley shaded his eyes and squinted. Far down at the other end of the -field, near the rock fence that separated his land from Loren's, a -dark-blue animal was slinking unobtrusively over the ground.</p> - -<p><i>Blue wolf.</i></p> - -<p><i>And today I'll have your hide, old henstealer</i>, Kesley thought -jubilantly.</p> - -<p>He patted the horse's flank once again and started to run, crouching -low, moving silently across the bare field. The wolf hadn't seen him -yet. The blue-furred creature was edging across the field down below, -probably heading past the farmhouse to rob the poultry yard.</p> - -<p>A daylight raid? Times must be bad, Kesley thought. The blue wolf -normally struck only at night. Well, something had brought the old wolf -out in broad daylight, and this time Kesley would nail him.</p> - -<p>He circled sharply, staying downwind of the animal, and stepped up his -pace. Without breaking stride, he unsheathed his knife and gripped it -tightly. The wolf was nearly the size of a man; if Kesley caught up -with him, it would be a bloody fight for both of them. But a wolf's -hide was a treasure well worth a few scratches.</p> - -<p>The wolf caught the scent, now, and began to run up the path toward the -farmhouse. Kesley realized the animal was confused, was running into a -dead end.</p> - -<p>So much the better. He'd kill the beast in the sight of Loren and the -farm wenches and old Lester.</p> - -<p>He clenched his teeth and kept running. The wolf looked back at him, -bared its mouthful of yellow daggers, snarled. Its blue fur seemed to -glitter in the bright morning sunlight.</p> - -<p>Kesley's breath was starting to come hard as he ascended the steep -hill that led to the farmhouse. He slackened just a bit; he'd need to -conserve his strength for the battle to come.</p> - -<p>As he reached the crest of the hill, he saw Loren stick his head out of -the second floor of the farmhouse.</p> - -<p>"Hey, Dale!"</p> - -<p>Kesley pointed up ahead. "Wolf!" he grunted.</p> - -<p>The animal was drawing close to the poultry yard now. Kesley stepped -up his clip again. He wanted to catch it just as it passed the door of -the farmhouse. He wanted to nail it there, to plunge the knife into its -heart and—</p> - -<p>Abruptly, a strange figure stepped out of the farmhouse door. In one -smooth motion, the figure put hand to hip, drew forth a blaster, fired. -The wolf paused in mid-stride as if frozen, shuddered once, and -dropped. There was the sickening smell of burning fur in the air.</p> - -<p>Kesley felt a quick burst of hot anger. He looked down at the -smouldering ruin of the wolf huddled darkly against the ground, then to -the stranger, who was smiling as he reholstered the blaster.</p> - -<p>"What the hell did you do that for?" Kesley demanded hotly. "Who asked -you to shoot? What are you doing here, anyway?"</p> - -<p>He raised his knife in a wild threatening gesture. The stranger moved -tentatively toward his hip again, and Kesley quickly relaxed. He -lowered his knife, but continued to glare bitterly at the stranger.</p> - -<p>"A thousand pardons, young friend." The newcomer's voice was deep and -resonant, and somehow oily-sounding. "I had no idea the wolf was yours. -I merely acted out of reflex. I understand it's customary for farmers -to kill wolves on sight. Believe me, I thought I was helping you."</p> - -<p>The stranger was dressed in courtly robes that contrasted sharply with -Kesley's simple farmer's muslin. He wore a flowing cape of red trimmed -with yellow gilt, a short stiff beard stained red to match, and a royal -blue tunic. He was tall and powerful looking, with wide-set black -eyes and heavy, brooding eyebrows that ran in a solid bar across his -forehead.</p> - -<p>"I don't care if you <i>are</i> from the court," Kesley snapped. "That wolf -was mine. I chased it up from the fields—and to have some city bastard -step out of nowhere and ruin my kill for me just as I'm—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Dale!</i>"</p> - -<p>The sharp voice belonged to Loren Harker, Kesley's farming partner, a -veteran fieldsman, tall and angular, face dried by the sun and skin -brown and tough. He appeared from the farmhouse door and stood next to -the stranger.</p> - -<p>Kesley realized he had spoken foolishly. "I'm—sorry," he said, his -voice unrepentant. "It's just that it boiled me to see—dammit, you had -no <i>business</i> doing that!"</p> - -<p>"I understand," the stranger said calmly. "It was a mistake on my part. -Please accept my apologies."</p> - -<p>"Accepted," Kesley muttered. Then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Say, -what kind of tax-collector are you, anyway? You're the first man out of -Duke Winslow's court who ever said anything but '<i>Give me</i>'."</p> - -<p>"Tax-collector? Why call me that?"</p> - -<p>"Why else would you come to the farmlands, if not for the tithe? -Don't play games," Kesley said impatiently. He kicked the worthless -wolf-carcass to one side and stepped between Loren and the stranger. -"Come on inside, and tell me how much I owe my liege lord this time."</p> - -<p>"You don't understand—" Loren started to say, but the stranger put one -hand on his shoulder and halted him. "Let me," he said.</p> - -<p>He turned to Kesley. "I'm not a tax-collector. I'm not from the court -of Duke Winslow at all."</p> - -<p>"What are you doing in farm country, then?"</p> - -<p>The stranger smiled evenly. "I came here because I'm looking for -someone. But what are <i>you</i> doing here, Dale Kesley?"</p> - -<p>The question was like a stinging slap in the face. For a moment, Kesley -remained frozen, unreacting. Then, as the words penetrated below the -surface, a shadow of pain crossed his face. His mouth sagged open.</p> - -<p><i>What are you doing here, Dale Kesley?</i></p> - -<p>The words blurred and re-echoed like a shout in a cavern. Kesley felt -suddenly naked, as the mask of self-deception and hypocrisy that had -erected itself during his four years in Iowa Province crumbled inward -and fell away. It was the one question he had dreaded to face.</p> - -<p>"You look sick," Loren said. "What's wrong, Dale?" The older man's -voice was hushed, bewildered.</p> - -<p>"Nothing," Kesley said hesitantly. "Nothing at all." But he was unable -to meet the stranger's calm smile and, worse, he had no idea why.</p> - -<p>His thoughts flashed back to that moment at the plough earlier that -morning, when Iowa had seemed like the universe and he had made life -appear infinitely good.</p> - -<p><i>Lies.</i></p> - -<p>Farm life was his natural state, he had pretended. He <i>belonged</i> behind -the plough, here in Iowa.</p> - -<p><i>Lies.</i></p> - -<p>But—where <i>did</i> he belong?</p> - -<p>He realized that he was acting irrationally. Loren's face hung before -him, uncomprehending, frightened. The stranger seemed almost gloatingly -self-confident.</p> - -<p>"What did you mean by that?" Kesley asked, slowly. His voice sounded -harsh and unfamiliar in his own ears.</p> - -<p>"Have you ever been in the cities?" the stranger asked, ignoring -Kesley's question.</p> - -<p>"Once, maybe twice. I don't like it there. I'm a farmer; always have -been. I came down from Kansas Province. But what the hell—?"</p> - -<p>The stranger raised one hand to silence him. An amused twinkle crossed -the cold black eyes, and the thin lips curved upward. "They did a good -job," the stranger said, half to himself. "You really believe you're a -farmer, don't you, Dale? Have been, all your life?"</p> - -<p>Again the words stung; they bit deep into a hidden reservoir of fear, -and rose to the surface again, leaving Kesley strangely disturbed. -"Yes," he said stubbornly. "What are you trying to do?" Anger came over -him again, and he snapped, "Suppose I order you off my farm?"</p> - -<p>The stranger laughed. "<i>Your</i> farm?" His eyes probed searchingly. "How -can you call this <i>your</i> farm?"</p> - -<p>Kesley quailed at the incomprehensible pain this third attack brought. -<i>What is he after? Why can't he leave me alone?</i></p> - -<p><i>This is my farm.</i></p> - -<p><i>I belong here.</i></p> - -<p>He stood poised, swaying on the balls of his feet, staring mystifiedly -at his tormentor. <i>I belong here</i>, he thought fiercely—but without any -conviction, this time. Something within his mind kept insisting that it -was a lie, that he belonged elsewhere.</p> - -<p>The glitter of the cities suddenly rose as an image in his mind.</p> - -<p>Rage boiled over. "Let me alone!" he shouted, and jumped forward, -raising the knife high.</p> - -<p>"<i>No!</i>"</p> - -<p>The stranger's voice was almost a shriek of fear, but he was cool -enough to draw and fire. A bright spurt of flame nudged from the -muzzles of the blaster, and Kesley felt a sudden intolerable warmth in -his hand. He dropped the hot knife and stepped back, panting like a -trapped tiger.</p> - -<p>"I wish you hadn't done that," the stranger said.</p> - -<p>"I wish you had never come here," Kesley retorted. It was like a -nightmare. He felt blind, unable to defend himself, unable even to -understand the source of the attack.</p> - -<p>Loren was watching the scene in utter horror, and Kesley noticed a -couple of the farm girls standing a short distance away, watching, too. -The stranger stood with arms folded.</p> - -<p>"Let's go inside," he suggested. "We can talk better in there."</p> - -<p>Kesley remained rooted, unable to think, unable to move. "This is my -farm," he said out loud, after a moment. "Isn't it?" It was nearly a -whimper.</p> - -<p>The harshness vanished abruptly from the stranger's face. Kesley -watched uncomprehendingly as hard lines melted, sharp cheekbones no -longer seemed so austere. It was the eyes, he thought curiously. They -controlled the expression of the face. And now the cold eyes seemed to -radiate warmth.</p> - -<p>"Of course this is your farm," the stranger said. He gripped Kesley's -arm. "They really did a job on you, didn't they?"</p> - -<p>"They?"</p> - -<p>"Never mind. I don't want to hurt you any more than I have already. -Let's go inside, and we can talk about it in there."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Word had somehow travelled rapidly around the farm, and within minutes -the farmhouse living room was crowded with curious people. Kesley -looked around. He saw Loren, and toothless old Lester, who had owned -the farm once and sold it to Loren and Kesley. There were Lester's -three daughters, brawny, tanned girls who did the women's work on the -farm. There was Tim, the slow-witted hired hand.</p> - -<p>And there was the stranger in the gilt-bordered red cloak.</p> - -<p>The stranger glanced from one face to another, then at Kesley. "Can we -talk in privacy?"</p> - -<p>"You heard what he said," Kesley snapped to the others. "Get about your -jobs."</p> - -<p>"You sure you want us to leave you alone?" Loren asked. "You looked -pretty wobbly a minute ago out there, and—"</p> - -<p>"Don't cross me, Loren!"</p> - -<p>The older man shrugged. "You're the boss, Dale. Come on, Tim, let's -leave them alone."</p> - -<p>"Pretty nice city clothes he's got," old Lester cackled.</p> - -<p>Tina, Lester's oldest daughter, nudged him scornfully. "Let's get -moving, Lester. The <i>men</i> want to talk." She indicated with a smirk her -disapproval of the exclusion order.</p> - -<p>When the others were gone, Kesley turned to the stranger. "We're alone. -Now tell me who you are and what you want with me."</p> - -<p>The stranger tugged at his stiff red beard for a moment. "I'm Dryle van -Alen. Does that enlighten you?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all. Where are you from?"</p> - -<p>"The Dukedom of Antarctica," van Alen said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>For the second time in half an hour, Kesley did a double take. The -words sank in slowly, burrowed into his mind—and then exploded into -pinwheeling brilliance.</p> - -<p>"<i>Antarctica!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Why the surprise?" van Alen asked mildly. "There are people in -Antarctica too, you know. You'd think I had said Mars, or some other -impossible place."</p> - -<p>"If this is a joke, van Alen, I'm going to feed you to the hogs with -tomorrow's swill."</p> - -<p>"It's no joke. I'm attached to the court of the Duke of Antarctica."</p> - -<p>"So they've got a Duke, too," Kesley said. He smiled. "I never thought -that they'd have one just like us. And I suspect the Twelve Dukes don't -even know that. But this is crazy! If you're from Antarctica, what do -you want with me?"</p> - -<p>"All in good time," van Alen said calmly. "First: the Twelve Dukes are -very much aware of the existence of their Antarctic confrere. He is, -like them, an immortal. Unlike them, he is not interested in striving -for power."</p> - -<p>"Why does Antarctica cut itself off from the rest of the world?"</p> - -<p>"A matter of choice," van Alen said. "Our Duke doesn't care for the -company of his twelve colleagues, nor for that of their subjects. But -you're leading me astray with your questions. You're not letting me -explain why I came here to you."</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, then." Kesley sat back, trying to conceal his tenseness.</p> - -<p>It made no sense at all. The Twelve Dukes had ruled the world four -hundred years, and in that time no contact between men of the Twelve -Empires and the people of the continent of Antarctica had ever taken -place. A barrier had always surrounded that continent. Antarctica was -as unapproachable as frozen Pluto, or one of the stars.</p> - -<p>And now the barrier had lowered long enough to let this Dryle van Alen -out into the world of the Twelve Dukes. Van Alen had made his way to -America, to Duke Winslow's land—merely to see Dale Kesley? It was -impossible.</p> - -<p>Van Alen peered at Kesley. "You have lived in Iowa Province for four -years—is that right?"</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded.</p> - -<p>"And before that, where?"</p> - -<p>"Kansas Province. I was a farmer there, too."</p> - -<p>One of van Alen's heavy eyebrows twitched skeptically. "Oh? How long -did you live in Kansas Province, then?"</p> - -<p>"All my life. I was born there. I lived there twenty-one years. I came -here four years ago."</p> - -<p>Van Alen chuckled. "You cling to that story the way you would a straw -in a maelstrom." He leaned forward; his voice deepened. "Suppose you -try to tell me why you left Kansas Province to come here."</p> - -<p>"Why, I—"</p> - -<p>Kesley paused. A muscle began to throb painfully in one cheek, and he -looked down at his heavy work-boots in confusion. He had no answer. He -did not know.</p> - -<p>Once again, the same malaise that had spread over him outside hit him. -He sucked in a deep breath, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>"You don't know why you left Kansas?" van Alen asked gently. "Think, -Dale. Try to remember."</p> - -<p>Kesley clenched his fists, fighting to keep back a cry of rage and -frustration and fear. Finally he said, "I don't know. I don't remember. -That's it—I don't remember." His voice was glacially calm.</p> - -<p>"Very good. You don't remember." Van Alen tugged at his beard again, as -if to signify that he had won a telling point. "Next question: describe -in detail your life in Kansas Province. What your farm was like, what -your mother looked like, how tall your father was—little things like -that. Eh?"</p> - -<p>The questions poured down on Kesley like an unstoppable torrent; they -seemed to wash his feet out from under him and leave him struggling -helplessly and impotently to regain his footing.</p> - -<p>"My mother? My father? I—"</p> - -<p>Again he stopped. The room was blurred; only the smiling, diabolical -face of the Antarctican seemed to be fixed, and all else was whirling. -Kesley elbowed himself up from his chair and crossed the room in two -quick bounds.</p> - -<p>"Damn you, I don't remember! <i>I don't remember!</i>"</p> - -<p>He grabbed van Alen roughly by the scruff of his cloak and hauled him -to his feet.</p> - -<p>"Let go of me, Dale."</p> - -<p>The sharp command was all but impossible not to obey, but Kesley, -shaking hysterically, continued to hold tight. He clutched for the -Antarctican's throat, burning to choke the life out of this torturer -before he could ask any more questions.</p> - -<p>His hands touched the skin of the Antarctican's throat and then, quite -coolly, van Alen broke Kesley's grip. He did it easily, simply grasping -the wrists with his own long fingers and lifting.</p> - -<p>Kesley struggled, but to no avail. The Antarctican was fantastically -strong. Kesley writhed in his grip, but could not break loose. Slowly, -without apparent effort, van Alen forced him to his knees and let go.</p> - -<p>Kesley made no attempt to rise. He was beaten—physically and mentally. -Van Alen stooped, lifted him, eased him to the couch. Drawing forth -a scented handkerchief, he mopped perspiration first from Kesley's -forehead, then from his own.</p> - -<p>"That was unpleasant," van Alen remarked.</p> - -<p>Kesley remained slumped on the couch. "You shouldn't have tried to -attack me, Dale. I'm here to help you."</p> - -<p>"How?" Kesley asked tonelessly.</p> - -<p>"I'm here to show you the way back to your home."</p> - -<p>"My home's in Kansas Province." Stubbornly.</p> - -<p>"Your home is in Antarctica, Dale. You might as well admit it to -yourself now."</p> - -<p>Strangely, the words had little effect on Kesley. He had already been -shocked past any point of surprise.</p> - -<p>For four years, he had been persuading himself that he had come -from Kansas Province. He had gone on thinking that, all the while -subliminally aware that there was no rational reason for that belief, -that he had no memories of his earlier life whatever.</p> - -<p>Kansas Province had seemed as likely a homeland as any, and he had -clung to the idea. As each year passed, it had seemed more and more the -truth to him—until van Alen came.</p> - -<p>Now he was ready to believe anything. The barriers were down.</p> - -<p>"Antarctica?" he repeated.</p> - -<p>Van Alen nodded. "You've been the subject of the most intensive -manhunt in the history of humanity." That seemed to amuse him; he -stopped, chuckled. "A history, to be sure, that stretches back all of -four hundred years—but a history, nevertheless. Dale, we've searched -through every one of the Twelve Empires for you. You were finally -located here, in Iowa Province. The search is over; it took four years."</p> - -<p>"I'm happy for you," Kesley said. "You must be pleased to have found -me." His voice was restrained, matter-of-fact. "So the search is over?"</p> - -<p>"Partially," van Alen said. "We have the treasure, now; we lack only -the key to the box. Daveen the Singer, the blind man. The search for -him continues."</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned impatiently. "What the hell is this all about, van Alen?"</p> - -<p>Van Alen smiled warmly. "I'm sorry, Dale. I can't tell you anything, -not until Daveen has been found. But that can't take long, now that -we've located you."</p> - -<p>"Who's this Daveen?"</p> - -<p>"A poet," van Alen said. "Also a remarkably skilled hypnotist. -We'll find him soon, and then the search will really be over." The -Antarctican seemed to be gazing <i>through</i> Kesley, as if he were staring -all the way to his distant homeland. His eyes had turned cold again; -his face had hardened.</p> - -<p>"Suppose I tell you you're a lunatic?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"Suppose you do," van Alen said animatedly. "You'd have every right to -the opinion. Care to join me in lunacy?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>"Will you come with me—to Antarctica?"</p> - -<p>"I'm not <i>that</i> crazy," Kesley said. He laughed. "You want me to drop -everything—the farm, my whole life, just to go off with you to—to -<i>Antarctica</i>?"</p> - -<p>"This is not your life," van Alen said. "Antarctica is. Will you come?"</p> - -<p>Kesley laughed contemptuously, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>There was a knock on the door.</p> - -<p>"Come on," he said roughly. "Enter."</p> - -<p>Tina came in and looked defiantly at both of them. She was a tall, -red-haired girl in her late twenties, wide-shouldered and high-bosomed, -and her eyes held the flash and fire that must have belonged to old -Lester once. She and Kesley had been sharing a room for six months.</p> - -<p>"Still talking?" Tina asked.</p> - -<p>"Is there anything special you want?" Kesley snapped.</p> - -<p>"Just wanted to tell you lunch is getting cold, that's all. And you -left your plough standing in the field. That crazy mutie horse of yours -looks like it's asleep on its feet."</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. "Tell Tim to go down there and finish the furrow, will -you? I'll be in for lunch in a couple of minutes."</p> - -<p>Tina glanced curiously toward van Alen and said, "With or without -company?"</p> - -<p>"I'll be leaving in a few minutes," van Alen told her. "You needn't -prepare anything for me."</p> - -<p>"Sorry to hear that," Tina said acidly. "We were looking forward to -feeding you." She turned and flounced out.</p> - -<p>"Who's that?" van Alen asked.</p> - -<p>"Lester's daughter—Lester's the old man. Her name's Tina. She lives -with me."</p> - -<p>There was a visible stiffening of van Alen's manner. Leaning forward -anxiously, he said, "You—have no children yet, have you?"</p> - -<p>"You kidding? That's all I need. Things are complicated enough around -here without—"</p> - -<p>Van Alen rose abruptly. "I see. Well, I'll have to be leaving now, -Dale." He wrapped his cloak around his shoulders tightly and walked -across the living room. "It's going to be a long hard journey to the -Pole; I must begin at once."</p> - -<p>He put his hand to the door. Kesley watched him open it.</p> - -<p>"Hold it, van Alen. Don't go."</p> - -<p>"Why?"</p> - -<p>Kesley shook his head without replying. Van Alen looked at him for a -moment, shrugged, and turned a second time to leave.</p> - -<p>Without really knowing why he was doing what he was about to do, Kesley -cupped his hands. "<i>Tina!</i>"</p> - -<p>The girl reappeared and confronted him quizzically.</p> - -<p>"Get upstairs and pack my things," Kesley ordered her. "I'm leaving."</p> - -<p>"Leaving?"</p> - -<p>"Right this minute," he said. "I'm leaving with <i>him</i>." He pointed -squarely at van Alen.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">II</p> - - -<p>City noises—the dizzying chaos of the metropolis. Kesley and van Alen -reined in their mounts at the gates of the city of Galveston, capital -of Texas Province and a main bastion of Duke Winslow of North America.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Kesley that they had been riding for months. Actually, -it had been only a matter of weeks for the long ride through the -farmlands, down through Texas to the Gulf.</p> - -<p>They moved along now at a slow canter, guiding their horses into a line -that disappeared between the heavy copper gates surrounding the walled -city. Galveston was an encircled peninsula, guarded by land, open to -the sea.</p> - -<p>Men in the green-and-gold uniforms of Duke Winslow's guard rode -alongside the line, keeping the jostling crowd in order.</p> - -<p>"Better get your coins ready," van Alen muttered, as they drew near the -gate.</p> - -<p>"Coins?"</p> - -<p>"This is a fee city. A dollar a head to enter the gate."</p> - -<p>Kesley made a face and dug a golden dollar from his pocket. He looked -at the tiny, well-worn coin almost wistfully. "The good Duke takes -care that his subjects are never weighted with overmuch coinage," he -observed. "The Duke's men relieve us of it joyfully."</p> - -<p>They rode past the gate. A sleepy-eyed toll-keeper sat, impassively -watching, as each newcomer to the city deposited his dollar in the till.</p> - -<p>As Kesley passed the tollbox, he flipped the coin in casually. It -clinked against several of the others, spun, and bounced out, rolling -some ten feet away. Kesley shrugged apologetically and continued ahead.</p> - -<p>"Hey there!" The guard's voice was loud and harsh. "Get down there -and—"</p> - -<p>The voice of the toll-keeper died away. Kesley looked around and saw -van Alen down on his knees in the well-trampled mud, rooting in the -filth for the coin. The nobleman seemed to show no compunction about -crawling before the toll-keeper.</p> - -<p>"Here you are, sir." Van Alen obsequiously deposited Kesley's dollar -in the tollbox, added one of his own, and handed a third coin to the -toll-keeper.</p> - -<p>"The boy is sick," van Alen murmured, gesturing significantly. "He does -not know what he does."</p> - -<p>The toll-keeper nodded curtly and pocketed the dollar. "Get moving, -both of you," he snapped.</p> - -<p>Kesley, who had trotted a few feet further, halted to let van Alen -catch up with him.</p> - -<p>"That's a good way to assure a short life," the Antarctican said. -"Toll-keepers are notorious for their quick triggers. Don't make -needless trouble for yourself, boy."</p> - -<p>"Sorry," Kesley said. "It riled me to see him sitting there so smug and -taking our money. I didn't really mean to throw the coin on the ground."</p> - -<p>Van Alen shook his head sadly. "It riled you," he repeated, his voice -mocking. "You've been lucky so far—each time you've lost your temper, -you've survived. But better learn to curb it. These people are your -superiors, whether you like it or not, and if a Duke wants a dollar to -enter his city, you put down your dollar or you ride the other way."</p> - -<p>"Superiors, hell! They've got no right—"</p> - -<p>"You're just so much dirt, Kesley," the Antarctican said with sudden -force. Oddly, the words did not stir Kesley to anger. "Learn that -lesson now. Whatever you may think you are, that doesn't alter the fact -that you're nothing more than dirt."</p> - -<p>Kesley swallowed hard, but said nothing. Van Alen was right, he was -forced to admit. The Twelve Dukes ruled supreme, and beneath them came -a complex and sharply-defined hierarchy in which, as a farmer, Kesley -was close to the bottom. He had no call to flare up at toll-keepers.</p> - -<p>But yet—</p> - -<p>He shook his head. The fact of his insignificance was one he could -accept intellectually, but he couldn't <i>believe</i> in it. And he never -would. He had never been able to master the trick of lying to himself.</p> - -<p>"What's on the schedule in Galveston?" Kesley asked, as they rode -into the town. They entered a wide, crowded thoroughfare; mechanical -transportation was forbidden in most parts of North America, but -there were plenty of horsecarts and carriages—most of them drawn by -variegated mutants of one sort or another, but a few by authentic -horses of the Old Kind.</p> - -<p>"We'll stay here overnight," van Alen said. "Tomorrow we pick up the -steamer for South America. From there it's straight down to Antarctica."</p> - -<p>"And then?" Kesley prodded.</p> - -<p>"And then you'll be in Antarctica."</p> - -<p>That was all the information van Alen would ever give. From time to -time on the trip down from Iowa, Kesley had found himself wondering -just why he had pulled up roots and struck off with van Alen.</p> - -<p>It was probably a combination of factors. Curiosity, certainly. -Antarctica was the world's great mystery, keeping itself utterly aloof -from the doings of the Twelve Empires. And then there was the vague -unease he had felt during his stay in Iowa, the knowledge that he -belonged somewhere else. And there was a third factor, too—a kind of -randomness, a compulsive but seemingly unmotivated action whose nature -he did not understand. He had agreed to come—that was all. <i>Why</i> never -entered into it for long.</p> - -<p>He was being led. Well, he would follow, and wait for the threads to -untangle themselves.</p> - -<p>Right now he was in a city for, supposedly, the third time in his life. -He had the biographical data down pat: three years ago he had gone to -market in Des Moines for his horse, and a year later he had made the -trek down to St. Louis to sell grain. Both times he had been repelled -by the bigness and squalor of the city. He felt the same emotion now.</p> - -<p>But, as had happened the two previous times, there was also the feeling -that the city, not the farm, was his natural habitat.</p> - -<p>The street before them seemed familiar, though he knew he had never -been in Galveston before. It stretched far out of sight, bordered on -both sides by low, square, old houses and brightly-colored shops. -Hawkers yelled stridently in the roadway, peddling fruits and -vegetables and here and there some comely wench's favors.</p> - -<p>Van Alen pointed toward a rickety building on their right and said, -"There's a hotel. Let's room up for the night."</p> - -<p>"Good enough," Kesley agreed.</p> - -<p>The proprietor of the hotel was a short man in his early fifties, -chubby and prosperous-looking, with an oily stubble of beard darkening -his face. His bald head gleamed; it had been newly waxed.</p> - -<p>"Hail, friends. In search of lodgings?"</p> - -<p>"Indeed we are," van Alen said. "My friend and I are tired, and can use -some rest."</p> - -<p>The hotelman chuckled. "One room?"</p> - -<p>"Suitable," van Alen said.</p> - -<p>A thick eyebrow lifted. "Will you boys be needing a double bed?"</p> - -<p>"What the hell do you mean—" Kesley began hotly, but van Alen cut him -off and said in a calm voice, "Twin beds will be fine, if you've got -them."</p> - -<p>"Of course," the proprietor said. "Beg pardon." He reached behind him -and fumbled on a board laden with keys, mumbling cheerfully to himself. -Finally he decided on an appropriate room and unhooked the keys.</p> - -<p>"Three-fifty," he said.</p> - -<p>Van Alen placed four one-dollar pieces face upward on the desk. The -hotelman looked at the coins, grinned, and scooped them up, putting -a fifty-cent piece in their place. Van Alen ignored it, and after a -moment the hotelman scooped that up as well.</p> - -<p>"Come this way, please."</p> - -<p>He showed them to a room on the third floor, which was the topmost. It -was a boxy, green-walled room with a single naked fluorescent running -along its ceiling. Kesley had vaguely hoped that the room would have -floor-to-ceiling luminescence, as some of the oldest city hotels were -reputed to have, but no such luck. This one had been built since the -Blast; no fancy trimmings here.</p> - -<p>There were two beds, both without spreads. The part of the sheet that -was visible at the top was gray and frayed, though apparently clean. A -slatted screen stood folded between the beds.</p> - -<p>"Cozy, isn't it?" the proprietor asked. He seemed to be oozing filth. -"It's one of our best doubles."</p> - -<p>"Glad to hear it," van Alen said. "We've traveled far. We're tired."</p> - -<p>"You'll rest well here," the hotelman said, and backed out the door.</p> - -<p>"A greasy customer," Kesley commented when he was gone.</p> - -<p>"No more so than usual," said van Alen. "They seem to be a breed. He -means well, though." The Antarctican shrugged out of his cloak and -draped it over a chair. Casually he unfolded the screen, dividing the -room in half.</p> - -<p>"Economy calls for a single room," he explained. "But privacy is still -a fine thing."</p> - -<p>Kesley shrugged. He had no intention of violating any of van Alen's -personal crotchets. Approaching his own bed, he turned down the sheet, -slipped off his clothing, and climbed in.</p> - -<p>He discovered he had no desire to sleep. After tossing restlessly for a -while, he rolled over on his back and sat up. "Van Alen?"</p> - -<p>"What is it, Kesley?"</p> - -<p>"How big is Galveston?"</p> - -<p>"About a hundred thousand people," van Alen said. "It's a very big -city."</p> - -<p>"Oh." After a pause: "Bet New York was much bigger, wasn't it?"</p> - -<p>"Cities were bigger in the old days. Too big. It drove people mad to -live in them. That's why the cities were destroyed. Your Dukes make -sure the same thing doesn't happen again by building walls around the -cities. Galveston won't ever get any bigger than it is."</p> - -<p>"Is that the way things are in Antarctica, too?"</p> - -<p>"You'll find out about Antarctica when you get there. Go to sleep—or -at least let me sleep."</p> - -<p>Van Alen sounded irritated. The Antarctican was a queer duck, Kesley -thought, as he lay awake in the silence. Van Alen was a slick operator, -calm and self-assured, but there were strange chinks in his armor. He -blew up, occasionally, lost his temper—not often, but sometimes. And -there were many questions he would not answer, and others that seemed -to disturb him more than they should.</p> - -<p>He conducted himself strangely, too—doing things almost without -motivation, it seemed, though Kesley felt that deep calculations lay -behind the seemingly gratuitous acts. Such things as picking the first -hotel they saw, or tipping the proprietor a needless half dollar. They -stood out sharply against the fabric of reality. They were unnecessary -actions—or were they?</p> - -<p>Kesley didn't know. And Kesley resolved, in that moment, not to try to -find out. He would abrogate all responsibility, let happen what might. -It was the only way to ward off the terrors of unanswerable questions. -Away from his home, away from the farm, he simply was not equipped to -act independently—<i>yet</i>. He decided to sit tight, ask no questions, -and look for no answers.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>They left Galveston early the next morning, via the <i>Snowden</i>, a creaky -old second-class freight-steamer, carrying eight other passengers and -a small herd of cattle on their way to Cuba. Van Alen had made all the -traveling arrangements; Kesley, having no idea how such things were -managed, had done nothing.</p> - -<p>The ship docked at Havana, discharged its load of kine, and moved -unsteadily southward. From Havana to Merida, in Yucatan; from Merida to -Panama. The charred wreckage of the old canal was gauntly visible as -they steamed past the Isthmus.</p> - -<p>Skirting the east coast of South America, the <i>Snowden</i> pulled into -port at Bahia Blanca, in Argentina Province—and here, van Alen and -Kesley disembarked.</p> - -<p>"This is as far south as any ship goes," van Alen said, as the tug drew -them toward the dreary harbor. "The rest of the trip is overland."</p> - -<p>"To Antarctica? How?"</p> - -<p>Van Alen smiled. "Overland through Argentina, at any rate, and down -into Patagonia. There'll be transportation waiting for us there."</p> - -<p>Fifteen minutes later, they were waiting at the customs shed for their -horses. A bored-looking little customs official in blue shorts and gold -brocaded jacket approached them, clutching a clipboard and a stubby -pencil.</p> - -<p>"Where are you from?" His voice was thickly accented but understandable.</p> - -<p>"North America," van Alen said. "We're vassals of His Liege Duke -Winslow."</p> - -<p>The customs man scribbled something on his clipboard. "You are now in -the lands of His Highness Don Miguel, Sovereign Ruler and Duke of South -and Central America. Entrance fee to His Highness' lands is for you ten -dollar American. You have?"</p> - -<p>Kesley scowled but produced the fee without question. Van Alen handed -money over as well. The customs officer smiled coldly and nodded.</p> - -<p>"Very well. You may enter. There will be no inspection of your -belongings."</p> - -<p>"Trusting fellow, isn't he?" Kesley asked, as they saddled their -animals. "No customs inspection."</p> - -<p>"They're very trusting down here, especially when you give them ten -dollars too many. Don Miguel's Dukedom isn't particularly noted for its -high ethical standards, Kesley. Everyone's fantastically loyal to the -Duke, but they stay loyal to themselves as well. See?"</p> - -<p>"You know, you've spent more cash in bribes on this trip than I've ever -seen in my life," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"A well-greased road makes for a smooth journey," van Alen intoned. -"Another important lesson for you."</p> - -<p>Kesley smiled and goaded his horse on. The road out of Bahia Blanca was -a long and winding one; from this vantage-point, Argentina Province -looked limitless. The air was cold and clear, down in this continent -where winter came in July. Kesley let the constant rhythm of his -galloping horse lull him into a veiled patience; he rode impassively, -listening to the repeated <i>clickety-clack</i> of well-shod hooves coming -from van Alen's Old-Kind horse, and the less distinct, thumping sound -of his own mutant steed's three-toed paws pounding the roadway. The -sounds tended to hypnotize him. At any rate, they kept him from -thinking too seriously about the unknown destination that lay ahead.</p> - -<p>The journey continued. By evening of the next day they had left the -city far behind and had ridden into the heart of a broad, apparently -endless, green plain covered thickly with coarse, matted grass and -dotted with short, heavy-boled trees. Conversation between the two men -had long since dwindled to a mere interchange of grunts.</p> - -<p>But the monotony of the journey was short-lived. Near midnight, from -over a slight rise in the plain, eight men appeared, riding lowslung -mutant ponies. They were heading straight for van Alen and Kesley.</p> - -<p>Kesley saw them first. He nudged van Alen.</p> - -<p>"Bandits," the Antarctican said immediately. "Let's split up. You go to -the east; I'll head the other way."</p> - -<p>"And how do we get together again?"</p> - -<p>"I'll find you afterward. Get going!"</p> - -<p>Kesley dug in his spurs and the horse leaped forward. The bandits -bore down on them as the two men rode in opposite directions. And, to -Kesley's horror, he saw the bandit group splitting in two.</p> - -<p>Instantly, van Alen doubled back and beckoned to Kesley to do the -same. If the bandits had detected the maneuver and were sweeping off -to intercept them, there was nothing gained by dividing. They stood a -better chance back-to-back.</p> - -<p>Together, then, they struck out along a side-path toward a thick copse. -Kesley's hand slipped down from the bridle to feel the comforting hilt -of his knife at his waist. He glanced at van Alen, and saw that the -Antarctican's blaster gleamed dully, ready for use, in the man's hand.</p> - -<p>The eight bandits drew up in a tight phalanx facing the copse. They -were swarthy, dark-skinned men with heavy mustaches.</p> - -<p>"Off your horse," van Alen whispered.</p> - -<p>Kesley slipped to the ground and began to tether the mutant to a -low-hanging branch.</p> - -<p>"No," the Antarctican said harshly. "Let the animals roam free. Their -noise will confuse the bandits."</p> - -<p>"Right."</p> - -<p>He released his grip on the reins and slapped the beast affectionately. -The swaybacked mutant began to amble off into the depths of the copse, -crashing down on fallen branches as it went. Van Alen's horse struck -out in another direction. Kesley grinned suddenly; the sight of his -clumsy old horse thrashing away into the darkness was utterly ludicrous.</p> - -<p>Then Kesley glanced back at van Alen. The Antarctican was kneeling in a -soft mossbank, aiming his blaster.</p> - -<p>He squeezed the firing stud. A bright beam of light licked out. The -horse of the leading bandit whinnied and looked down in amazement at -the pastern that was no longer there, and then toppled, dropping its -rider.</p> - -<p>Van Alen fired again and a second horse went down. At that the bandits -scattered. The two men on foot hit the ground; the other six rode off -around the copse.</p> - -<p>A loud report sounded from the left, followed by an agonized neigh of -pain. Kesley stiffened. <i>They shot my horse</i>, he thought. For some -reason, hot tears of rage came to his eyes. The awkward-looking mutant -horse had been a good friend for four years. Kesley felt as if his last -bond with Iowa Province had just been severed.</p> - -<p>He yanked out his knife. Pale moonlight flickered on the polished -blade. Van Alen tapped Kesley's arm, shook his head cautioningly. -Kesley saw the Antarctican aim the blaster.</p> - -<p>Another spurt of light. The smell of singed leaves, sharp and -acrid—and then, the smell of singed human flesh. A dull groan.</p> - -<p>"That's one," van Alen muttered. "Seven to go."</p> - -<p>Branches rustled behind them. Kesley whirled and raised his knife, but -it was only van Alen's horse returning to its master. At a gesture from -van Alen, Kesley slapped the steed's rump and sent it roaming again. -Overhead, hoarse-voiced birds chattered their angry commentary on the -conflict below.</p> - -<p>The blaster spurted again, and in its sudden light Kesley saw a -shadowed figure outside the copse char and fall.</p> - -<p>Kesley began to perspire. There were still six bandits at large out -there, and eventually van Alen's blaster would run out of charges.</p> - -<p>Another bullet came whistling through the woods and thunked into a tree -overhead.</p> - -<p>"They've spotted the source of the beam," van Alen said. "Let's get -moving."</p> - -<p>"Where to?"</p> - -<p>"Anywhere. We've got to misdirect them. I've only got two charges left."</p> - -<p>Again came the rustling of branches behind them. <i>Van Alen's horse -again</i>, Kesley thought, but this time he was wrong. The bandits were -upon them.</p> - -<p>All six at once—making a suicide charge on the man with the blaster. -They came piling into the copse on foot, swarming around Kesley and van -Alen, leaping and clawing and punching.</p> - -<p>Van Alen's blaster spurted once, and a sharp-featured bandit took the -charge in his stomach. He pitched forward on the Antarctican, who tried -desperately to wriggle out from under the corpse. He did—but not -before another bandit had seized the hand that held the blaster. There -was a bright flare overhead suddenly, and the birds shrieked wildly. -With an angry curse at having wasted the last charge, van Alen broke -free of the man and hurled the useless blaster away.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Kesley found himself busy. His knife dripped red; he had -slashed it into one man's arm, then ripped downward. Another had seized -his wrist as he drew back for a second thrust.</p> - -<p>Kesley grimaced and groped for the other man's eyes. In the darkness of -the copse not even the moon aided vision; it was impossible to see more -than a foot or so, and Kesley contended with half-seen shapes rather -than men.</p> - -<p>The bandit twisted upward sharply. A bolt of pain shot through Kesley's -arm. Numbed, he let the knife slip from his grasp. It vanished -underfoot.</p> - -<p>"Dale?" The half-grunt came from van Alen, somewhere to the left. "The -blaster's dead."</p> - -<p>"And I've lost my knife!"</p> - -<p>"Try to get free. If we can slip through them and outside the copse, we -can grab their horses and—"</p> - -<p>"We also speak English, <i>norteamericano</i>," a wry voice said suddenly. -"Your strategy is no secret."</p> - -<p>Kesley turned and jammed a fist into someone's stomach. He felt arms -groping for his arms, and shrugged himself free. He stepped back, -kicking out with his heavy boot.</p> - -<p>His foot struck—but as it did, someone else hit him from behind and -knocked him off balance. He slipped, rolled over and tried to pull -himself up. Three men were on him in an instant, pinioning him.</p> - -<p>He heard the click of a gun's safety going off, and a quiet voice said, -"Hold fast or we will explode your head."</p> - -<p>Instantly Kesley stiffened. "I'm holding fast," he said. He saw no -point in resisting, not with three men squatting on him and a gun -pointed at his head.</p> - -<p>A short distance away the sound of struggle could still be heard. <i>Good -for van Alen</i>, Kesley thought.</p> - -<p>A knife flashed suddenly. A man howled: "Ricardo, you have cut <i>me</i>!" -Angrily, in Spanish.</p> - -<p><i>Spanish? Where did I learn Spanish?</i> Kesley wondered.</p> - -<p>He heard van Alen's ironic chuckle. "How are you doing, Kesley?"</p> - -<p>"I'm caught. They're sitting on me."</p> - -<p>A pause. Then: "Too bad, Dale." Van Alen's deep voice sounded distant -and troubled now. "I'm going to have to—"</p> - -<p>His voice broke off abruptly. After a moment of silence, Kesley heard -footsteps pounding rapidly away through the forest. Van Alen running -away? <i>Why?</i></p> - -<p>One of the bandits fired. The forest was illuminated briefly by the -flash of gunpowder, and Kesley thought he heard something like a grunt -of pain, followed by a frantic threshing in the underbrush.</p> - -<p>"I got him," a voice said.</p> - -<p>"What of the other one?"</p> - -<p>"We have him here."</p> - -<p>"<i>Muy bien!</i> Don Miguel will be glad to see him."</p> - -<p>Kesley was lifted to his feet. Dimly, he saw five men guarding him, -and a sixth crouched a few feet away with his hand clapped to a raw -knife-wound in his shoulder.</p> - -<p>Efficiently, the bandits roped his arms to his sides.</p> - -<p>"I have a safe-conduct from Duke Miguel," Kesley protested, as they -hustled him out of the copse.</p> - -<p>One of the bandits snorted derisively. "Safe conduct? Pah! Don Miguel -gives no safe conducts!"</p> - -<p>"But—"</p> - -<p>They were in the open now. There was no sign of van Alen or of van -Alen's horse.</p> - -<p>The six small ponies of the bandits were grazing in a wide circle; near -the edge of the copse lay the two horses van Alen's blaster had brought -down, and a few feet away were the sprawled, blackened corpses of the -two dead bandits.</p> - -<p>The night was silent. Even the birds had ceased their harsh noise. -Kesley tensely allowed himself to be tethered to a pommel.</p> - -<p>"Where are you taking me?" he demanded.</p> - -<p>The bandit leader chuckled, showing a set of gleaming teeth. -"Buenos Aires. The capital of Duke Miguel, no? Miguel is collecting -<i>norteamericanos</i> this week!"</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">III</p> - - -<p>As well as being the chief city of Argentina Province, Buenos Aires was -a Ducal capital—the first such city Kesley remembered having entered.</p> - -<p>He knew the names of the others: Chicago, Tunis, Johannesburg, -Stockholm, Canberra, Strasbourg, Kiev, Hankow, Calcutta, Manila, -Leopoldville. They were strange and alien names; to him, abstract -symbols of Ducal power rather than concrete geographical localities.</p> - -<p>It was easy to see that this was Miguel's abode. The walls of the city -bristled with dark-skinned riflemen in blue shorts and gold brocade, -zealously guarding their Immortal's city against armed attack. Standing -outside the city walls, Kesley could see, looming above the blocks of -low, grubby buildings, the arching sweep of Don Miguel's palace. A -gleaming spire almost a hundred feet high topped the vaulted building, -which looked down upon the nest of small houses clustered around it as -a giant would upon worms.</p> - -<p>There seemed to be a jam-up at the gates. Traffic was heavy at a Ducal -capital. All around him, swarthy men on burros or horses or stubby -piebald mutant beasts waited patiently to be admitted. Most of them -were clad in broad-brimmed <i>sombreros</i> and colorful <i>serapes</i>; Kesley -grinned wryly at that. South America was an unchanging microcosm. -Beneath the friendly sky, life, frozen always in a stasis of todays, -moved on slowly, with <i>manana</i> never quite arriving.</p> - -<p>Kesley wondered about van Alen. The Antarctican had run away, and -presumably had been shot by a bandit. Was he dead, his corpse lying -rotting on the plain? It didn't matter, now. Kesley was in the hands of -Duke Miguel. His destiny was no longer bound to that of Dryle van Alen.</p> - -<p>"Get along, now," a voice drawled. The line moved up. Slowly, the long -queue was passing through the great double doors and into the city. -Kesley's six captors surrounded him, three before and three aft. Their -conversation during the long trip north to the capital had been limited -to occasional rapid-fire bursts of incomprehensible Spanish, and Kesley -still had no idea of the fate that awaited him.</p> - -<p>"We go to the Duke," the taciturn bandit leader said as they reached -the gatekeeper. He gestured at Kesley. "We bring him a prize."</p> - -<p>"<i>Norteamericano?</i>"</p> - -<p>"<i>Sí</i>."</p> - -<p>The gatekeeper flicked a thumb over his shoulder. "Go in."</p> - -<p>Kesley's horse moved forward, and they entered the Ducal capital of -Buenos Aires.</p> - -<p><i>Cities look pretty much alike</i>, Kesley thought, as they entered. His -short acquaintance with van Alen had made him more observant, more -analytical. And, looking around, he framed the generalization. He might -just as well have been in Galveston, or St. Louis.</p> - -<p>There were differences, of course, but they were not fundamental ones. -The dirt was a constant, the litter and the smell, and the undercurrent -of noise. The crowds, too. And also the houses: squat, two- or -three-story affairs, in the universally accepted architectural design, -with gray whorls of greasy smoke spiralling up from their hearth fires.</p> - -<p>Kesley wondered what cities had looked like in the Old Days, before -the rain of bombs had leveled the world. New York had had millions of -people in it. Buildings had towered to the skies. Kesley remembered -how old Lester described a visit he had made to New York forty years -earlier. The blistered hulks of the great towers still stood, jagged -shells clawing at the sky. Forty, fifty, eighty stories high—it was -unbelievable.</p> - -<p>Cities were different now. The Twelve Dukes had laid down the unvarying -pattern for the cities during the Time of Rebuilding, four hundred -years before. The old names had been kept, and the old locations. But -a city of the Twelve Empires now had a certain prescribed shape, and a -city in Argentina Province looked much like one in Illinois Province, -or Capetown Province. There was the wall, first of all, high and thick -and protective. Within the wall, the radial spokes of streets, and the -circling network of avenues, lined with low houses. At the heart of -the city, the Building of Government or, as in Buenos Aires and eleven -other cities in the world, the Ducal Palace.</p> - -<p>Markets, shops, houses, schools, meeting-halls—these were all provided -for, all according to plan.</p> - -<p>"Why are you taking me to the Duke?" Kesley asked, as they trotted -toward the towering palace.</p> - -<p>The bandit chief shrugged. "The Duke wants <i>norteamericanos</i>. He pay us -to bring them; he tell us where you and your friend are. We bring. See?"</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded. It was the truth, he saw; the bandit had merely been -following instructions.</p> - -<p><i>Everyone follows instructions</i>, he thought suddenly. He had followed -van Alen's orders; the bandits were puppets of Don Miguel. And Miguel?</p> - -<p>Who, he wondered, pulled the Duke's strings?</p> - -<p>Kesley smiled. Van Alen had tainted him with philosophy. Life would -undoubtedly have been much simpler if he'd remained in Iowa Province, -on the farm.</p> - -<p>The contradiction followed at once: he <i>hadn't</i> been happy there, he -realized. Life had never been simple—not even in a world where the -benevolent Dukes tried manfully to avoid the fatal complexity of the -Old Days.</p> - -<p>They reached the approaches to the Palace, now. It was an imposing, -almost breathtaking building. In seeing to it that the short-lived -peoples of the world remained properly close to the ground, the Dukes -had stressed their own grandeur. The milk-colored Palace swept upward -like a bright fang piercing the sky. It was perhaps three blocks square -at its base, and rushed upward for more than a hundred feet before its -firm lines were broken by as much as a window.</p> - -<p>The building's facade was frosty white and immaculate, a solid wall of -irradiated polyethylene. Spotlights—even now, in the daytime—played -against its shining bulk. The building was awesome, magnificent, a -monolithic monument to a fortuitous mutation affecting but twelve -men—and, thought Kesley, its very grandeur was faintly ridiculous.</p> - -<p>A row of blue-clad guards was arrayed before the main entrance. -Kesley's captors rode to the approach, and the bandit chief engaged in -a brief colloquy, at the end of which one of the guards vanished within.</p> - -<p>He returned a few moments later, bearing with him a small brown leather -pouch. The bandit accepted the pouch eagerly, and tossed it to one of -his men.</p> - -<p><i>My price</i>, Kesley guessed in wry amusement.</p> - -<p>He was right. The bandit undid him and hauled him down from his mount. -As Kesley gratefully flexed his numbed arms, the bandit shoved him -toward the waiting guard.</p> - -<p>"<i>Adios, norteamericano!</i>" The six bandits grinned cheerfully, -pocketing their bounty. They remounted, and rode away.</p> - -<p>"Come with me," the guard said stiffly. He drew a pistol, but Kesley -shook his head.</p> - -<p>"I won't make trouble. You can put that thing away."</p> - -<p>The great door swung open and Kesley was conducted into a vast -courtyard lined with flowering shrubbery. At the far end of the yard, -Kesley saw a small group of men standing in irregular formation.</p> - -<p>"We go there," the guard said. He pointed, and Kesley started off in -the direction indicated.</p> - -<p>There were about ten men waiting there, under the surveillance of one -of the Duke's guards, who watched them with drawn gun. As Kesley drew -near, he saw that the men were, like himself, North Americans.</p> - -<p>"Where are you from?" a white-haired man called. "Up north?"</p> - -<p>"Iowa Province," Kesley said, joining the group. "You?"</p> - -<p>"Illinois." The other's voice was bitter. "I'm from the court of Duke -Winslow. He'll hear of this; he'll—"</p> - -<p>The guard yelled: "Quiet down there!"</p> - -<p>"What is all this?" Kesley whispered.</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Miguel's evidently rounding up all the North Americans -in his territory. It's illegal! It's—"</p> - -<p>The guard whirled suddenly and struck the Illinois man across the face -with his pistol. "Silence!"</p> - -<p>Kesley felt a surge of anger, but restrained it. He bent and lifted the -older man to his feet. Dazed, the courtier wiped blood from his tunic -and dabbed gently at his gashed cheek. "Damn him," he muttered. He -groped at his hip for a sword that wasn't there.</p> - -<p>"Hush," Kesley said. "They'll only knock you down again. Fall in line -and keep quiet. We'll find out what's going on later."</p> - -<p>It was the only way to stay alive, he told himself. Fall in line; ask -questions later.</p> - -<p>Another door opened, and they entered the palace of the Duke.</p> - -<p>"This way," the guard called. "After me." Shepherding them with his -drawn pistol, he led the way, while three other guards closed in at -each side of the group. Kesley looked around. They were in a long -corridor which headed toward a descending staircase. The dungeons, -obviously.</p> - -<p>They kept walking. <i>Fall in line; ask questions later.</i> Kesley repeated -it to himself.</p> - -<p>Suddenly he stiffened. He had fallen obediently in line when van Alen -had appeared from nowhere—and the questions that arose had never been -answered. Now, perhaps, he was marching unquestioningly to his death. -<i>I won't do it</i>, he thought defiantly, and stepped out of line.</p> - -<p>He yanked the pistol from the astonished guard near him and slid his -hand around the thick butt. The gun had an unfamiliar feel to it; it -was heavy and clumsy. But he raised it quickly to shoulder-level and -fired.</p> - -<p>The guard at the front of the line yawped and clutched his shoulder. -Kesley fired again. A second guard dropped. The other men in the line -caught on, now, and charged the remaining pair of surprised guards. -Kesley heard a pistol crack, and saw that it was in the hands of a -North American.</p> - -<p><i>This</i> was the way. Act, instead of being acted upon.</p> - -<p>Guards were coming down the corridor now, waving pistols. "Over here," -Kesley yelled. He started to run back the way he had come. Turning -the corridor, he collided with a surprised-looking fat man in reddish -velvet robes, who had been moving forward in stately fashion, oblivious -to the conflict ahead of him.</p> - -<p>Kesley knocked the fat man off his legs and kept running. Behind him -came the sounds of pistol shots echoing down the halls, and the clatter -of feet. Guards were coming from all over. He turned, fired three more -times, and threw the useless gun away.</p> - -<p>Four guards dashed toward him and, quickly, he backed into a dark -alcove. There was a door. Impulsively, he threw it open and stepped -inside.</p> - -<p>A fist rocked him almost before he had crossed the threshold. Dizzily, -Kesley wobbled backward to get a view of his assailant.</p> - -<p>He was a big, broad-shouldered, black-bearded man wearing embroidered -robes and a shimmering gold tiara. A <i>noble</i>, Kesley decided. <i>He packs -a mean punch.</i></p> - -<p>The big man reached upward and yanked on a bell. Almost instantly, -the room was full of guards. Determined to do as much damage as he -could before being retaken, Kesley sprang forward. He clawed at the -embroidered gold robes, feeling gold inlay ripping away under his -fingernails. Then the noble hit him again, sending him staggering up -against the wall. Two guards seized him.</p> - -<p>"One of the escaped prisoners, <i>señor</i>," a guard babbled. "How he got -in here we do not know. He—"</p> - -<p>"Enough, <i>payaso</i>. Take him away. Kill him."</p> - -<p>A tired frown crossed the big man's forehead. "No. Forget that. Tie him -to a chair, and leave him alone here with me."</p> - -<p>The guard looked up doubtfully, but quickly concealed his misgivings. -"Of course, sire."</p> - -<p>"Send in my clothier also. This idiot has ruined my robes."</p> - -<p>Kesley allowed himself to be tied to a chair.</p> - -<p>"You're a bold fool," the big man said, coming over to glower down at -Kesley. He knotted his fingers in his thick, tangled dark beard, and -smiled, baring stained yellow teeth. Kesley met the noble's gaze evenly.</p> - -<p>The deep eyes were set in a network of fine wrinkles. They were not the -eyes of an ordinary man. They were heavy with the shadow of a hundred -thousand days gone by, and infinities of days to come. Kesley realized -that the man before him was no mere noble. He could only be Don Miguel, -Duke of South America.</p> - -<p>An Immortal.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">IV</p> - - -<p>Kesley watched Miguel pace uneasily back and forth. The room he had -blundered into was evidently one of the Ducal offices; a broad desk at -the back was littered with a great many official-looking papers, and -on one wall hung a glossy shield bearing Miguel's coat of arms.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Miguel turned. "Where are you from?" he asked. His voice was -deep, resonant, commanding.</p> - -<p>"Iowa Province. I was a farmer."</p> - -<p>"Oh? Then what might you be doing in my lands?"</p> - -<p>Kesley saw that he had blundered. Farmers, normally, did not take -pleasure jaunts to South America. He tried to repair the damage. "I was -on a buying tour. I was down here for cattle, and grain, and—"</p> - -<p>Miguel chuckled. "Enough, please. One does not have to be an Immortal -to see through your lies." He pulled out a chair and sprawled his big -form down. Smiling strangely, he said, "You can speak the truth. Why -are you here?"</p> - -<p>"I—I—" Kesley's face reddened. He realized that he had no rational -answer to give. He was here only because van Alen had led him here—and -van Alen was dead or wounded now, far to the south.</p> - -<p>Miguel sighed. "You assassins are all alike. At the moment of capture, -you lose the sacred fire." Swiftly he leaned over and undid Kesley's -bonds.</p> - -<p>"There. You are free. Kill me, now. We're alone; this is your chance!"</p> - -<p>Miguel slipped an ornamented stiletto from his sash and handed it to -Kesley. Opening his cloak, the Duke fumbled with buttons and pulled the -cloth aside, baring a broad, muscular chest covered with graying hair. -"Here! Plunge the dagger in—<i>now</i>!"</p> - -<p>Kesley weighed the stiletto in his hand, balancing the haft on his -palm, fingering the weapon's keen point and well-honed blade. Miguel -waited patiently. One corner of the Duke's wide mouth was drawn up in -a cold smile; the other sagged almost uncontrollably into a drooping -sneer.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>Kesley feinted with the stiletto and flicked it through the air past -Miguel's head and into the center of the arms-bearing shield on the -wall. The Duke, who had not so much as blinked, laughed heartily.</p> - -<p>"A good man with a knife! A good man indeed." Serious again, he said, -"But you could have killed me. Why didn't you?"</p> - -<p>"Kill an Immortal?" Kesley replied listlessly. "I'd sooner try to -harness a whirlwind. How could I possibly kill you?"</p> - -<p>"By plunging the knife into my heart," Miguel said. "You obviously fail -to understand the true nature of our immortality."</p> - -<p>"Which is?"</p> - -<p>"Cell regeneration. Gradual rebuilding and replacement of decayed -cells. We remain as we are because the decays of age are counteracted -as rapidly as they occur. There are no organic defects to plague us. -This process, however, does not guard against a knife in the heart, or -a slit throat, or a bullet in the back."</p> - -<p>"And yet you gave the knife to me. Why?"</p> - -<p>"I knew you wouldn't use it," Miguel said. "You short-lived ones are so -terribly easy to understand. Only...."</p> - -<p>The Duke's voice trailed off. "Only <i>what</i>?" Kesley prodded after a -moment.</p> - -<p>"Only nothing," Miguel said. He rose. "Come upstairs with me, young -one, to my office. I am a slave to my duties ... more thoroughly -enslaved than the basest serf on my lands."</p> - -<p>Miguel touched a panel in the wall and it slid back, revealing what -looked to Kesley like an adjoining room.</p> - -<p>"My private elevator," Miguel explained. "Come."</p> - -<p>The elevator rose silently. When it stopped, the door slid open and -Kesley found himself in an even vaster room, almost completely lined -with books on one wall from floor to ceiling. Another wall was bright -with paintings; on a third, strange lights flickered on a wide board, -and glowing above their multicolored glitter were eight rectangular -gray screens.</p> - -<p>Seeming to forget Kesley, Miguel strode across the room and seated -himself in an imposing chair facing the screens. He covered the -flashing red light with his palm. The upper-most of the screens became -illuminated. Kesley gasped as the face of a man grew visible.</p> - -<p>The man in the screen gesticulated humbly. "Your blessing, sire. -Mendoza of Quito reporting, Don Miguel."</p> - -<p>"Speak, Mendoza." Miguel's tone was regally impatient. "It has not -rained here for sixteen days, sire," Mendoza said anxiously. "The -people are discontented. Crops are dying, and—"</p> - -<p>"Enough." Miguel flipped a switch and a second screen came to life. -"Luis, take care of this fool from Quito, and explain to him that we -have no control over the weather. Then transfer all these other calls -to your own line. I'll be busy for the next fifteen minutes."</p> - -<p>The screen went blank; the flickering lights died away.</p> - -<p>"What is that thing?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"Closed-screen television. I use it to keep in contact with my -governors in the various provinces."</p> - -<p>Miguel took a seat behind a desk; this one, like the other downstairs, -heaped high with papers. He lowered his great, bearlike head between -his hands and stared at Kesley for what must have been more than a -minute. Finally he said, "I offered you a chance to kill me. You -declined it."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps if I got the chance again, I'd act differently," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps. But the chance comes but once. I am not yet tired of -life ... I think." The Duke's eyes drooped wearily. They seemed to be -staring backward into yesterday—and ahead at the burden of an endless -tomorrow. "Four hundred years is many years, though. Are you married, -young man?"</p> - -<p>Startled, Kesley said: "Huh—no. No, not yet."</p> - -<p>"I have been married thirty-six—no, forty-one times. The longest was -the first: twenty-six years. We were both thirty when we met. When she -died, she was fifty-six; I was still thirty. I was just finding out, -then."</p> - -<p>Miguel toyed with a sparkling, many-faceted gem on his desk. "Most of -the other marriages were short ones.... I couldn't bear to watch them -grow old. Now I do not marry at all."</p> - -<p>"Do you have children?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>Miguel flinched as if struck. His wide lips tightened in anger; then -his face softened again. "The gene is recessive," he said quietly. "And -lethal in early childhood, if not immediately after birth. My dynasties -have been short-lived. I have had eight children; seven lived less -than a year. The eighth reached the age of nine."</p> - -<p>He laughed hollowly. "Out of eternal life, nothing but death. No, I -have no children, young one."</p> - -<p>"I—see," Kesley said. He peered closely at the Immortal, feeling a -strange flow of pity for the timeless man. Immortality was a costly -gift, he saw. Suddenly, Kesley wondered how many other Immortals there -had been beside the Twelve—Immortals who, once they realized the -terrible nature of their breed, had taken their own lives. More than -one, he thought.</p> - -<p>And how often did Miguel himself consider suicide? Had he had some -hidden protection against Kesley's knife, moments ago downstairs, or -had the Duke been half-hoping the blade would strike true?</p> - -<p>Perhaps.</p> - -<p>"Why do you keep me here?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>Miguel looked up slowly. His eyes, deep and piercing, bored into -Kesley's. "You amuse me," Miguel said. "When one is more than four -centuries old, one is hard put to find amusement. I am amused by the -possibility that you might strike me dead at any moment."</p> - -<p>"It's really very funny," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"I'm amused by the fact that you're not afraid of me. Awed, yes, but -not servile. How many times a day do you think I hear that hateful word -'Sire'? <i>Sire!</i> Me, who has sired eight dead babes and nothing more."</p> - -<p>Kesley looked away, embarrassed. "Sire also means ruler," he pointed -out in a muffled voice.</p> - -<p>"That, too," Miguel said. "I rule, and it is my life to rule. I have -ruled four hundred years, and I will rule four thousand more—or four -thousand thousand, or four million. But I can never stop ruling. It is -a burden I can never put down. Who would fill the vacuum I would leave?"</p> - -<p>"There were rulers before the Twelve Dukes."</p> - -<p>"And they destroyed the world! Destroyed it—and in so doing, brought -<i>us</i> into being. No, stranger, my Dukedom I can never put down. But it -wearies me to make always the petty decisions, to govern the lives of -petty—"</p> - -<p>"Why are you telling me all this?" Kesley burst out.</p> - -<p>"Mere amusement," Miguel said evenly. "I enjoy talking to you. What is -your name?"</p> - -<p>"Dale Kesley."</p> - -<p>"Dale Kesley," Miguel repeated. "A fine North American name, square-cut -and undistinguished. I like it."</p> - -<p>The Duke gestured toward a communicator-tube on his desk. "Bring that -to me."</p> - -<p>Shrugging, Kesley handed him the tube. Miguel switched it on. "Send -Archbishop Santana here at once," he barked, and cut the channel.</p> - -<p>He glanced at Kesley. "The Archbishop will swear you to my service, -Dale Kesley."</p> - -<p>"But I'm a vassal of Duke Winslow," Kesley protested.</p> - -<p>Miguel chuckled heartily. "A vassal of Duke Winslow," he mimicked. -"Vassal, indeed. You turn down my offer? You throw Duke Winslow in my -face?"</p> - -<p>"An oath is an oath, Don Miguel."</p> - -<p>"Oaths? Who are you to talk of oaths? You're nothing but a paid -assassin—don't think I haven't overlooked that."</p> - -<p>Kesley started to protest, but saw there was nothing to be gained by -arguing. Miguel would never believe him.</p> - -<p>"His Holiness Archbishop Santana," the wall-announcer said.</p> - -<p>The door slid open and the Archbishop entered. As the plump figure -waddled into the room, Kesley grinned in recognition. The Archbishop -was the fat man in velvet robes whom he had bowled over in his mad -flight downstairs.</p> - -<p>Now the priest wore a simple black surplice and mitred hat and carried -the crook symbolic of his office. He was a small, rotund man with dark -olive skin and a thin, sharply-hooked nose that seemed highly misplaced -in his otherwise plumply rounded countenance. He paused at the door, -smiling benignly, and made the sign of the cross with two swift motions -in the air.</p> - -<p>"Come on in, Santana," Miguel ordered.</p> - -<p>The priest approached Miguel and bowed deeply, then glanced at Kesley. -Suspicion was evident on his smoothly-shaven face.</p> - -<p>"This is Dale Kesley of North America," Miguel said.</p> - -<p>"We have met," the priest said unctuously. "This young man knocked me -down while fleeing from your guards, sire."</p> - -<p>Kesley grinned imperceptibly, catching Miguel's faint, involuntary -wince at the <i>sire</i>. "It was an accident, Father. I was fleeing -hastily; I didn't see you."</p> - -<p>"Time wastes," Miguel said. "Santana, swear this young man quickly into -my service. I have work for him."</p> - -<p>The priest began to raise his crook, but Kesley shook his head. "No, -Don Miguel. I told you I'm a vassal of Duke Winslow."</p> - -<p>Miguel smiled. "But Duke Winslow's oath is no longer binding upon his -vassals, you know."</p> - -<p>"I didn't know. When did this happen?"</p> - -<p>"It hasn't, yet. But it will shortly—when Duke Winslow is -assassinated."</p> - -<p>"But—when—"</p> - -<p>"Soon," Miguel said. His cold smile was painful to watch. "And your -hand," the Immortal continued, "will be the one that strikes him down."</p> - -<p>"You're crazy," Kesley said shortly.</p> - -<p>Miguel paled, and Santana crossed himself rapidly several times.</p> - -<p>"You don't talk like that to your Duke," the Archbishop said.</p> - -<p>"<i>My</i> Duke? But—"</p> - -<p>Don Miguel regained his composure and put one hand on Kesley's -shoulder. "I ask you to join me and perform this service. I am prepared -to pay well for it."</p> - -<p>"The price?"</p> - -<p>"My daughter," Miguel said. "Kill Winslow, and she's yours."</p> - -<p>"Your <i>daughter</i>? But I thought—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Adopted</i> daughter," Miguel said smoothly. "My ward. The girl is but -twenty-two, and lovely. Kill Winslow, and she's yours."</p> - -<p>Kesley felt perspiration dripping down his body. Kill Duke Winslow? -Upset the balance of the Twelve Empires, break the fragile harmony on -which the world depended? It was impossible!</p> - -<p>But—</p> - -<p>He realized suddenly that he was a totally free agent, detached and -uninvolved. Van Alen had led him forth from Iowa Province, and van Alen -was dead. He owed nothing to van Alen, nothing to Iowa.</p> - -<p>He stood alone, unknown and unwanted in the world of the Twelve -Empires, able to shape his own destinies. And Miguel was offering him a -title, a home, an allegiance, at the cost of an assassination.</p> - -<p><i>Well, why not?</i> he asked himself. <i>My hand is free. Why not strike -down a Duke?</i></p> - -<p>He moistened his lips. "I'll consider it," he said. "But first—let me -see the girl."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Alone, waiting for Miguel to return, Kesley tried to think.</p> - -<p>Kill Winslow?</p> - -<p>Kill a Duke—an Immortal?</p> - -<p>The idea seemed incredible, almost obscene. It was like saying, "Snuff -out a star," or, "Destroy a world." The Dukes were centers of their -universes, and one did not kill them.</p> - -<p>Yet—</p> - -<p>Kesley's self-searching in the past few minutes had revealed one -jarring fact: he did not have the qualms he had supposed he would have. -Assassinating Winslow would not be star-snuffing; he knew he could do -it as casually as van Alen had blasted the blue wolf, back in Iowa -Province.</p> - -<p>He knew he should be quaking at the thought of murdering his own Duke, -but the necessary quaking refused to come.</p> - -<p><i>What's wrong with me?</i> he asked himself desperately. <i>Why am I -different?</i></p> - -<p>A man was supposed to feel loyalty to his Duke. Kesley did not. <i>Why?</i></p> - -<p>He had had a chance to kill Miguel. Perhaps that had all been illusion; -perhaps he would have been struck down by an invisible guard the moment -the knife's tip approached the Immortal's flesh. Perhaps not. He had -drawn back, only because he had nothing to gain by killing the Duke.</p> - -<p>And now he was asked to kill another. <i>Dale Kesley, Hired Assassin. We -Kill Dukes.</i> He grinned mirthlessly.</p> - -<p>The faint hum of the sliding panel sounded behind him. He turned.</p> - -<p>"Have you reached any decision yet?" Miguel asked, stepping into the -room.</p> - -<p>"You know what I'm waiting to see," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>Miguel beckoned to someone standing beyond the panel. "My daughter," he -said to Kesley. "The Lady Narella."</p> - -<p>No one appeared. Miguel scowled and reached through the open panel. He -yanked—and The Lady Narella appeared.</p> - -<p>"Oh," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>Narella was quite a woman.</p> - -<p>She stood with her hands on her hips, smoky, violet-hued eyes blazing -in defiance of Kesley and even of Miguel. She was making it clear that -she was no one's pawn, not to be bandied about.</p> - -<p>Narella wore an ermine wrap, and a low-cut tunic that clung tightly -to her high breasts and lean form. She was a tall girl with wide hips -and shoulders. Dark hair fell loosely about her face; she wore the -diamond-encrusted tiara of a Ducal Princess, and her full lips were -bright with a fluorescing cosmetic of some sort. Here and there—on -her forehead above the left eyebrow, on her right cheek, on the creamy -flesh where the base of her throat swelled into rising breasts—she -wore a scintillating dab of brightness, a dot of some chemical that -glittered radiantly from its own inner light.</p> - -<p>Kesley had never seen a royal woman before. Strangely, or not so -strangely, he felt all the reverence for her that he had failed to feel -in the presence of the Immortal alone. Had Miguel not been there, he -probably would have knelt despite himself and begged to kiss the tip of -her cloak.</p> - -<p>"Is this the man, sire?" she asked. Her voice was a fit complement to -her body, deep and warm, throbbing and throaty.</p> - -<p>"It is," Miguel said. "Dale Kesley—the Lady Narella."</p> - -<p>"Hello," she said coldly.</p> - -<p>A muscle quivered in Kesley's cheek. He nodded curtly to the girl. -"Hello."</p> - -<p>She ignored him and turned to Miguel. "Is this the man to whom you're -selling me, sire?"</p> - -<p>Miguel grimaced. "You wound me, girl. I'll leave the two of you -together to talk."</p> - -<p>"No!" she said imperiously, but it was too late. Miguel, with an -enigmatic smile, had bowed and stepped backward into the waiting -elevator. The panel slid shut. The wall was once again unbroken.</p> - -<p>Slowly, she turned to face Kesley. "I won't have any part of this! -I don't belong to Miguel! He can't give me away like this—to a -<i>commoner</i>!"</p> - -<p>Kesley smiled. "Your nostrils flare very nicely when you're angry, -milady."</p> - -<p>She whirled and stalked across the room, where she stood, her back to -him. Kesley grinned amiably. This display of temper was enjoyable. The -girl had spirit. Kesley liked that.</p> - -<p>"Miguel called you his <i>daughter</i>," he said loudly. "How come? That's -impossible, of course."</p> - -<p>"How do you know?" she snapped, turning to face him. Her dark eyes -glittered angrily. "I'm Miguel's daughter. Who says I'm not?"</p> - -<p>"Miguel. He told me you were adopted. He told me Immortals were -sterile, that their children didn't survive. Whose daughter are you?"</p> - -<p>"What is it to you?"</p> - -<p>Kesley shrugged. "Curiosity, I guess. You're quite lovely, you know."</p> - -<p>She said nothing.</p> - -<p>"You're supposed to thank people when they compliment you, milady. It's -hardly polite to—"</p> - -<p>"Quiet!" She crossed the room and faced him across a desk. At close -range her faint perfume reached Kesley's nostrils; it was a delightful -odor. The violet of her eyes, he saw, was flecked lightly with gold. -"Why has Miguel promised me to you?"</p> - -<p>"He wants me to carry out a job—an assassination. You're the price."</p> - -<p>"Blunt, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"Would you rather have me lie?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said, after a moment's thought. She threw back her shoulders -and glared defiantly at him. "Well, do I pass your inspection? Am I fit -for you?"</p> - -<p>Kesley made no answer. Instead, he circled deftly around the desk, drew -her close, pulled her mouth up to his. He kissed her warmly without -eliciting any response. She remained passive in his arms, as if she -were a particularly lovely statue rather than a living woman.</p> - -<p>He released her. "Are you through?" she asked acidly.</p> - -<p>"You pass the test," he said. Then he shook his head tiredly. "No. This -is insane. Narella, who are you?"</p> - -<p>Apparently his sudden sincerity, after the romantic pretense of the -minutes before, told upon her. "My father was a court singer in -Chicago, court poet to Duke Winslow. I was raised at the court. Four -years ago, my father disappeared. Then Duke Winslow gave me to Miguel -as a wife, but Miguel didn't want any wives. He adopted me instead. -I've lived here ever since, as his daughter. As for my father, I -suppose he's dead. He was blind, and—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Blind?</i>" Kesley snapped instantly out of his mood of weariness as if -a bolt of electricity had seared through him. "Did you say your father -was a blind court singer?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said.</p> - -<p>Words came from nowhere and rumbled in Kesley's mind, words spoken on -an Iowa farm in the deep, booming voice of van Alen the Antarctican:</p> - -<p>"<i>We have the treasure, now; we lack only the key to the box. Daveen -the Singer, the blind man. The search for him continues.</i>"</p> - -<p>Slowly Kesley raised his head. He blinked a little as his eyes -encountered the flashing glitter of the girl's jewelry; then he looked -at her eyes and at the lips whose cosmetic fluorescence remained in -neat array despite his kiss. "Your father's name—was it Daveen?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said. "Yes! But how do you know?"</p> - -<p>"I don't. It's a name I've heard mentioned, a name that has something -to do with me. Only ... have you ever seen me before?"</p> - -<p>"I think so," she said slowly. "But I don't remember it. Were you ever -at the court of Duke Winslow?"</p> - -<p>"Never. But I recall you from somewhere. I—"</p> - -<p>Dizzily, he looked away as a burst of sudden pain flooded his mind. He -shuddered and felt sick.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" she asked anxiously.</p> - -<p>"I—don't know."</p> - -<p>"You look ill. You've gone completely pale." She put her arms around -him as if to steady him, and her warmth sustained him through the -moment of terror that had overtaken him. It was as if he had struck -some particularly sensitive nerve, and the resonances were carrying -agony through his body.</p> - -<p>When it was over, he mopped the beads of cold sweat from his forehead. -He looked up at her and saw that her glacial remoteness had been -replaced by a sort of feminine warmth, almost a maternal solicitude.</p> - -<p>"Would you like to find your father again?" he asked in a low voice.</p> - -<p>She nodded.</p> - -<p>"So would I. I don't know why, but I feel Daveen holds the key to the -hidden areas of my life, the inconsistencies. I'd like to find him for -myself. And for you."</p> - -<p>"Would you?"</p> - -<p>"First ask, <i>could you</i>? Your father may be dead, for all I know." He -took her hand. "Narella—you don't want to stay here with Miguel?"</p> - -<p>"No," she said.</p> - -<p>"Good. Listen carefully. Does Miguel have big ears?"</p> - -<p>She frowned. "I don't understand."</p> - -<p>"Never mind. Come here."</p> - -<p>She came close and he pulled her up against him. This time her lips -rose willingly for the kiss, but he brushed her pale cheek instead -and let his mouth graze lightly along her face until it reached the -tip of her earlobe. "Does Miguel have this room wired for sound?" he -whispered. "Can he hear what we say?"</p> - -<p>She nodded almost imperceptibly. "Probably," she whispered back.</p> - -<p>"That's what I thought. Stay close to me, then, and hear what I have to -say. If he's watching he'll think we're making love."</p> - -<p>"Go ahead," she said.</p> - -<p>"I'm going to accept Miguel's commission and leave here to assassinate -Duke Winslow, as ordered."</p> - -<p>She gasped. "Assassinate—"</p> - -<p>"That's the terms of our agreement," he said. "One Duke more or less -doesn't matter to me. I'll go to Winslow's court and try to find out -what happened to your father. Somehow I'll give Winslow what's due him. -Then I'll return here and claim you as Miguel's agreed, and we'll go -looking for your father together. If you're willing, give me a kiss."</p> - -<p>She hesitated for just a moment, then lifted his face from her ear. -Their eyes met. She was pale, he saw, and frightened; the aloof -haughtiness of the court lady had been almost completely replaced by an -appealing little-girl terror.</p> - -<p>He looked past her to the brooding eyes of Don Miguel glowering down at -him from the row of paintings on the wall. <i>After Winslow—Miguel</i>, he -thought with sudden savagery. The unprovoked thought surprised him.</p> - -<p>"Very well," she murmured. She touched her lips lightly to his, -and then gave herself to him with a sort of desperate abandon that -astonished Kesley.</p> - -<p>After a moment or two, he slipped from her grasp and looked around the -room, wondering if he'd find a concealed television camera or something -similar. There was nothing. The battery of screens and lights on the -far wall seemed dead, as they had been since Miguel had shut them off.</p> - -<p>Finally he cupped his hands. "Miguel!"</p> - -<p>The Duke reappeared almost instantly, followed closely by the chubby -form of Archbishop Santana. The Archbishop once again performed the -sign of the cross piously as he entered.</p> - -<p>"Well?" Miguel asked.</p> - -<p>"State your terms once again," said Kesley.</p> - -<p>Miguel frowned. "The room is crowded."</p> - -<p>"I know, sire. Witnesses may be in order."</p> - -<p>"Very well," Miguel said wearily. "In return for services to be -rendered, I do promise the hand of my ward, the Lady Narella, to Dale -Kesley of my vassalage."</p> - -<p>"When?"</p> - -<p>"Upon his return from the successful completion of his endeavors in my -behalf."</p> - -<p>"Said endeavors being?" Kesley prodded mercilessly.</p> - -<p>"The elimination of Duke Winslow of North America," Miguel said. "His -death by any means whatsoever."</p> - -<p>"All right," Kesley said. He glanced from Miguel to the Archbishop—who -seemed somewhat pale beneath his olive skin—to Narella. "Now that -terms have been stated, we can talk business. Miguel, what assurance do -I have that I'll get the girl when I come back?"</p> - -<p>"An Immortal is good to his word," the Duke said gruffly. "You have a -witness in the person of the Archbishop."</p> - -<p>"Surely you will not require the Duke to swear an oath?" Santana -exclaimed in a shocked voice. "My presence will certify—as if -certification were necessary—that—"</p> - -<p>"Enough, padre," Kesley said. There was nothing to be won by forcing -Miguel into an oath; he had already given his word as an Immortal, and -if he would break that, it was reasonable to suspect that no other oath -would bind him.</p> - -<p>He looked at the girl again. <i>Daveen's daughter</i>, he thought. He -wondered what tangled relationship of cause and effect had brought him -to this place at this time, and where van Alen, who had set the whole -chain of events in motion, was now.</p> - -<p>In a month's time Kesley had been transformed from an ignorant Iowa -farmer into a killer of Dukes and a wooer of noble ladies. It was -a strange progress, but it was hopeless, Kesley thought, to try to -account for the vagaries of fate.</p> - -<p>"Will you accept and enter my vassalage?" Miguel asked.</p> - -<p>Kesley met the Immortal's gaze squarely and this time, it seemed to -him, it was those dark, four-hundred-year-old eyes that gave ground -instead of his own.</p> - -<p>"I accept," he said.</p> - -<p>He forced himself to kneel and kiss the golden hem of Don Miguel's -jeweled cloak.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">V</p> - - -<p>The ducal capital of Chicago sprawled in a lazy ring on the banks of -Lake Michigan, in Illinois Province. As Dale Kesley and his small -retinue waited outside the city's walls before requesting admission, -the thought occurred to him once again that the world's cities were -similar. As he looked at Chicago, it seemed to him that he might never -really have left Buenos Aires.</p> - -<p>Duke Winslow's palace, visible high in the background overlooking the -calm lake, might have been an exact replica of Don Miguel's, except -that its flat walls were hewn from broad slabs of flesh-red feldspar -instead of spun, as Miguel's were, from shimmering polyethylene. In the -stagnant, late-August air, the sun's rays hit the palace walls weakly, -giving them an oily glare that Kesley found displeasing. But still -he preferred the natural blockiness of the stone to the consistent -slickness of the plastic that formed the walls of Miguel's palace. -Polyethylene walls were the products of controlled hard radiation and, -controlled or no, Kesley, like all men, found the concept of radiation -repugnant. It jarred against ingrained taboos.</p> - -<p>His eye, becoming city-familiar now, began to detect other differences -between Winslow's capital and Miguel's. The guards posted in Chicago's -outer walls lacked the tense urgency of the small brown men who -protected Buenos Aires; they stared outward with a sleepy complacency -that seemed to characterize the entire city and possibly, Kesley -admitted, the entire North American Empire. Here in the north, there -was none of the crackling atmosphere of tension that seemed to prevail -in Buenos Aires.</p> - -<p>Kesley's horse, a firm-fleshed black thoroughbred of the Old Kind, -furnished by Miguel and transported with finicking care from South -America, pawed impatiently at the layer of fine ash that covered the -ground outside the city, and snorted. Kesley steadied the animal with -soothing pressures of his calves and thighs; the horse detected the -signals and subsided.</p> - -<p>"Shall we go in?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"Why not?" came the reply from his left. Kesley glanced over at the -rider, Archbishop Santana. "We are here, and the time is proper," the -priest said.</p> - -<p>Kesley turned in the saddle to gesture at his six men. They rode behind -at a respectful distance, six well-muscled members of Miguel's guard, -resplendent in their imperial blue shorts and flashing yellow jackets. -Kesley urged his horse forward; Santana, a surprisingly good horseman -despite his unathletic physique, did the same, and the six guards -followed. They advanced to the wall.</p> - -<p>A toll-keeper waited there, a dried old man in Ducal uniform seated -beside an immense tollbox ornamented with Duke Winslow's arms. Kesley -reined in before him and drew out a jangling leather pouch.</p> - -<p>The toll-keeper's lips moved silently as he counted the party. "Eight -dollars," he said.</p> - -<p>"<i>Por cierto.</i>" Kesley leaned far to the right and handed the man the -pouch. "Eight dollars of that is for toll, <i>amigo</i>."</p> - -<p>Frowning, the old man undid the drawstrings, emptying the contents of -the pouch into his wrinkled palm. Eight tiny golden dollars rolled out, -followed by a massive imperial doubloon of Miguel's coinage. A faint -blink was the only acknowledgement the toll-keeper showed; nodding -curtly, he dropped the eight dollars in the till, pocketed the doubloon -as if by divine right, and gestured casually within with a quick toss -of his head.</p> - -<p>As Kesley and his party proceeded through the heavy gate, Kesley -grinned quietly to himself. He wished van Alen could have seen the -strange metamorphosis of his one-time protege: here he was, clad -in the lustrous velvet robes of a Knight of the Empire of South -America, riding a full-blooded, spirited, Old-Kind horse instead of -a swaybacked, scaly old mutant, and distributing largesse with the -natural air of the high-born.</p> - -<p>He entered the city proper at a slow canter, the Archbishop at his -side, his men behind. The streets were crowded. Chicago, built on the -very ashes of the Old City of that name, was the largest city of Duke -Winslow's territories, home to some three hundred thousand souls. -Kesley saw eyes brighten at the sight of his magnificent horse; men -in the streets cleared back, giving way, as the South American party -entered.</p> - -<p>"We should find an inn first of all," the Archbishop advised. -"Tomorrow, you and I will try to seek audience with the Duke."</p> - -<p>Kesley shook his head. "We announce ourselves to the Duke at once; we -tell him we'll have an audience tomorrow. None of this begging for an -appointment."</p> - -<p>Santana shrugged. "As you wish, <i>Señor Ramon</i>." The sudden, hard, -sardonic inflection in the Archbishop's purring voice mocked the false -title Miguel had bestowed on Kesley for the purpose of the journey.</p> - -<p>Kesley rode silently on, brooding over his mission. He had agreed -lightly enough, back in Buenos Aires, to the assassination of Winslow, -but now that he actually was in Winslow's own capital, with the rosy -bulk of the Ducal Palace towering ahead, he wondered how he could have -acceded so casually to so dangerous and so terrible a mission.</p> - -<p>The looming palace ahead was the nerve-center of a continent, and one -man—<i>one man</i>—controlled the multitude of ganglia. The entire vast -spread of North America, from the dismal radiation-roasted Eastern -seaboard to the broad plains of the Middle-West farming country to the -open, relatively unscathed lands of the far West, depended for its -organization on Chicago and on Chicago's Duke.</p> - -<p>For the first time, Kesley realized the immensity of the confusion that -would result when he struck down Winslow. He had no motive for the -crime, either; it would be a sheerly gratuitous act, performed as a -gesture of disengagement and nothing more.</p> - -<p>But what could Miguel's motive in upsetting the balance of the world -possibly be? Surely, Kesley thought, the South American Duke knew what -would happen once Winslow was removed. The taut framework of North -American life would collapse inward on itself like a puffball that had -discharged its dusty cloud of spores.</p> - -<p>Who would profit? Miguel? Were assassins now drawing near the Ducal -Palaces of Stockholm, of Johannesburg, of Canberra, readying themselves -to rid the world of all Dukes but Miguel at one bold stroke? If so, -why? Did Miguel want the crushing responsibility of the entire globe's -governance strapped to his shoulders for all eternity?</p> - -<p>It seemed unlikely. Kesley thought of the Immortal's deep, weary eyes, -and of the moment of weakness when Miguel had let his heavy head sink -between his hands. No, Miguel had some other motive.</p> - -<p>Amusement, perhaps.</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded. That was it: amusement. Having long since exhausted the -pleasures of his power, having tasted everything human life had to -offer, the timeless man was searching desperately for a relief from -boredom.</p> - -<p>For that reason he had bared his chest to Kesley's knife and, perhaps, -he had not cared whether Kesley struck or not. For the same reason, he -had chosen Kesley at random to remove Winslow, to upset the balance, to -<i>change things</i>.</p> - -<p>Kesley shuddered. What a nightmare an Immortal's life must be, he -thought, once the first few centuries had passed.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Later, Kesley rode back from the palace with a little less lordliness -than he had had going forth.</p> - -<p>"That major-domo had nerve," he remarked mournfully, as the little -band of South Americans trotted through the broad palace approaches -toward the gate leading back into the city. "An appointment next week! -Who does Winslow think he is? And what does he think of Miguel, if he -treats his ambassadors this way?"</p> - -<p>"Peace, son," the Archbishop said. "Be philosophical. Duke Winslow is a -busy man and a proud one. I warned you this would happen."</p> - -<p>"But we're <i>ambassadors</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Exactly so. Had we been ragamuffins we would have had a better chance -of an immediate audience." Santana shook his head. "You fail to see -that Winslow is deliberately humbling us to stress his own superiority -over Miguel."</p> - -<p>"I hadn't thought of it that way," Kesley admitted. "Of course. He was -just telling us to stand outside and wait around until he was ready to -let us kiss the Ducal robe."</p> - -<p>"Precisely. And our course now is simple. We find lodging, and we allow -a week to pass. Then, Winslow will see us. And then, my friend, the -time will come for you to carry out our Duke's command."</p> - -<p>"I know."</p> - -<p>Kesley felt himself perspiring heavily beneath his ambassadorial -robes, and not entirely because of the humid air. He knew—and Santana -as well, evidently—that he had no plan for slaying Winslow. He was -counting on some random twitch of the Immortal's psychology to put the -Duke in his power. But would Winslow, as had Miguel, bare his chest -willingly to the blade?</p> - -<p>Probably not, Kesley thought balefully. From what he had already -deduced of the workings of the Immortal mind, it was hardly likely that -any two Dukes would share a behavioral pattern. And that left Kesley in -an awkward position.</p> - -<p>"A week is a long time," Kesley said, as they rode through the gates. -The double doors clanged shut behind them, sealing off Winslow's palace -from the city. "I'll be ready when the time comes, padre."</p> - -<p>"I hope so. I will pray for your soul," the priest intoned.</p> - -<p>"Fine," Kesley said savagely. "Pray for me sincerely, father. <i>Pater -noster</i>—"</p> - -<p>"Don't mock what you don't understand," Santana said. He crossed -himself fervently. "Your soul is in danger, <i>Señor</i> Ramon."</p> - -<p>"<i>My</i> soul? What about yours, you old windbag?"</p> - -<p>Santana squirmed in the saddle, faced Kesley. The plump priest's sad -eyes gazed mournfully into Kesley's. "My soul?" Santana repeated. "My -soul is long since forfeit, but I pray constantly for my salvation."</p> - -<p>Kesley reddened. "What do you mean by—"</p> - -<p>He cut himself off in mid-sentence and pointed to the left. "What's -<i>that</i>?" he asked hoarsely. "Mutant?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," the Archbishop said. "There are many of them in Chicago. I think -he plans to make trouble; be ready to defend yourself."</p> - -<p>The creature was coming toward them out of a jumble of -clumsily-thatched huts strung in a wobbly circle around a gullied heap -of slag at the extreme left side of the road. It was tall—nearly seven -feet, Kesley estimated—with elongated spidery limbs and a bloated, -almost hydrocephaloid skull, devoid of hair. The mutant wore only a -rag twisted carelessly about its middle; the body thus revealed was -grotesquely piebald in color, blotched and spotted, the purpling skin -lying loosely and peeling away in great leprous flakes.</p> - -<p>Kesley had seen mutants before: mutant horses, mutant wolves, other -products of ravaged genes, but he had never before been this close to -a <i>human</i> sport, other than Miguel. Miguel was human in all physical -aspects save his life span; the creature shambling toward them now -could be called "human" only by the loosest of definitions.</p> - -<p>As the mutant approached, a musty odor of decay drifted before him. -Kesley shuddered involuntarily.</p> - -<p>Once, he knew, the cities of the world had been populated by almost as -many mutants as normals. That had been in the days immediately after -the great blast, before the Dukes had taken command of the world.</p> - -<p>But most of these mutants had been sterile, carrying, like the Dukes, -lethal genes. Others carried recessive characteristics only. Gradually, -through the centuries, the mutant population had died out and dwindled -away into scattered groups here and there in the biggest cities—and, -word was, there was one city somewhere in Illinois populated only by -mutants.</p> - -<p>This one was blind, Kesley saw now, but it moved with unerring accuracy.</p> - -<p>"Archbishop Santana!" the creature called, in a hoarse croak of a -voice. "Wait for me, Archbishop!"</p> - -<p>"How does he know you?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"Some of them have strange powers," Santana whispered. He nervously -undid the crucifix that hung from the breast of his surplice and held -it before him, as if to ward off the Devil.</p> - -<p>The mutant merely chuckled. "Put away your toy, Archbishop. I don't -frighten so easily."</p> - -<p>"Stay back," Kesley snapped. "Keep away from us." To Santana he said, -"Let's get out of here. Spur your horse and let's go.</p> - -<p>"No. Let's hear him out."</p> - -<p>The mutant stationed himself directly in their path and pointed a -twisted, lumpy forefinger at Santana. "Behold the man of God," he -croaked hoarsely. "<i>Ecce homo!</i>"</p> - -<p>"What do you want?" the Archbishop demanded. Kesley saw that Santana -was sheet-white beneath his outward duskiness.</p> - -<p>"I want nothing. I merely came out here to laugh at the Archbishop of -God who has come to Chicago on a mission of <i>murder</i>!"</p> - -<p>Kesley stiffened in the saddle, but Santana caught his arm just as he -was about to go for his gun. "What is this talk of murder?" Santana -demanded.</p> - -<p>Late afternoon clouds were dropping over the city now, and a cool wind -came sweeping in from the lake. Kesley shivered as the mutant grinned, -baring scraggly stumps of yellow teeth.</p> - -<p>"Murder? Did I say murder? But there will be no murder, milord. Merely -betrayal—and betrayal again."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That night, in the rooms they had taken near the city's central -marketplace, the image of the mutant haunted Kesley, imposing itself -before his eyes with demonic insistence.</p> - -<p>Betrayal? No murder? The paradoxes and cloaked ambiguities the -grotesque creature had uttered ground into Kesley's already sensitive -consciousness, bringing with them the sharp image of the piebald spider -of a man that was the mutant.</p> - -<p>Kesley looked across the room to Santana. The plump Archbishop, having -divested himself of his traveling costume, wore a loose cassock without -surplice. He was thumbing the pages of his breviary, flicking rapidly -over matter long since committed to memory.</p> - -<p>"Padre?"</p> - -<p>"Eh?"</p> - -<p>"That mutant this afternoon—"</p> - -<p>"Don't speak of him," Santana said.</p> - -<p>"But he bothers me, Santana. I can't get him out of my mind, him or -that crazy nonsense he was muttering."</p> - -<p>"That was not nonsense," the Archbishop said in a hollow voice. "He -struck at the heart, that man."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand."</p> - -<p>"You yourself made the same comment earlier, when you remarked that -I, a man of God, am with you to participate in this unholy mission. -Why, you ask. You asked me if I were not risking my immortal soul by -accompanying you."</p> - -<p>"And you said—"</p> - -<p>"I said that I had little to risk. Strange words, coming from an -Archbishop, but my soul is long since forfeit. God works in strange -ways, and so his servants follow."</p> - -<p>"You're still talking in riddles," Kesley complained. "Why did you come -along, then, if you knew it would damn you?"</p> - -<p>"I am <i>already</i> damned for serving Miguel!" Santana cried. His doughy -face was taut with sudden animation. "Don't you see that Miguel and his -Dukes have overthrown Rome, have supplanted Christ with themselves? And -we continue to serve them, not because we desire it, but because we -must!"</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. A light of torment, almost of martyrdom, gleamed in the -Archbishop's eyes now.</p> - -<p>"What difference does it make," Santana asked, "if I help you kill -Winslow? I cannot be any more damned than I am already—and possibly, -possibly the consequences of your act will—will—do you see?"</p> - -<p>"Killing Winslow will topple the whole apple cart," Kesley said softly. -"You're gambling an already assured damnation against the chance that -knocking off one Duke will crush all the rest and restore your religion -to supremacy." He chuckled quietly. "I sometimes wonder just <i>whose</i> -catspaw I am," he said.</p> - -<p>"Everyone's," the priest remarked. "Poor pawn, you've fallen fair of -everyone's scheming."</p> - -<p>The priest continued to read for a while, then uttered a brief prayer -in rapid Spanish—perhaps it was even Latin, Kesley thought—and blew -out his candle. Kesley closed his eyes and tried to sleep.</p> - -<p>Sleep would not come. Brooding, he rolled and fidgeted, seeing over and -over again the loose-jointed, hideous figure of the mutant.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VI</p> - - -<p>"I'll be back later," Kesley said in the morning. His eyes stung as if -they had been sandpapered during the long, sleepless night; his lips -were dry and cracking, and the oppressive city heat hung around him -like the caress of a giant velvet glove, smothering without actually -touching.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" Santana asked, not looking up. It was a -mechanical question asked out of mere courtesy, and Kesley ignored it.</p> - -<p>"Saddle my horse," he told one of the men. "I won't need any of you to -go with me."</p> - -<p>The morning air was already steaming as he rode out into the city. -The market was crowded with sleepy-eyed Chicagoans haggling for the -fruit and vegetables that had been brought in while they slept. Kesley -traversed the marketplace in a wide circuit and struck out along the -broad cobbled road that led to Duke Winslow's palace.</p> - -<p>About halfway there, he cut sharply and veered to the right, guiding -his horse down a steep hill and off onto a narrow, red-brown unpaved -road. Looking ahead, he could see his destination: the impossibly -untidy bramble of shanties that was the ghetto of the mutants.</p> - -<p>Even at this distance, he could see bizarre creatures moving idly back -and forth down below, wandering from porch to porch in the isolated -colony. He whitened at the sight of some of them.</p> - -<p>There was one round, orange, doughy mass of a man that looked like some -sort of giant fruit, except for the enlarged features and the tiny, -stick-like legs and arms that projected from it; nearby, walking in -confused circles, was a mutant with a pair of dissimilar writhing heads -and an uncountable number of busy legs.</p> - -<p>Lazy curlicues of smoke hung wavering in the air above the shacks. -Kesley looked around.</p> - -<p><i>Great God</i>, he thought suddenly. <i>They're people!</i></p> - -<p>He rode down into the ghetto, feeling ashamed of his own bodily -symmetry and genetic heritage, which seemed abnormal here. He, alone, -of all the human beings within a half-mile radius, was untainted, and -the thought made him feel strangely humble.</p> - -<p>"Who is it you want?" a man asked. <i>The toll-keeper</i>, Kesley thought -with sudden weird irony.</p> - -<p>The "man" facing him was more nearly human than most; only a blob of -flesh dangling from his forehead and a wattled reddish dewlap swinging -pendulously below his chin qualified him for the ghetto. Kesley forced -himself to stare rigidly over the man's shoulder while he replied.</p> - -<p>"I'm looking for ... I don't know his name. He's tall, very tall, -and—" He broke off, overwhelmed by self-conscious guilt, unable to -recite the catalogue of one mutant's alienness to another.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead," the mutant said with surprising warmth. "Tell me what he -looks like and I'll see if I can find him. I'm not offended."</p> - -<p>Kesley licked his lips and proceeded to describe the man he sought as -vividly as possible. When he was through, the mutant nodded.</p> - -<p>"You look for Lomark Dawnspear, friend. Has he wronged you?"</p> - -<p>"No," Kesley said hastily, beginning to wish he had never come. "I just -want to talk to him."</p> - -<p>"Wait here. I'll try to bring him to you."</p> - -<p>Kesley waited. The mutant vanished in the confusing tangle of -closely-packed shacks.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this poverty and genetic horror, Kesley held himself -perfectly still, hoping not to call to himself the attention of some -unfortunate who might be jealous of his fine clothes or unscrambled -chromosomes. But no one approached him. The mutants held their -distance, eyeing him with unashamed curiosity from the cramped porches -of their huts.</p> - -<p>It was a panorama of total ghastliness. Kesley could see now where the -horror with which men regarded the Old Days had arisen: the people -here were living reminders of the crime of the Old World—a crime, -Kesley thought, whose consequences were visited upon the tenth and the -twentieth generations.</p> - -<p>"You seek me?" a harsh voice said.</p> - -<p>Kesley snapped to attention and saw the hoarse-voiced Jeremiah of the -streets approaching him, escorted by the dewlapped one. Kesley nodded; -this was the man. In such profusion of mutation, there would hardly be -two so marked.</p> - -<p>"Do you remember who I am?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>The mutant chuckled. "Could I forget? You're the young killer from the -southlands, up here to do away with—but hush! I must not give it away!"</p> - -<p>Kesley gripped the mutant by the baggy folds of flesh that hung loosely -on one spidery arm. "How do you know anything of who I am?"</p> - -<p>The mutant shrugged. "How could I keep from knowing?" His voice was -mild and apologetic now, with little of its earlier raucous quality. "I -can no more keep from knowing, than you—than you can keep from needing -food, or seeing when your eyes are open. I ... <i>know</i>."</p> - -<p>"How much do you know?"</p> - -<p>"Why you are here, and where you are from ... and where you will go, -and what you will become." Lomark Dawnspear's voice had modulated into -a dull, almost ritualistic drone. "I see these things, and I do not -speak. I speak, but you do not see. Blind, I know you. Eyes open, you -march into treachery."</p> - -<p>Kesley released the mutant and stepped back. He was shaking with inward -horror; his empty stomach seemed to be squirming. "What are you talking -about?"</p> - -<p>The mutant smiled feebly. "Counter-question: who is your father, -handsome blond man?"</p> - -<p>"My father? I—"</p> - -<p>"You do not know?"</p> - -<p>"All right—I don't know. Do you?"</p> - -<p>"How could I not know? Can the maggot restrain its hunger? Can the -Earth forget its orbit?"</p> - -<p>"You know, but you're not talking. Is that it?"</p> - -<p>Dawnspear shrugged again. "You would not want me to tell you," he said -softly. "I see that, too."</p> - -<p>"All right," Kesley said, irritated. "Forget all about that. Give me -some other answers."</p> - -<p>"If I can."</p> - -<p>"The man named van Alen—is he dead?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>"Where is he?"</p> - -<p>"In his home. Antarctica."</p> - -<p>"It was true, then," Kesley said. He stared into the mutant's dead -eyes. "Who is he?"</p> - -<p>"A noble of the Antarctican land," Lomark Dawnspear said. "Forget van -Alen. Watch Miguel ... and Winslow. Watch everyone, youngster. Watch -Santana, the greasy prelate. Watch me. Watch the fool stealing up -behind you this very minute."</p> - -<p>"The oldest trick in the world," Kesley said skeptically. But he felt -a sudden cold sensation between his shoulder-blades, and whirled -quickly. Another mutant stood there, a wide, slablike thing with four -arms pivoting off jointed shoulders. One of its thick-fingered hands -clutched a rock, jagged and heavy.</p> - -<p>Moving instinctively Kesley grasped the arm holding the rock and -yanked it down, smashing a fist into the broad creature's stomach at -the same time. The rock thudded to the ground; the four arms windmilled -aimlessly for a moment or two, and then the mutant backed off mumbling -stertorous, incomprehensible curses.</p> - -<p>"You'd better leave," Lomark Dawnspear said. "Some of the slower ones -are beginning to realize you're here. They're likely to make things -dangerous for you."</p> - -<p>"But you haven't told me a thing," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"The answers lie ahead of you ... the answers and the questions. Now -go."</p> - -<p>Scowling, Kesley drew his robe tighter around his sweating body and -remounted his horse. The mutant ghetto seemed like a nightmare world, -shifting in and out of reality almost at random, blurring into dream -and then focusing sharply on hideous actuality. Without looking back, -he spurred his animal and rode hastily out of the valley.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Somehow, the long week passed, and somehow Kesley endured it. Each -day brought him closer to the audience with Winslow, when he would be -called upon to act as assassin.</p> - -<p>And he still had not a shred of plan.</p> - -<p>Kesley's imagination had throbbed in constant feverish play all week, -picturing and re-picturing the scene. Winslow—what did he look like? -Suave and bearded, with dark tired eyes like Miguel's? Thin, pallid? -Bloated?</p> - -<p>It didn't matter. There was <i>a</i> Winslow on the throne, faceless and -personalityless, and surrounding him were blurred shadows of courtiers: -a priest perhaps, a few generals in formal armor, men like that. Kesley -saw himself kneeling in the Duke's long hall, rising to advance on -nerveless legs to the throne—</p> - -<p>Plunging a knife into the Ducal bosom.</p> - -<p>Firing an echoing pistol shot as he rose from obeisance.</p> - -<p>Leaping forward and throttling Winslow on the throne.</p> - -<p>Actually, he knew, it would not be that way. A Duke had an eternity to -lose at an assassin's hands, and would be expected to surround himself -with protection. No one, not even Miguel, would place himself at the -mercy of anyone begging audience simply for the sake of "amusement." -There were too many years to be lost.</p> - -<p>Yet Kesley's active mind continued to develop a multitude of -alternative methods for the killing, and always the picture ended with -the moment of death. He found himself unable to project the action past -the actual assassination; the sequel escaped his mind completely.</p> - -<p>Seven days passed and, on the eighth, Kesley and Duke Winslow were to -come face to face.</p> - -<p>On the morning of the final day, Kesley rose early. Sleep had been -intermittent during the just-ended night, and he left his quarters -wearily shortly after dawn. On foot, he wandered through the awakening -city, in full regalia.</p> - -<p>By now it was generally known that ambassadors from Miguel's court -had been in Chicago for the past week, and he drew uneasy stares from -the curious early risers. He walked on, down one cobbled street after -another, smelling the early morning smells of fresh air and the fresh -food offered in the stalls.</p> - -<p>The bright sunlight was glinting off Winslow's palace, sending down -showers of scattered light. <i>Winslow is awakening now</i>, Kesley thought. -<i>For his last morning. After four centuries he's come to his final day.</i></p> - -<p>Suddenly hungry, Kesley turned into a food shop that appeared a few -feet away.</p> - -<p>"Good morning," the proprietor said unctuously.</p> - -<p>Kesley swung himself down into a booth without replying. After a -moment, he looked up. "Coffee," he said.</p> - -<p>"Certainly, <i>señor</i>."</p> - -<p>The white-uniformed counterman seemed delighted to be serving one of -the South Americans. He bustled out officiously from behind the counter -and put the cup before Kesley.</p> - -<p>He tasted the coffee. The synthetic beverage was tepid, slightly oily. -Nevertheless, he forced himself to finish it, then sat broodingly in -the booth staring at the gray film of dinginess that overlay the empty -cup.</p> - -<p>"Something else maybe, <i>señor</i>?"</p> - -<p>"No—nothing," Kesley said. "I'm not very hungry."</p> - -<p>"Too bad, <i>señor</i>. Has the trip north disturbed your appetite? The food -you're accustomed to—"</p> - -<p><i>Damned chatterbox</i>, Kesley thought, irritated.</p> - -<p>"My appetite is fine." He dropped a coin ringingly on the counter and -walked out, into the warm, stale morning air.</p> - -<p>Glancing around tensely, he let his hand slip to the hilt of his -dagger. He caressed it absently for a moment, scowling. The minutes -were crawling by like snails; the audience with Winslow would <i>never</i> -come.</p> - -<p>Dispiritedly, he turned his steps back toward the hotel. The desk-clerk -looked up idly as he entered.</p> - -<p>"<i>Señor?</i>"</p> - -<p>"What is it?" Kesley snapped.</p> - -<p>"The man from Duke Miguel—have you seen him?"</p> - -<p>"What man?" Kesley asked, puzzled.</p> - -<p>"He arrived while you were out—a small man with a heavy mustache. His -horse was nearly dead; he must have come in a great hurry."</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. He was expecting no one from Miguel. Hope flashed -brightly: perhaps it was a last-minute reprieve for Winslow, and -thus for Kesley. Perhaps, he thought, it was a cancellation of the -assassination order!</p> - -<p>"Where is he?" Kesley asked hurriedly.</p> - -<p>The desk-clerk jerked his head upward. "He went upstairs. Oh, about ten -minutes ago. I guess he's still there."</p> - -<p>"<i>Gracias</i>," Kesley said. With sudden excitement he dashed up the -stairs, threw open the door, and looked around.</p> - -<p>No one was in the outer room of the suite. From within came no -sound—not even the usual boisterous horseplay of his men. Cautiously, -Kesley opened the inner door. Within, he saw Santana huddling over his -breviary in his usual chair.</p> - -<p>"Santana?"</p> - -<p>There was no reply.</p> - -<p>"Padre?"</p> - -<p>The priest appeared to be totally absorbed in his reading. Annoyed, -Kesley crossed the room and grabbed Santana roughly by the shoulder. -The plump Archbishop spun limply, sagging backward as Kesley touched -him, and dropped heavily from the chair.</p> - -<p>Kesley paled. The red velvet of the Archbishop's robes was stained -with a deeper red, already turning a crumbling brown. A knife had been -thrust through the folds of fat that covered the priest's heart, and -had found its mark. Santana had attained the martyrdom he coveted.</p> - -<p>"Feliz! Domingo!" Kesley shouted. His voice sounded harsh, dry. "Luis! -Where are you?"</p> - -<p>He strode to the adjoining door and threw it open—and his men, as if -they had been held back by a spillway, came pouring forth.</p> - -<p>All six rushed out and, Kesley saw, there was a seventh with them, a -small dark man who was apparently the courier from Miguel's court. -Kesley leaped back and had his pistol and knife out almost before his -mind was aware that he was under attack.</p> - -<p>The gun barked. One man fell. The courier leaped forward, knife-blade -high; Kesley sidestepped and ripped through the flesh of the man's back -with a fierce downstroke. Turning quickly, he kicked a third man in the -stomach, and backed toward the door.</p> - -<p>They had no guns, but they outnumbered him six to one. Tossing his -mantle to one side for greater freedom, Kesley chopped downward with -the knife and drew blood again, while one of the grooms sidled toward -him and slit his arm shallowly with a rapid lick of his blade. Kesley -fired again, and the man fell.</p> - -<p>Then he managed to bull out the door and down the stairs, with the five -remaining South Americans thundering after him. At the first landing -he paused to fire; a body tumbled toward him, and he caught the small -man and wedged him crossways in the stairwell just as the other four -approached. Kesley ducked as a thrown knife whizzed past his ear, and -kept running.</p> - -<p>He dashed out past the astounded clerk and into the courtyard. The -hotel's ostler, a tall, bony old man with walrus mustaches, was -puttering around Kesley's horse, rubbing it down with the tenderness a -skilled groom would devote to a choice animal.</p> - -<p>"Get out of the way, you idiot!" Kesley yelled as he entered the court. -Bewildered, the old man looked up, smiling mildly.</p> - -<p>"Your horse is not yet curried, sir, and—"</p> - -<p>"Out of the <i>way</i>!"</p> - -<p>Kesley shoved the oldster to one side just as the four swarthy -assassins swept into the courtyard and swarmed toward him. The old man -tottered and took a couple of staggering steps that led him straight -into the path of the South Americans; Kesley, mounting the horse, -winced sympathetically as they collided with him and threw him roughly -to the ground.</p> - -<p>But the delay allowed Kesley to mount his animal and, even without -spurs, he was able to bring the horse under quick control. He wheeled -it toward the onrushing assassins. The magnificent beast whinnied and -plunged forward.</p> - -<p>Surprised, the South Americans yielded before this frontal attack; -one aimed a knife blow at the horse's flank, but Kesley's boot caught -the man's face and sent him reeling away. Kesley charged through the -straggling, disarrayed South Americans and out of the courtyard into -the main thoroughfare.</p> - -<p>He rode three or four blocks, then pulled up, gasping for breath, and -guided the horse into a side-street for a moment. For the first time in -the last six minutes, he had a chance to evaluate the situation:</p> - -<p>Point: Santana was dead.</p> - -<p>Point: his six men had turned against him, and only their stupidity and -his agility had kept Kesley from sharing the Archbishop's fate.</p> - -<p>Point: someone had arrived from Miguel's court shortly before.</p> - -<p>Therefore, Miguel had changed his mind and had ordered the -assassinations of Santana and Kesley. Or <i>had</i> Miguel changed his mind? -Perhaps this entire expedition had been a complicated way of wiping out -a troublesome Archbishop?</p> - -<p>Kesley's fingers quivered. Anything was possible—<i>anything</i>—when -dealing with immortals.</p> - -<p>"<i>Betrayal and betrayal again</i>," the mutant Lomark Dawnspear had -prophesied. And the mutant had been right.</p> - -<p>For one reason or another—or perhaps none at all, Kesley thought -coldly—Miguel had betrayed him.</p> - -<p>And the counter-betrayal? Kesley smiled. Fifteen minutes ago he had -been steeling himself for the work of assassinating Duke Winslow. -Now he would, rather, swear allegiance to him. The decision was made -quickly, for Kesley saw it was the only path open to him.</p> - -<p>He rode out of the shadows and onto the main stem again, moving -cautiously as if expecting to see the four small Argentinians charging -madly out of nowhere toward him. But they were not to be seen; the -street was crowded with Chicagoans going about their morning business, -and a sickly aura of heat was starting to descend as the August day -edged toward noon.</p> - -<p>Clamping together his tattered sleeve over his flesh-wound, Kesley -rode out and toward a mounted policeman who sat stiff and proud in his -green-and-gold uniform, looking down on the pedestrians.</p> - -<p>"Officer?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, <i>señor</i>?"</p> - -<p>The title pleased Kesley; that meant he had been recognized. "There's -been a disturbance down at my inn. My men were drinking, apparently. -They've assassinated His Holiness, and attempted to kill me when I -returned from my morning walk."</p> - -<p>"How many are there?"</p> - -<p>"I killed three in escaping. There are four left still at large down -there."</p> - -<p>The policeman drew a whistle and uttered a brief, sub-sonic blast. -Almost instantly, a second mounted man rode up, and at his request -Kesley repeated the story word for word.</p> - -<p>"I'll go down there," the first officer said.</p> - -<p>Kesley turned to the other. "Would you conduct me to the Palace? I -feel I should seek sanctuary with the Duke until affairs are more -stable."</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>Together they rode down the winding road that led to Winslow's Palace. -The policeman was a man of few words; once, he asked if Kesley had any -idea why he had been attacked. Kesley shrugged without replying.</p> - -<p>For the first time, Winslow's rosy palace seemed to Kesley a place of -refuge rather than the place where he undoubtedly would meet his death. -He smiled grimly. Assassins had become assassins' victims; the wheels -had turned, and the positions on the board had altered. For Santana, -it had been check and mate; Kesley had escaped, through no fault of -Miguel's.</p> - -<p>But what if Miguel's messenger had come too late? Suppose Kesley had -already seen and killed Winslow? Kesley frowned; it was impossible to -divine just what Miguel's real motive was. But now there would be no -more dealings with Don Miguel.</p> - -<p>A phantom thought struck him, and his lips curled upward. What if -Winslow were to engage him in similar service and send him back to -assassinate <i>Miguel</i>?</p> - -<p>It was possible. Anything was possible, Kesley thought dismally. -Anything was possible at all, in this chess game with all moves masked.</p> - -<p>They drew near the palace. As usual, the guard at the gate inquired -what business Kesley had within.</p> - -<p>"I have an audience with the Duke," Kesley told him.</p> - -<p>With great punctiliousness, the gateman disappeared into his tower and -returned clutching a lengthy appointment sheet.</p> - -<p>"The audience is at two," Kesley said impatiently, as the gateman's -eyes wandered all over the sheet.</p> - -<p>"Indeed so," the guard replied after a moment. "And I believe it's no -more than ten now. Duke Winslow will see you in four hours, no sooner, -<i>señor</i>."</p> - -<p>Kesley wiped away sweat and fought down an impulse to cut the guardsman -down with an impatient blow of his dagger. "It's an emergency. Tell the -Duke that. Tell him that the Archbishop's been assassinated, and that -I must see the Duke now!"</p> - -<p>A flicker of interest crossed the guard's eyes. "I'll tell him that. -Wait here."</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later the guard returned. "Go in," he said laconically.</p> - -<p>"You need me any more?" asked the policeman at Kesley's side.</p> - -<p>"No—thanks, you've been very helpful." He handed the man a coin; as an -afterthought, he gave one to the gatekeeper as well, and entered.</p> - -<p>A <i>déjà vu</i> emotion filtered through him at the sight of the interior -of Winslow's Palace grounds. There was the same broad courtyard as at -Miguel's, the same distant entrance. This time, though, a cold-faced -man in Imperial uniform was waiting for him.</p> - -<p>"I'm here to see the Duke," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>The guard nodded. "Certainly. Duke Winslow will see you at once, -<i>señor</i>. Please follow me."</p> - -<p>Kesley followed. The great inner doors swung open, revealing a -brightly-lit throne room on the ground floor. A row of unblinking -retainers with halberds lined the room; there must have been -twenty-five on each side, Kesley thought. His throat parched at the -thought of the task he would have faced trying to escape from this room -after assassinating Winslow.</p> - -<p>On a raised dais at the far end, beneath an immense figured shield and -between two dark columns of glossy, grained onyx, sat a man who could -only have been Duke Winslow. For the first time in his life, Kesley -approached the man who ruled all of North America—the man whose life -he had, not so long ago, pledged to take.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VII</p> - - -<p>Winslow had none of Miguel's crisp, compact muscularity, Kesley saw, as -he hesitantly approached the throne. North America's Duke sprawled as -massively across his gleaming white metal throne as the broad continent -he ruled did across its hemisphere; he was an enormous, ponderous, -obese man. Winslow's sobbing intake of breath was plainly audible even -at the distance Kesley maintained.</p> - -<p>"Your Highness," he said, and knelt.</p> - -<p>"Rise," Winslow ordered. His voice, like Miguel's, was deep, but -Winslow's voice had a soft, throaty liquidity to it that was most -unlike Miguel's compelling boom.</p> - -<p>Kesley rose and faced Winslow squarely. The Duke's features were -blurred and indistinct, misshapen by the billowing puffs of fat that -sagged from his cheeks. He wore a thin fringe of golden-red beard which -screened a thick, many-chinned throat.</p> - -<p>"Our audience was scheduled for this afternoon," Kesley said, since -Winslow was evidently waiting for him to speak. "However, a change of -schedule was made necessary by—"</p> - -<p>"I have heard," the Duke murmured lazily. "News travels swiftly here, -sir. The Archbishop lies dead in an inn, is that it?"</p> - -<p>"Dead at the hand of his own servants, Duke Winslow. Betrayed."</p> - -<p>"Indeed?" The sleepy eyes of the gross-bodied Duke stirred; Kesley -observed that behind the outward facade of sloth lay the nervous -reflexes of a cat-keen intellect. "Betrayed? And by whom, <i>señor</i>?"</p> - -<p>Kesley glanced uneasily around the room. "May we be alone, Duke -Winslow?"</p> - -<p>Chuckling, the Duke said: "Certainly not. My life is much too important -to me, young one. But you can speak freely here; the word of my court -is sacred."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then. I'll begin at the beginning." Drawing a deep breath, -he said, "I was sent here to assassinate you."</p> - -<p>Around Winslow, courtiers paled and reached for their weapons at -Kesley's flat admission, but Winslow himself showed no reaction -whatever. It was infuriating to see the slow smile finally spread over -his face. "How unfriendly," he observed at last.</p> - -<p>"I had no intentions of actually carrying it out, of course."</p> - -<p>"Of course." With biting sarcasm.</p> - -<p>"I accepted the order in an attempt to free myself of Don Miguel's -power. I had every intention of swearing allegiance to you, and—"</p> - -<p>It seemed to Kesley that some ugly thought had passed at that moment -through Winslow's mind and, disconcerted, he halted. Then, recovering, -he continued: "On the other hand, Archbishop Santana came here with the -definite intent of doing away with you.</p> - -<p>"However, this morning a courier arrived from Miguel, instructing our -retinue to set upon us and kill us."</p> - -<p>"A noteworthy aim," Winslow said. "One which, I take it, was only -partially accomplished."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"Why are you telling me all this?"</p> - -<p>"I want to expose Miguel's treachery. I want to make everything clear -to you, show you what's been going on." Kesley spoke with desperate -sincerity now.</p> - -<p>Winslow laughed suddenly, his entire body quivering. "This is very -funny," he said, when he had subsided. "Miguel sending men here to -assassinate me—and then having his own assassins assassinated!" He -narrowed his eyes and peered curiously at Kesley. "Why do you suppose -he would do a thing like that?" he asked.</p> - -<p>Kesley moistened cracking lips. "It is not for me to understand the -ways of Dukes, Sire."</p> - -<p>"I hardly expect it of you."</p> - -<p>"Then—"</p> - -<p>"You wish to enter my service?" Winslow asked. "It is strange that a -former assassin would beg me to gather him to my capacious bosom. It is -an amusing idea."</p> - -<p>Suddenly Kesley felt like an insect being toyed with before having -its wings plucked. Dizzily he glanced at the long rows of halberdiers -standing like carven images, at the wax-faced courtiers grouped about -Winslow's throne, and for a bewildering instant he thought that this -was all some kind of dream from which he would soon wake and find -himself back behind the plough, awaiting Tina's call to lunch.</p> - -<p>"I never intended to strike a blow against you, Sire," Kesley lied -humbly. "You believe that, don't you?"</p> - -<p>"Of course I do," Winslow said gently, and without any trace of -sarcasm. "Perhaps that's why Don Miguel decided to blot you out. -However," he said, sighing, "I'm afraid you represent as great a threat -to the Twelve Empires as has ever been born, my young friend."</p> - -<p>He gestured to a hawk-faced man in somber robes standing to his left. -"Lovelette, take this man and convey him to the dungeons. Tomorrow, -he's to be executed. Is that clear?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly, Sire."</p> - -<p>It had happened so quickly that Kesley did not fully understand it. One -moment he had been on dangerously thin ice but managing to keep aloft; -the next, he had plunged through into utter cold.</p> - -<p>He felt thin fingers bite into his bicep, and a low voice say, "Come -with me."</p> - -<p>Two halberdiers advanced mechanically and took their posts at either -side of him. Numb, he allowed himself to be marched away from Winslow's -presence, with an infinite series of maddening <i>whys</i> screaming at him -all down the long hall.</p> - -<p>Why this sudden reversal on Winslow's part? Why the execution order? -This, not Kesley's switch of allegiance, was obviously the "<i>betrayal -again</i>" Lomark Dawnspear had foretold.</p> - -<p>As Kesley was led from the Ducal presence, he heard Winslow's sardonic -chuckling coming from behind. Tomorrow, he thought bleakly, it would be -the headsman who would chuckle.</p> - -<p>He had changed his coat once too often. Going to Winslow had proved a -fatal move.</p> - -<p>Kesley resolved that if he ever escaped from Winslow he would stay as -far as he could from all the Dukes. Life was hard enough without making -one's self subject to the caprices of life-jaded Immortals.</p> - -<p>But, as the dark corridor leading to the dungeon opened out before -him, he saw clearly that there was little chance of an escape this time.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>During the rest of the day and the long night that followed, Kesley, -alone in the darkness, had plenty of time to think.</p> - -<p>He was in complete isolation, somewhere in the depths of Winslow's -palace. He had been thrust in; microrelays had clicked, and a heavy -metal door had whirred creakingly closed. Air came filtering in from -a dimly-visible grid in the ceiling, twelve feet above. There was no -furniture in the cell, not even a cot. He could stand, or he could lie.</p> - -<p>He stood for a while, pacing the length and breadth of the cell until -that palled, and then he stretched out full length to wait for morning. -There was no point wasting energy in fruitless escape tries; he had -determined very quickly that his cell was proof to any attempts.</p> - -<p>One dull gray thought flickered monotonously through his consciousness: -tomorrow his life would end. That wasn't so bad, he thought; everyone -dies—everyone but the Twelve. What hurt more was the rasping -realization that he had never really lived at all.</p> - -<p>What had he done, in the twenty-four years he'd had? Twenty of them -were blank, cloaked by darkness more complete than the inkiness that -surrounded him in the cell. He had lived and farmed in Kansas, he told -people, but he knew it was false, and van Alen, whoever <i>he</i> had been, -had known it was false.</p> - -<p>Van Alen had confronted him with the naked lie he had been living, and -it had hurt. Probing the past caused pain. All right. Blot out twenty -years, begin life four years ago, ignore the mystery that cried to be -solved.</p> - -<p><i>What kind of world is this</i>, he asked himself, <i>where you never start -to live?</i></p> - -<p>He had never known the rules. He never knew who made the moves, who -played the game. Unseeingly, he had shunted from one pattern of action -to another, without ever understanding the world he was in. It was -ironic. A world carefully tailored for simplicity, a world scrupulously -designed by its proprietors to avoid the complexity that had destroyed -the previous civilization—and here he, after twenty-four years, was -going to his death uncomprehendingly.</p> - -<p>Something was terribly wrong with a world like that, Kesley thought. -Perhaps its goals had been good, once. But as the Immortals had moved -timelessly on through the years, they had grown remote from the charts -and maps of society, and begun to play some inscrutable, unfathomable -game of their own.</p> - -<p>"It isn't fair!" he said out loud. His protesting voice echoed weirdly -in the confines of the cell, bounced back grotesquely from the metal -walls. He knew that if there were a light in the cell he would be able -to see his own distorted image on their shining surfaces. It would be a -mocking clown-face, laughing at him for his own ignorance.</p> - -<p>But there was no light. There was only darkness, and the silence of -solitude.</p> - -<p>And then, after hours passed, there came the faint humming sound of -relays clicking in the massive door.</p> - -<p><i>Morning already?</i> Kesley wondered.</p> - -<p>Time had passed; he knew that. But so much time? Was so little left?</p> - -<p>The door was undeniably swinging open.</p> - -<p>He had remained alone for almost a day and a night, and had returned no -answers to his many questions. Shrugging, he waited for the Duke's men -to take him away. <i>Maybe there aren't any answers</i>, he thought dismally.</p> - -<p>He heard soft padding footsteps in his cell, and felt a cool hand grasp -his.</p> - -<p>"Stand up," a whispered voice said.</p> - -<p>Wondering, Kesley pushed himself up from the floor. "You're not the -headsman," he said.</p> - -<p>"No. The headsman waits for morning."</p> - -<p>"Isn't it morning yet?"</p> - -<p>"The hour is four," the strangely familiar voice whispered. "The Palace -lies asleep."</p> - -<p>Dimly, Kesley realized that this was some sort of impossible -rescue—unless, that is, it was another hoax. Frowning into the -impenetrable darkness, he said: "Who are you?"</p> - -<p>There was no answer. But gradually a faint glow enveloped the cell, -flickered warmly for a bare instant and died away.</p> - -<p>"Dawnspear!"</p> - -<p>"Speak quietly, friend. It was not easy persuading the guards to sleep."</p> - -<p>Kesley rubbed his eyes, tried to peer into the darkness. The momentary -glow of light had revealed the bizarre, piebald mutant towering above -him. Cautiously, Kesley extended his hand and felt the rough, cool skin -of the mutant's bare chest as if to confirm his vision.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing here, Dawnspear?"</p> - -<p>"There are those who would not have you die," the mutant replied. -"Winslow and Miguel know you. Two Dukes are in league to take your -life, now. They can be dangerous enemies. Come."</p> - -<p>Dawnspear grasped Kesley's hand firmly and guided him forward. As they -passed through the open door of the cell, the metal began to swing shut -again. Kesley heard a faint clang as the cell closed.</p> - -<p>Outside, in the dim light of the dungeons, Kesley made out sleeping -forms lying here and there, slumped over their weapons. Guards.</p> - -<p>"Did you drug them?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"They were very sleepy," Dawnspear said ambiguously. "We must hurry, -now."</p> - -<p>They glided through the dungeon together, the man and the mutant. -Kesley walked on tiptoe, moving delicately as if he were walking on -the fragile surface of a dream; at any moment he expected Dawnspear to -vanish and the entire illusion to drift into nothingness.</p> - -<p>But then he smelled fresh air instead of dungeon mustiness, and he knew -he was free.</p> - -<p>"The gate is open down there," Dawnspear said, pointing. "The guards -are lost in slumber."</p> - -<p>Together they crossed the palace grounds and passed through the -gate. Kesley turned to the gaunt figure of the mutant to demand some -explanation, but Dawnspear had released his hand and was pointing -toward the distance.</p> - -<p>"Within a minute they will all be awake. You will be missed. Flee now, -while you have the chance."</p> - -<p>"Wait a second! How did—why—?"</p> - -<p>Kesley's whispers died away impotently. Dawnspear had slipped away -silently into the night. "<i>Dawnspear!</i>" he called harshly. There was no -reply.</p> - -<p><i>There never are any answers when you call</i>, Kesley thought sourly. He -wheeled, looked back at the sleeping Palace. Lights were beginning to -flicker on here and there; the mutant's influence had ended, and the -sleepers were waking.</p> - -<p>He was free to fly. Once again, he was his own master, bound to no one.</p> - -<p>The guards stirred within the walls. He could imagine their dismay when -they found him gone. Wrapping his cloak tightly around him, he edged -off into the night.</p> - -<p>A horse, first. Then, out the walls some way or other, and to freedom.</p> - -<p>Both Winslow and Miguel would be hunting him, why, he could not say. -But both his fealties stood revoked; his Dukes sought his life.</p> - -<p>Well enough, Kesley thought. He had no debts to either Miguel or -Winslow. Once again he stood alone. Where to, now?</p> - -<p>He thought of Narella, in Buenos Aires. She would be waiting for him to -come back—or was she, too, only part of Miguel's scheming. He didn't -want to believe that.</p> - -<p>Van Alen had told him he belonged in Antarctica. Suddenly the image of -the mysterious continent rose in his mind. He saw a vast wall. Nothing -more was visible.</p> - -<p>It took only a moment to frame a resolution. Find Daveen. Find Narella.</p> - -<p><i>And then</i>, he thought, <i>to Antarctica. To Antarctica!</i></p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">VIII</p> - - -<p>The sleep-wrapped city was dark and silent. Kesley raced down the -quiet streets, cutting laterally once to avoid the yellow glare of a -wandering patrolman's swinging sodium lamp.</p> - -<p>He knew he had to move quickly. The city's gates would, of course, -be barred, and he had no desire to try the lakefront way of leaving -Chicago. He was no swimmer, and the lake, unguarded though it was, -seemed endless. There was only one way out.</p> - -<p>Pulling his richly-brocaded cloak around him, he looked ahead for some -sign of the night patrolman who had just passed. Finally he found him, -far down the opposite street, swinging his lamp as he made his routine -rounds.</p> - -<p>Cautiously, Kesley began to advance.</p> - -<p>The watchman's broad back was turned; a heavy truncheon hung at his -side, and the butt of a pistol gleamed in a holster. His lamp cast long -shadows down the empty street.</p> - -<p>Kesley sidled up behind him and clubbed downward efficiently with the -side of his hand just as the watchman noticed the advancing shadow -behind him. The man had half-turned when Kesley's hand cracked sharply -into the column of his neck below his left ear and jawbone, and the -watchman emitted a feeble gagging cry and fell. Kesley caught him -neatly, grabbing the all-important lamp.</p> - -<p>Moving quickly and smoothly, he stripped the patrolman, donned his -clothes, and bound the unconscious man with his ambassadorial robes. -The guard stirred; Kesley stunned him with a blow of the truncheon and -dragged him into the courtyard of a small, private dwelling. Stuffing -him into a garbage bin that stood outside the door, he straightened -his clothing and stepped back into the street, swinging the lantern -nonchalantly.</p> - -<p>Moments later, horses' hooves thundered down from the Palace, breaking -the quiet. Acting the part of a good watchman, Kesley ran out into the -darkened street, holding his lamp up so its brightness would blur his -face.</p> - -<p>"What's going on? Where are you coming from?"</p> - -<p>Two or three riders passed, ignoring him.</p> - -<p>"I say, stop!"</p> - -<p>A fourth rider leaned down from his horse. "Duke's guard, watchman. -We're chasing an assassin!"</p> - -<p>"Assassin? The Duke dead?"</p> - -<p>"Heaven forbid. No; it's one of those South Americans. The Duke ordered -him executed, but he escaped!"</p> - -<p>"Dreadful," Kesley exclaimed, and released the bridle. The horse sped -away into the night as another wave of riders followed down. Winslow, -aroused, was probably sending his whole guard corps out to search for -the fugitive.</p> - -<p>Lights were going on all over the city now. Sudden bright, yellow eyes -winked down from unshuttered windows. Kesley stepped back into the -shadows and let five more horsemen go by.</p> - -<p>A sixth came down the road. Kesley flagged him down with his lantern.</p> - -<p>"What's going on, friend?"</p> - -<p>"Haven't you heard? We're chasing an escaped assassin."</p> - -<p>"What's that?" Kesley assumed an expression of horror. "What did he -look like?"</p> - -<p>"Big man in royal robes. One of those South Americans."</p> - -<p>"No! I just saw one go into that house over there." He indicated a home -which had not yet awakened to the clamor of the streets. "I'm sure it -was the South American," Kesley continued. "I was going to ask him -where he was going, but then I saw he was an ambassador and—"</p> - -<p>There was no need to chatter further. The horseman, his mind set on -medals, was dismounting.</p> - -<p>"Which house?" he asked tensely. "That one?"</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded. "Want me to help you?"</p> - -<p>"That's all right," the guard said. "Stay out here and tend my horse. -I'll go in and look around."</p> - -<p>"Good luck," Kesley said. He let the man take six steps toward the -silent house, then whipped out his truncheon and brought it down with -skull-crumpling force. Hastily he dragged the man behind a low, bunchy -shrub, ran back to the street, and clambered aboard the waiting horse.</p> - -<p>As the animal began to move, yet another wave of guards swept down from -the Palace. Kesley fell in with them, peering grimly forward into the -night as they rode. They dashed on, clattering up the main street and -splitting off there to explore any byway where the fugitive might be -hidden. Atop his horse—a scale-covered, dusky mutant with many-jointed -legs—Kesley choked off a chuckle and forced his face into the solemn -mask of the dedicated pursuer.</p> - -<p>In the morning, the elaborate, half-mythical tracking devices would -be brought into play: the needle-snouted, mechanized bloodhounds of -legendary dread, the whirling radar parabolas, the ingenious screens -and devices inherited from a culture long dead. It wasn't much of a -secret that the Dukes maintained many of the taboo devices of the Old -World, and used them for their private ends. Miguel's closed-circuit -TV, Kesley thought, was an example.</p> - -<p>But the bloodhounds wouldn't be called out till later. Right now the -reaction was one of simple hysteria; heads would be rolling at the -Palace if Kesley were not found at once. And, he thought, riding atop a -Ducal horse, clad in Ducal uniform, it wasn't too likely that they were -going to find him.</p> - -<p>He glanced ahead. The guards were riding together, forming an anxious -little circle. Evidently someone had called a halt and was about to -organize a systematic search.</p> - -<p>Further ahead, the towers set in the wall ringing the city were -lit; the guards there had been roused as well, it seemed. Kesley -surreptitiously cantered out of line and cut off down a dark -side-alley, taking care that none of the guards were following him.</p> - -<p>A few minutes later he reached the West Gate—smaller than the -other three, and lightly guarded. Drawing his horse up before the -guard-tower, he shouted: "Open the gate, you idiots! The assassin's -escaped, and he's heading west."</p> - -<p>"What are you saying?"</p> - -<p>"I said <i>open the gate</i>. I'm Duke's guard. You're holding things up. -The assassin's out there at large someplace!"</p> - -<p>The door swung back.</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Kesley yelled. He kicked the mutant's scaly hide to make the -beast spurt ahead. He raced through the open gate and out of Chicago. -The confused shouts of the guards echoed faintly in the distance as he -urged the horse on.</p> - -<p>Breaking out into the flat country that ran westward, he rode hard -without any direction or destination in mind. Once he looked around -and saw three riders about two and a half miles back, pelting steadily -after him.</p> - -<p>They were on to him then. He hadn't fooled them completely. But it had -worked well enough to get him clear of the city and, if he could put -more space between himself and Chicago before they turned the hounds on -him, he'd be all right.</p> - -<p>The road veered suddenly and split into a network of forks. Almost -without thinking, he grabbed the south fork and urged the horse -on. He didn't know the country at all down there, but there were -cities—Peoria, St. Louis, Springfield, Cairo way down on the river. -Somewhere between those empty names, he had heard there was a Mutie -City—a regular refuge for mutants, a walled city of some sort where -not even Duke Winslow's hand could reach.</p> - -<p>He bent low over his horse's stringy mane and urged the gasping beast -on. Glancing back, he saw his pursuers—and dim in the night was -something dull and metallic grinding toward him down the flat road.</p> - -<p>Bloodhound.</p> - -<p>They had the hounds out after him already. Winslow wasn't going to let -him escape lightly.</p> - -<p>Shortly after sunup, his exhausted horse stumbled and fell, pitching -him to the ground. Kesley rolled to his feet, glanced once at the -animal's splintered leg doubled beneath its body, and looked back. No -sign of his pursuers now.</p> - -<p>He destroyed the horse with a single bullet and started moving, on -foot, through the underbrush. He had no idea where he might be, except -that he was somewhere south of Chicago.</p> - -<p>Through the rest of the morning he hacked his way through the wild -vegetation that had sprung up in this uncultivated area. Exhausted -finally, he stopped near noon to rinse some of the sweat from his face -at a clear blue brook.</p> - -<p>Wearily, he scuttled away from the brook and started to get to his -feet, without success. He remained kneeling, staring at the quivering -tips of his fingers, smelling the warm morning air and listening to the -singing of the untroubled birds, and finally slumped forward, face down -in the fertile soil, and slept. He had been awake almost fifty hours.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Later, Kesley felt gentle hands slide under his body and scoop him up. -Foggily, he opened one eye and fought to focus it. Deep in his mind, -he was struggling toward wakefulness, acutely aware he should flee but -unable to make his exhausted body respond.</p> - -<p>"Let go of me," he murmured, clawing fitfully at the hands that held -him. He blinked. "Where are the hounds? Don't let the hounds near me."</p> - -<p>"There are no hounds," a purring voice told him. "Winslow's men turned -back hours ago."</p> - -<p>Some of the cobwebs cleared from his brain. "No hounds? You're not from -Winslow?"</p> - -<p>"Look at me and see."</p> - -<p>The hands released him and slowly Kesley turned. Standing behind him, -arms extended uneasily in case Kesley should topple, was a graceful, -seal-like creature with glistening, golden-brown skin. A slit-like -mouth was bent into a clumsy smile; narrow yellow eyes gazed warmly at -him.</p> - -<p>"I'm ... very tired," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>The mutant nodded gently. "You should be," he said. He took a step -forward, and caught the exhausted Kesley just as he began to fall.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">IX</p> - - -<p>Sanctuary—for a while.</p> - -<p>"So I'm not to be allowed any rest," Kesley said bitterly. "Three days -here and you're tossing me out, is that it?"</p> - -<p>He glared sourly at the little group of mutants facing him. "Well?"</p> - -<p>"You've been here three days," Spahl pointed out. The seal-like mutant -shrugged sadly. "That's three days longer than any non-mutant's ever -spent in this city, Kesley. We can't keep you here much longer."</p> - -<p>"Why do you want to stay here?" asked Foursmith, an angular, -knobby-looking mutant with a row of inch-long red nubbins protruding -through the flesh of his back. "You've got to get going, you know. -Daveen's not here."</p> - -<p>"I don't know <i>where</i> Daveen is!" Kesley said. "Can't you let me catch -my breath?"</p> - -<p>"You'll have to leave tomorrow," Spahl said. "We'll give you a horse."</p> - -<p>"Thanks."</p> - -<p>This was the third day since Spahl had rescued him in the forest and -brought him to Mutie City; they had fed him and rested him, but now -they insisted that he leave.</p> - -<p>He couldn't blame them; the city was a refuge for harried mutants, -not a harbor for escaped turncoats. They ran the risk of incurring -Winslow's displeasure by giving him sanctuary. Yet, he thought, as long -as they'd admitted him they might as well have let him stay long enough -to get his bearings, to have some of the furor over him die down.</p> - -<p>Well, at least they'd taken him in. A small blessing, but a real one.</p> - -<p>"I'm sorry," he said humbly, walking to the window of the room they had -given him. He looked out over the variegated city below—strange and -motley compared with the neat regularity of all Empire-built cities.</p> - -<p>"I'm imposing myself, and I'm acting like a fool." He wet his lips. -"I'll go whenever you want me to."</p> - -<p>"Don't misunderstand," Foursmith warned. The mutant with the extended -vertebrae was the current head of the mutie enclave. "We're not -throwing you out. We think you should leave, that's all. For your good -and ours."</p> - -<p>"Agreed," Kesley said. In the street below, a two-headed woman was -making slow progress pushing a perambulator in which squirmed a -many-armed monster-baby. He shuddered. He still was not used to such -sights.</p> - -<p>This was the world's genetic refuse heap, the city where the alien race -in mankind's midst could live in peace and security. Gradually, Mutie -City was enfolding in itself the mutants of the Ducal cities; here, the -grim souvenirs of the time-shadowed great war could walk unmolested.</p> - -<p>He could see the logic behind the agreement of the Dukes granting Mutie -City total independence. The mutants came here and, gradually, the -contamination of their genes would be localized, the cancer of mutation -penned into one tiny area. Kesley wondered whether, on the day when the -last mutant had left the Twelve Empires and entered Mutie City, the -Dukes would bomb the city to shreds and thus restore mankind's genetic -homogeneity. It was a terrible thought.</p> - -<p>He turned. There they were, Spahl and Foursmith and Ricketts and -Huygens and Devree, each one looking as if he had come down from a -different world. They ruled the city.</p> - -<p>"Why did you take me in?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"There were reasons," Huygens, the double-header, said resonantly.</p> - -<p><i>Always reasons</i>, Kesley thought. <i>And everyone knows them but me.</i></p> - -<p>"This Daveen—he's not a mutant, is he?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"No," Foursmith said. "I saw him once, in the court of Duke Winslow. He -is very tall, without hair, and blind. He's not one of us."</p> - -<p>"And you don't know where I could find him?"</p> - -<p>"You might try the Colony," Foursmith suggested. "He might be in hiding -there, among the other artists. At any event, the Colony is safe from -Winslow, too. Perhaps you could stay there for a while."</p> - -<p>"Good enough," Kesley said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Colony sprang from the blue-green grass of Kentucky like a -sprawling, segmented worm. Its architecture bore no resemblance to that -of any city Kesley had ever seen; broad, rambling, almost ramshackle, -it presented an even more disorderly appearance than had Mutie City.</p> - -<p>He wheeled the exhausted, six-legged horse the mutants had given him -up the final stretches of the roadway, looking around cautiously as he -rode. It had been a tense but, happily, uneventful journey down from -Illinois.</p> - -<p>The Colony, like all other cities, was walled. But it was as if a -different architect had planned each segment of the wall. Here, it -was high and carved from blocks of pink granite; there, it was a lazy -stile of limestone. Towers of black basalt capped the wall at irregular -intervals.</p> - -<p>He rode toward the gate—an open gate. Pulling his mount to a halt as -he approached, he turned toward the guard.</p> - -<p>"Who are you?" questioned the guard, looking up from a notebook. Kesley -saw a series of interlocking doodles scrawled on the man's page.</p> - -<p>"My name is Kesley. I'm here seeking sanctuary from Duke Winslow. I'm -also looking for a blind poet named Daveen. Is he here?"</p> - -<p>"He has been," the guard answered. "You armed?"</p> - -<p>"Pistol and truncheon," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Leave 'em out here. You can pick them up when you're leaving."</p> - -<p>Kesley didn't like the idea of parting with his weapons, but he seemed -to have little choice. Reluctantly, he surrendered them and rode -inside, into what seemed to be a park.</p> - -<p>A fantastic array of houses was visible beyond the park. For a moment, -Kesley thought he had wandered into a lunatic's asylum. Then he -remembered it was simply an artists' refuge.</p> - -<p>A nude girl stood unashamedly in the center of a lawn not far away, and -clustered about her, sketching furiously, was a group of painters. -Beneath a live-oak tree behind her, a fat, balding man squatted on the -ground, playing a wooden flute. Elsewhere, other members of the colony -seemed to be busying themselves at their various interests.</p> - -<p>Kesley tethered his horse at a hitching-post just inside the main wall, -and looked around for someone who might be in authority.</p> - -<p>After a moment, a girl in a brief halter and shorts approached him. -"Hello, friend. My name is Lisa. Where from?"</p> - -<p>Her voice was clear and firm. Somewhat hesitantly, Kesley said, -"Chicago, mostly."</p> - -<p>"Oh? What do you do?"</p> - -<p>"I don't understand," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Paint, sing, write? Light-sculpture? Architecture? Come on," she said -impatiently.</p> - -<p>"I see. No, I'm not an artist. I'm ... just here visiting. Looking for -someone."</p> - -<p>"That's nice. Who?"</p> - -<p>"A poet. Daveen the Singer, they call him. Is he here?"</p> - -<p>The girl frowned. "Daveen? I recall the name—but I don't think he's -living here now. You'll have to ask Colin about that. He remembers -everything."</p> - -<p>"Where can I find this Colin," Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"Over there." She pointed to the group surrounding the nude girl. "The -old lecher's busy sketching Marla. He doesn't know any more about -sketching than I do, but he loves to look at a pretty body. He's the -bald one, right down in front. You'd better not bother him now."</p> - -<p>"I'll wait," Kesley said. He could hold his own among assassins, but he -could see that he was going to be sadly out of his depth here in the -Colony.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The Colony was even more grotesque and wonderful a place than Kesley -had imagined, in that first dazzling introduction in the park. After -the darkness of the world of the Twelve Dukes, and the different -darkness of Mutie City, the Colony stood forth as a land of beacon.</p> - -<p>Total anarchy prevailed, for one thing. People lived where they liked, -ate as they pleased, worked or did not work. There was always enough -food. The Colony was self-sufficient, insular, smug in its seclusion. -And inscribed in deep-cut letters over the inside of the main gate were -four words:</p> - -<p class="ph1"><i>DO WHAT THOU WILT</i></p> - -<p>"The guiding motto of the Abbey of Theleme," Lisa explained, when -Kesley commented.</p> - -<p>"Theleme?"</p> - -<p>"A reference to Rabelais," she said. "Oh, I see you don't know that -either. It's a book—I mean, he was a writer. You don't read much, do -you?"</p> - -<p>"No," Kesley said distantly, staring at the huge letters in the stone. -<i>Do What Thou Wilt.</i> They were shattering words; he wondered what Duke -Winslow's reaction would be if he ever had an opportunity to see them.</p> - -<p>But there wasn't much chance of that. The Colony was even older than -the Twelve Empires, having been established back in the days of the -chaos by a group of artists and poets determined to preserve their -way of life while the rest of the world crumbled about them. They had -succeeded; and now, the outside world did without them. They had no -part in Empire doings, and the Empire kept its distance from them. It -was, Kesley was told, all part of the uneasy balance in which the world -was held. No one dared tip the scales.</p> - -<p>He was welcomed to the Colony warmly, even though he was quick to make -clear that he himself was no artist and that he was here solely in -quest of Daveen. The night of his arrival they held an immense party, -supposedly in his honor.</p> - -<p>He recognized a few faces. The girl named Lisa had appointed herself -his guardian; she stayed close by his side. Somewhere else in the huge -roomful of milling people, he spotted the man named Colin, looking like -an aging Silenus with his baggy eyes and fuzzy crown of graying hair. -He was engaged in animated conversation with the girl Marla, who had -modeled nude that afternoon. Now, she wore a transparent plastic blouse -and tights; it was an even more startling costume.</p> - -<p>Finally, Kesley got to speak to Colin.</p> - -<p>The balding man was very fat and very drunk, he noticed. He stared -curiously at Kesley for a few minutes, then said, "You're the newcomer, -aren't you? The one we're all here to honor?"</p> - -<p>"I'm looking for a man named Daveen. You know him?"</p> - -<p>"No," Colin said loudly. "Never heard of him. Want a drink?"</p> - -<p>Kesley shook his head. He flicked a glance warily at Lisa, who was -smiling enigmatically. "He's a poet," Kesley said. "A blind man. Lisa -thinks she remembers him."</p> - -<p>"Lisa will say anything. I don't remember any Daveen."</p> - -<p>"Daveen? Who's talking about Daveen?" a deep voice asked. Kesley -glanced to his left and saw a tall, burly, blond man with long curling -hair. The big youth was smiling sweetly.</p> - -<p>"I am," Kesley said. "I'm looking for him."</p> - -<p>From somewhere in the background came the discordant shrill of a -strange musical instrument. Kesley winced.</p> - -<p>"What do you want Daveen for?" the blond boy asked. "You from the -court?"</p> - -<p>"I'm <i>running</i> from the court. Winslow wants to kill me. I have to find -Daveen."</p> - -<p>The tall youngster chuckled raucously. "Daveen hasn't been here in -years. You'll <i>never</i> find him!"</p> - -<p>An atonal blast of the weird music blended oddly with the harsh -laughter that suddenly surrounded him. Defeated, confused, Kesley -looked at the alien faces of the men and women in the room. It was as -if they wore masks of desperate gaiety, hiding a deep inward brooding.</p> - -<p>He realized it had been a mistake to come here. In the middle of the -room, a lithe girl of about nineteen was taking off her clothes to the -accompaniment of an ecstatic chant from a ring of onlookers; a spindly -man of about forty was intoning what was probably poetry, and the blond -boy had gone into a frenzied solo dance.</p> - -<p>Distortion upon distortion, darkness within darkness. Kesley felt cold -and alone. At his side, Lisa clung tightly to him, sliding her hands -playfully over the flat, hard muscles of his chest, giggling and -whispering. The party was reaching a peak of wild license now.</p> - -<p>This was what happened when walls closed around people, he thought. The -mutants in their city; the poets in theirs. The Dukes in their Empires. -And somewhere, far to the frozen south, the Antarcticans behind their -blockade. They all interlocked, meshed in a tightly-geared procession -to nowhere. Grimly, Kesley watched the blond boy dance himself into -exhaustion, watched the girl in the middle of the room whip off her one -remaining garment and stand totally naked.</p> - -<p>Lisa was chanting, "<i>This is the way the world ends, this is the way -the world ends.</i>" It was probably a line from some poem. But it was -more than poetry, thought Kesley. It was truth.</p> - -<p>Truth.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">X</p> - - -<p>When morning finally came, Kesley had long since decided to leave the -Colony.</p> - -<p>As the first rays of dawn broke, he rose and made his way over the -huddling sleepers in the room. Lisa stirred; the poetess had slumped -over yawningly more than an hour before. On the floor, between the -sleepers, lay remnants of artistic achievement—strewn manuscripts, -curious statuettes, musical scores, musical instruments and such -things. Kesley carefully avoided stepping on them. He wanted no contact -here.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" Lisa asked, looking up. Her eyes were red and -raw looking; the copper mesh of her blouse was stained with the thick -amber fluid of the drink she had laughingly poured between her breasts -at some wild moment of the night before.</p> - -<p>"Outside," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute. I'll go with you."</p> - -<p>Shrugging, he stepped outside and she followed him. The dawn was coming -up fresh and clear, with dew hanging brightly in the air. It would, -Kesley thought, wash away the pollution in the air from last night's -party. He tightened his lips nervously.</p> - -<p>"Which way is the gate?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"That way. Are you leaving? Why? Don't you like it here?" Impulsively, -she tugged on his arm. "Answer me, Dale."</p> - -<p>He looked wearily down at her. "I don't like it here. This place is -poisoned. I want to get away, before I catch whatever all of you have."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand you."</p> - -<p>"Naturally not. Look, Lisa, you and your fellow esthetes have been -bottled up in here since—since—when? The year two thousand?"</p> - -<p>"John Harchman came here to found his colony in 2059," she said as if -repeating a catechism.</p> - -<p>"The year doesn't matter. You've been cooped up five hundred years. And -what do you have to show for it? Great works of art? No—just drunken -parties."</p> - -<p>"We've produced wonderful things. Colin's done a glorious visomural, -and the sensotapes—"</p> - -<p>"You've produced nothing," Kesley said inexorably. "You create for -yourselves—each other, at best. But not for the world outside."</p> - -<p>"The world outside doesn't want us."</p> - -<p>"Wrong. We don't understand you. And it's as much your fault as ours." -Kesley turned away. "Leave me alone, Lisa. I should never have come -here. I want to leave."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The jagged, violet blades of knifegrass glinted strangely in the -morning sun. Kesley waited patiently while his hungry horse grazed. -Mutant horse, mutant grass, the cycle held firm. Spindly, six-legged -animal nibbling sharp-toothed, man-high grass. The purple blades -blended with the blue-green of the Old Kind.</p> - -<p>There had been no bombs over Kentucky, but the wind had carried the -drifting seeds, brought the zygotes of the strange new grass down here -to this unruined land. Now, a tough network of roots dug into the turf, -and from them sprang the metal-sharp grass the atoms had made.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Kesley rode south, his mind full of melancholy thoughts.</p> - -<p>The trail had completely trickled out—if there had been a trail. He -was chasing phantoms, will-of-the-wisps.</p> - -<p>Daveen, for instance. Who was he? A blind courtier who had vanished -some four years previously, whose name van Alen had happened to drop -and link with Kesley's. What relation did Daveen have to him? He didn't -know. What relation did van Alen have, for that matter?</p> - -<p>But he was searching for Daveen. The search had led to the Colony, but -that was a dead end. Daveen had been there, and Daveen was no longer -there, and that was all anyone could or would tell him.</p> - -<p>Then, Narella. A hauntingly lovely girl—but so, for that matter, was -the poetess Lisa. Narella was somewhere in Buenos Aires, at Miguel's -court. Would he ever see her again? Again, he didn't know.</p> - -<p>The horse plodded onward toward the mysterious city of Wiener. Kesley -knew nothing about the city that lay ahead except that Lisa had -recommended that he go there. It was another island on the continent, -untouched by Winslow.</p> - -<p>The picture of Winslow came to his mind, and immediately after, that -of Miguel. They were different and similar, the two Immortals: one fat -and gross, the other lean and hard, both complex and unfathomable, both -deep-eyed with the loneliness of the timeless man. Miguel had welcomed -him to his service, sent him off on a deadly errand, then reversed -himself and ordered his death. And Winslow had refused him sanctuary -and condemned him to death as well. Doubtless, there was now a price on -his head throughout all of North and South America.</p> - -<p>That left Antarctica, a complete unknown. Vaguely, he recalled that -that had been his original destination when leaving Iowa, months -before. But Antarctica was about as accessible as the moon, Kesley -thought.</p> - -<p>Then he thought of the mutants: Lomark Dawnspear, the blind one who had -unaccountably rescued him from Winslow's dungeon, and Spahl and Huygens -and Foursmith and the others of Mutie City, far to the north. What of -them?</p> - -<p>Lisa. The Colony, shallow and desperate and decadent, rotten from -within and unable to see it.</p> - -<p>Tiredly, Kesley rode on.</p> - -<p>Above, the sky was warm and bright, and the rolling hills of southern -Kentucky were broad, beautiful, dotted heavily with the purple -grass and the strange golden-leaved trees the wars had brought. The -vegetation was the only hint here that there once had been devastation -in the world; today, in this place at this time, it seemed as if -everything had been perfect forever. But he knew that it hadn't.</p> - -<p>He rode on. Wiener lay ahead.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A week later, the city of Wiener rose before him from the wide -flatlands of Northern Texas. He paused, reined in his horse, looked at -the low sprawling wall of metal that rambled out over the desert.</p> - -<p>He urged the tired mutie on. Hooves kicked up dry bursts of yellow sand.</p> - -<p>As he drew near he could see that the wall was solid from side to side. -This was no encircled city; it was one huge building, probably sunk -deep into the earth.</p> - -<p>Sunlight glinted flashingly off the metal wall. Kesley squinted, saw -a dot of brightness detach itself from the city and come humming -across the sands toward him. The City of Wiener was taking no chances, -apparently; they were going to intercept him before he got too close.</p> - -<p>He waited for the vehicle to approach. As it drew near, he saw that -it was unmanned, merely a hollow shell made of some bright metal, -teardrop-shaped and empty.</p> - -<p>"Please get inside," a dead-sounding voice requested. "We will take you -to the city."</p> - -<p>Shrugging, Kesley rode forward; the teardrop split into halves. He -guided his mount inside; the great door dropped closed again, and a -moment later he was heading at a terrifying speed toward the metal -city.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XI</p> - - -<p>The humming teardrop sped across the empty wastes; within, through a -clear plastic window, Kesley watched the metal building loom larger.</p> - -<p>Then they were almost next to it, and abruptly a section of the -building's gleaming wall opened. The teardrop shot in without reducing -speed, slid along a banked incline that swung it in a wide curve -through a vast enclosed area and gradually brought it to a halt. The -teardrop split open again and, somewhat shaken, Kesley and his mount -left it.</p> - -<p>He looked around. The place was brightly lit despite the total absence -of windows; the ceiling was some fifty feet above his head, and he -could see stairwells spiraling down deep into the earth. Along one -wall rose a shining mass of dials and meters, switches and complex -instruments which seemed to be moving rapidly from one position to -another sheerly of their own accord.</p> - -<p>All around him were machines. He felt a strange queasiness. Machines -were things to fear; they had destroyed the world, once. The sight of -them, clicking and humming and carrying out their unknown functions, -disturbed him immensely.</p> - -<p>Hesitantly, he began to walk.</p> - -<p>A long corridor sprang into being not far from where he stood, winding -narrowly away and downward. He decided to follow it. But after he -had proceeded no more than twenty yards into it, he discovered a -brightly-lit, little glass cubicle set into the wall, a small room -with a chair, a clock on one wall, and a coppery-looking grid set into -the other. He decided to investigate. Tethering his horse to a bracket -along the corridor wall, he pushed open the cubicle door, entered, and -placed himself in the chair.</p> - -<p>Instantly a voice said: "Welcome to Wiener. May we have your name for -benefit of our memory banks?"</p> - -<p>Alarmed, Kesley glanced around. The voice had seemed to come from the -wall-grid. "Dale Kesley," he stammered.</p> - -<p>"Welcome to Wiener, Dale Kesley." The voice was unemotional, -dead-sounding. Kesley frowned.</p> - -<p>"What sort of city is this?" he asked.</p> - -<p>There was silence for a long moment; he heard strange cracklings and -rumblings coming from the grid. Then:</p> - -<p>"The City of Wiener was officially founded on August 16, 2058, by Darby -Chisholm, C. Edward Gronke, H. D. Feldstein, David M. Kammer, and -Arthur Lloyd Canby, professors of cybernetics at Columbia University, -Harvard University, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, Colby -Institute and Swarthmore College. The avowed aim of the five founders -was to create a completely self-sufficient, automated cybernetic -community in a relatively nonstrategic area of the United States, where -experiments in non-limited automational control could be put into -practice.</p> - -<p>"The building of the City of Wiener was implemented by a government -grant of three billion dollars and private contributions. Four sites -were chosen: Juntura, Oregon; Lodge Grass, Montana; Wanblee, South -Dakota; Wilder, Texas. It was the original plan of the founders to -utilize all four sites and build identical cities at each, but the -precipitation of war in 2059 made it unwise to divert energies to so -large a project at that time, and the decision was made to limit the -experiment to the Texas site alone. This later proved to have been -wise, in view of the unexpected attacks on the three rejected sites in -the apparently mistaken impression that they had been the ones chosen.</p> - -<p>"The City of Wiener was completed on April 11, 2061, and the switch -feeding the first input was thrown by Dr. Chisholm of Columbia. A -series of cybernetic governors powered by a fusion-breeder reactor then -took full control of operations, and the City of Wiener was officially -born. It has—"</p> - -<p>"All right," Kesley interrupted suddenly, realizing he was about to -receive a detailed history of the City's activities over the past four -centuries. "I'd like to see whoever's in charge here. The Mayor, or -whatever."</p> - -<p>"Question has no cognitive referent," the dry voice said.</p> - -<p>"'<i>Seeing</i>' the controlling body is out of the question, as no human is -to be permitted access to the cybernetic governors under terms of the -original City contract established between the City of Wiener and its -five founders in—"</p> - -<p>Dumbstruck, Kesley said: "You mean a <i>machine</i> runs this City?"</p> - -<p>"The question is inaccurate. The City <i>is</i> a machine. There are no -human inhabitants."</p> - -<p>Suddenly chilled, Kesley looked up at the grid at which he had been -directing his words, and realized he had been holding conversation with -a mechanical brain, not some remote City official. Moistening his lips, -he said: "What does the City <i>do</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Question is unclear."</p> - -<p><i>The precision of the mechanical mind</i>, he thought in amused -irritation. He rephrased the question. "What functions does the City -carry out, aside from the normal routine of—of self-repair?"</p> - -<p>"The City maintains a record of happenings in the Outer World; this -record is not completely available for examination at the moment, due -to unsettled conditions without. The City supplies manufactured goods -to those who request them, as prescribed by its founders. The City -endeavors to supply information within the bounds of self-safety, -likewise as prescribed. The City—"</p> - -<p>"Does the City know of a poet named Daveen?" Kesley broke in.</p> - -<p>"Question will have to be referred to Answering Banks."</p> - -<p>A pause, then, in a somewhat altered voice: "Information incomplete -on poet Daveen, no other name recorded, member of court Duke Winslow -Chicago North America 2504-2521, left court 2521, current whereabouts -unknown. Is full biography requested?"</p> - -<p>"No." Kesley crossed his legs and stared broodingly at his boots for a -moment. The entire City a vast sentient machine, then! No wonder the -Dukes left it alone; they knew they would never have the strength to -destroy Wiener, and so they preferred that the machine-hating populace -never learned of the City's existence.</p> - -<p>He found himself greatly curious about the City. His imagination was -engaged by the implications of a city-sized mechanical mind; he who -had never dealt with any machine more complex than a pistol, who had -had only fleeting acquaintance with the remnants of the Old Days, was -fascinated by this mightiest machine of all.</p> - -<p>"What can you tell me about Dale Kesley?" he asked on a sudden impulse.</p> - -<p>Again silence—silence while photon-tracers raced over cryotronic -circuits searching for information. Then: "Dale Kesley, farmer, entered -Iowa Province June 21, 2521, no previous record, left Iowa Province -undetermined time in spring of this year. Entered City of Wiener -unaccompanied except by one mutant horse Type VX-1342 on October 8 of -this year. Further information is lacking."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Kesley said hoarsely. His first twenty years were blank to -the City, too. "Mind if I look around the place a little?"</p> - -<p>"Limited examination of City of Wiener is permitted," the metal voice -said. "Your animal has been removed for care and will be returned to -you upon request."</p> - -<p>He glanced through the thick glass window of the cubicle and saw that -it was indeed so. While he had talked, unseen hands—<i>hands?</i>—had -taken the horse away. Led it to pasture, Kesley wondered?</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He wandered through the silent halls of the complex city, observing -with a sort of quiet horror the chill efficiency with which the robot -mind carried out its daily routine.</p> - -<p>The City <i>was</i> populated. Kesley came across the inhabitants -immediately after leaving the glass-walled cubicle. They were man-sized -robots of blue metal, rolling on noiseless treads, equipped with -opposable-thumbed hands and filament-ended tentacles and wiry grippers, -seeing out of bright electrophotic eyes and gazing evenly ahead with -expressionless, shiny faces.</p> - -<p>One of them was squatting over an immense heap of coiled tape which was -growing almost as fast as he could scoop it up and feed it into the -chittering maw of some glossy data-eater in one wall.</p> - -<p>Another was repairing a mass of tangled circuits in an exposed ganglion -behind a section of wall.</p> - -<p>Still another of the mechanical men stood at some distance away, -holding a segmented tube to the mouth of Kesley's horse. The horse had -its jointed scaly lips pressed tight against the tube, and was eating -or drinking with evident contentment.</p> - -<p>Air-conditioners hummed gently in the background, keeping the -atmosphere pure and dustless. From the floor came the throbbing of some -mighty engines far below. Kesley wondered just how deep in the ground -the City penetrated.</p> - -<p>All around, computers chattered and whistled. Kesley felt his -astonishment growing with each moment. And beneath the astonishment, -there was a mounting resentment at the Ducal philosophy that had -blanked such achievements as this from the world.</p> - -<p><i>Machines have destroyed civilization</i>, people said. But had they? No; -not the machines. It was man's <i>use</i> of the machines; the machines -themselves were impartial, as disinterested in the currents of human -affairs as the moon and the stars.</p> - -<p>Yet the Dukes had risen to power on a program of throttled -technological development. Fleetingly, the thought went through -Kesley's mind that the Dukes had made a mistake. If only—</p> - -<p>He stopped, feeling a shiver of pain. Once again he had touched some -reverberating rawness in the deep layers of his mind; once again, a -forbidden thought.</p> - -<p>In sudden inspiration he turned toward a grid set in the wall near him.</p> - -<p>"Can I get information from you?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Answering circuits are functioning."</p> - -<p>"Can you tell me anything about Antarctica? Anything at all?"</p> - -<p>Silence for a moment. "Do you mean Antarctica before or after removal -of the ice?" the voice asked.</p> - -<p>"Afterward—I guess."</p> - -<p>"We have no information on Antarctica after 2062," the machine said. -"Ice removal was completed in 2021, and settlement proceeded along with -rapid technological development. In 2062 Antarctica ceased all contact -with the rest of the world."</p> - -<p>2062 was the year of the Great Blast, Kesley thought. And Antarctica -had drawn the curtain.</p> - -<p>He shrugged and walked away, taking a seat on a curved metal stanchion -projecting from the floor. Somewhere, locked in the obstinate memory -banks of this computer-city, might be the information he needed to -orient himself in the world, the missing data that everyone maddeningly -withheld from him. But where to find it? How to get it?</p> - -<p>Suddenly the City's voice said: "Dale Kesley!"</p> - -<p>"I'm here. What do you want?"</p> - -<p>"You will have to leave at once. We will tolerate a delay of no more -than five minutes, plus or minus one."</p> - -<p>"How come? Why can't I stay?"</p> - -<p>"The City of Wiener faces armed attack if you remain here. Therefore, -you must leave."</p> - -<p><i>Very logical</i>, Kesley thought coldly. "Armed attack from whom?"</p> - -<p>A section of the wall near him rolled away, revealing a mammoth screen -that showed the outside desert with startling clarity. Kesley saw -figures huddled along the horizon, marching forward. An army. Duke -Winslow's army.</p> - -<p>"They're from the Duke, aren't they?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. They've come to get you."</p> - -<p>"And you're just going to turn me over to them?" Kesley asked -horror-stricken.</p> - -<p>"We simply are requesting that you leave. We do not wish to risk an -armed attack upon ourself."</p> - -<p>"You can defend yourself, can't you?"</p> - -<p>"We are not afraid of the Duke. We simply wish to avoid any conflict -as unnecessary expenditure of material and effort. You now have three -minutes, plus or minus one, in which to leave freely."</p> - -<p>Sweat began to pour down Kesley's back. He glanced at the screen, saw -Winslow's advancing forces. They had somehow tracked him to Wiener.</p> - -<p>But the City <i>couldn't</i> throw him out now! It just wasn't fair!</p> - -<p>Grimly, he started to run.</p> - -<p>He charged forward toward the long shadowed corridor and heard his -footsteps ringing loudly as he ran. The corridor was a helix that wound -deeper and deeper into the Earth; Kesley ran, feeling the pure cold air -whipping past.</p> - -<p>Gleaming blue mechanical men turned to look at him as he went by.</p> - -<p>"Two minutes, plus or minus one," the machine warned. Its voice seemed -to be everywhere. Kesley saw the familiar grids studding the wall at -regular intervals.</p> - -<p>He had to hide. He had to avoid the City's commands, avoid Winslow, -stay here where he was safe. He found a dark alcove and stepped in. -There was a door; he opened it, stepped through, and found himself in -the midst of an intricate network of machinery, row on row of relay and -stud.</p> - -<p>"One minute, plus or minus one," the ubiquitous voice said. Kesley -scowled. There wouldn't be any escape, it seemed. He kept running.</p> - -<p>"We have requested that you leave. Your time is now exhausted, and we -must remove you."</p> - -<p>Kesley whirled desperately and saw four of the metal men coming toward -him. They seized him gently, grasping him in the thick paws of their -upper arms. His fists thudded against the solid metal of their chest, -bruising his knuckles but failing to stop their advance.</p> - -<p>They lifted him and began to move, sliding forward at an incredible -pace up the long corridor and toward the beckoning iris of an opening -door.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XII</p> - - -<p>Once again, he was fleeing.</p> - -<p><i>Always on the run</i>, he thought bitterly, as the mutant horse flashed -over the prairie, its six legs pistoning as it drew away from Winslow's -men.</p> - -<p>The City had been considerate; the City had been kind. The -teardrop-vehicle had not deposited him sprawling at Winslow's feet, and -for that mercy Kesley had to be grateful.</p> - -<p>The four implacable robots had carried him effortlessly toward the -opening door; the uncomplaining horse had already been led through the -opening and into the waiting vehicle. Still yelling, Kesley had been -crammed into the silvery vehicle, and it had started away from the -confines of the City.</p> - -<p>Winslow's men were advancing steadily. The City had ejected Kesley to -save its own titanium skin, its own guts of transistors and cryotrons.</p> - -<p>He was ejected from the vehicle and left in the midst of the hot sands, -with Winslow's men still a distant green-and-gold blur on the horizon. -For a moment Kesley had stood there uncertainly, staring back at the -City that had cast him forth; then, mounting his wobbly-legged horse, -he began to ride.</p> - -<p>He headed north, back the way he came. Winslow had obviously pursued -him through Illinois, perhaps tracked him from Mutie City to the Colony -to Wiener—but the City had avoided disaster by ejecting him.</p> - -<p>Now, northward.</p> - -<p>Returning to the Colony was out of the question for many reasons. -Returning to Iowa would probably be fatal—Loren and Lester, good -subjects of the Duke, would turn the fugitive in without giving the -matter a minute's thought. South America was as dangerous a place as -Winslow's lands, and the Empires beyond the sea were impossible to -reach. There was little traffic between the Americas and either Asia, -Europe, Africa, or Australasia, and none whatsoever with Antarctica.</p> - -<p>If he allowed Winslow to catch up with him, it would mean sure death. -But one solution presented itself. <i>I'll return to Mutie City</i>, he -thought, spurring the bony beast on. <i>That's one place where Winslow -won't dare to come in after me.</i></p> - -<p>Kesley squirmed in the saddle and peered around. Men were breaking off -from the column of horsemen and were starting to follow him.</p> - -<p>He gave the reins another tug. Whatever it was the City had fed the -animal, it was propelling the beast like gasoline. The mutant was -covering ground in a rocketlike fashion. But Kesley knew the pace could -never last.</p> - -<p>And, sure enough, the mutie began to falter after another half mile, -to drop back and lose ground. Four of Winslow's men were still on the -trail; Kesley computed that he was somewhere near the Oklahoma border, -and hoped no border guards would trouble him as he passed into the -adjoining province.</p> - -<p>He had a knife and a truncheon; the pursuers probably had pistols. He -wouldn't last long once they caught him. They'd gun him down on the -spot.</p> - -<p>And he'd never know why.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The horse gave out shortly after high noon. Kesley managed to guide the -winded beast into a thicket off the main road, and dismounted there, -crouching in hiding while the mutie gasped for breath and shook its -sweating sides.</p> - -<p>Before long the four pursuers arrived on the scene. For an instant -Kesley thought they would simply keep riding past, but he heard voices -commenting that the trail of hoof-prints ended up here. He tensed, -knowing they would soon be searching the bushes for him.</p> - -<p>"You go that way," someone said.</p> - -<p>Kesley tethered his tired horse and backed away a little deeper into -the underbrush. Several minutes passed.</p> - -<p>Then a figure in the green-and-gold Ducal uniform appeared, a tall, -dark-complected man with bare, burly arms. He clutched a drawn pistol -in one hand.</p> - -<p>"Hey, here's his horse—" he started to say, and Kesley leaped. His -attack was the sudden, quick strike and withdrawal of the forest -serpent; he sprang from the bushes, clubbed downward with the -truncheon, withdrew again as the man fell. He waited a minute; then, -seeing none of the other three approaching, Kesley quietly stole out -and seized the fallen man's pistol. Now he was armed.</p> - -<p>Cupping his hand over his mouth to muffle his voice, he shouted, "I -got him in here!" Then he ducked back behind a thick-boled tree.</p> - -<p>"We're coming, Gar!"</p> - -<p>Three more uniformed figures stepped into the clearing. Kesley squeezed -the trigger three times and they fell, their faces frozen in utter -astonishment. Kesley felt suddenly unclean; he had murdered three men, -injured a fourth. And those three did not know why <i>they</i> had died, -either.</p> - -<p>He freed his own horse and slapped the weary mutant on the flank. "Go -ahead, fella. You're free. You've done your job." He could take his -pick from the four Ducal thoroughbreds waiting on the highway.</p> - -<p>Sadly he stepped over the fallen bodies. The man he had clubbed was -still breathing; he lay in a sticky pool of his companions' mingled -blood. Kesley knelt, saw the ugly, raw wound on the man's skull, the -welling blood matting the dark hair. Wedged in the soldier's sash was a -grimy, folded piece of thick paper. Kesley drew it forth.</p> - -<p>It was on Ducal stationery, with the familiar heraldic watermark -that he had seen on so many tax vouchers in his farming days. The -inscription, in large, dark, slightly smudged type, was a simple one:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p class="ph1">WANTED</p> - -<p class="ph1">For High Treason<br /> -Against His Highness,<br /> -Duke Winslow of North America<br /> -Dale Kesley, farmer, of Iowa Province, also<br /> -known under the false name of Ramon, Ambassador<br /> -from Duke Miguel of South America.</p> - -<p>The said Kesley, having entered His Highness' court on the pretext of -an embassy from the Court of Buenos Aires, did make an attempt on our -Duke's life. Kesley is sought urgently. A reward of fifty thousand -dollars is offered for his corpse.</p> - -<p>The said Kesley is six-feet-two in height, with closely-trimmed blond -hair, full lips, nose set somewhat unevenly on his face. He will -probably be wearing stolen clothing and riding a stolen horse.</p></div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That was all. Kesley whistled; fifty thousand dollars was a staggering -sum of cash to offer. And they wanted his <i>corpse</i>; Winslow had no -interest in anything but a dead Kesley, then.</p> - -<p>He would have to look sharp. With fifty thousand riding on his head, -every loyal subject from Texas to Maine Province would be ready to sell -him to the Duke.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He lived a hazardous existence on the way north, eating off the forest -and staying out of the way of anyone official-looking. He travelled -mostly by night, creeping along cautiously during the day and making up -the delay by galloping furiously once the sun had set.</p> - -<p>Generally he had no difficulties. Crossing from Arkansas into Missouri -nearly caused trouble, when he blundered into a border patrol searching -for someone else. He never found out who it was they really wanted; -two of the guards stopped him, stared at his face in the light of a -flickering match, and, after a tense moment or two, incredibly sent him -along his way.</p> - -<p>In central Missouri he wandered into a hobo camp. Four -bedraggled-looking men were squatting around an iron pot in which -bubbled some sort of stew. Kesley had not eaten all day; he rode up to -them and dismounted, keeping a hand hovering near his weapons in case -they should recognize him.</p> - -<p>They didn't.</p> - -<p>"Come join us, brother," one of them invited. He was a heavy man with a -bulbous red nose.</p> - -<p>"Thanks. Don't mind if I do." Kesley lowered himself into the circle -round the fire.</p> - -<p>"You from hereabouts?" a lean man of perhaps sixty asked grudgingly. -"Don't spot your face."</p> - -<p>"I'm an Illinoiser," Kesley said. "Spent some time down in Texas. Now -I'm heading home again."</p> - -<p>He helped himself to a potful of stew. The stuff was hot and -bubbling—too hot, really, to taste, which perhaps was a sort of -blessing, Kesley thought.</p> - -<p>"Have any trouble with the border guards?" someone asked.</p> - -<p>"Little squabble down near Arkansas, that's all. They were hunting -someone or other, and took me for him."</p> - -<p>"They do that, sometimes," the red-nosed man agreed. "Times are tough -now. The woods are full of Winslow's men."</p> - -<p>"Oh? Something up?"</p> - -<p>"Seems someone tried to kill the old bird," the red-faced man said. -"Guess he got fed up after all these years."</p> - -<p>"I suspect it was that Duke from South America," the lean one remarked. -"Them Dukes are out for each other, mark my words!"</p> - -<p>The fire flickered and sent a spiral of smoke curling into the trees. -Staring at it, Kesley found the sight oddly soothing. He took another -sip of the stew.</p> - -<p>Chuckling, he said, "They must be chasing this guy all over the -country. I'll bet there's a nifty price on his head."</p> - -<p>"Seventy-five thousand, that's what it is!"</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. Had the reward increased so fast—or was this just the -exaggeration of ignorance? It didn't much matter.</p> - -<p>"I'd like to catch some of that money myself, you know. Seventy-five -thousand, huh?"</p> - -<p>The red-nosed man laughed raucously. "You know, if I was the guy, maybe -I'd turn <i>myself</i> in, for that kind of dough!"</p> - -<p>Maybe you would, Kesley thought, watching the ghostly shapes the fire -took. Anybody would do anything these days.</p> - -<p>"What would you do if <i>I</i> was the guy?" he asked suddenly.</p> - -<p>"You?" The red-nosed man seemed to stiffen a little. "Why would <i>you</i> -want to go killin' Dukes?"</p> - -<p>"Yeah," Kesley said. "That's right, I guess."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>He moved on later that night, leaving his newfound companions behind. -They seemed happy there in the forest. He toyed with the idea of -telling them the truth before he left, but rejected the idea. There -was no telling how they'd react to the confession—but seventy-five -thousand was a lot of money, and he didn't want four more deaths to his -score.</p> - -<p>He kept riding. He passed through Missouri and up into Illinois, -following the Mississippi up from Cairo. The year was well into late -October and the evenings were chilly. He rode quickly; the horse he had -captured was a smoothly-functioning, full-blooded traveling machine.</p> - -<p>Up through Illinois, until finally the broad expanse of Mutie City was -visible through the dawn haze. For the first time since being cast out -of Wiener he had the feeling that he was approaching safety. Flight was -over—for now.</p> - -<p>Of course, the mutants had told him not to return. But this was an -emergency; surely they'd let him in.</p> - -<p>He entered the city shortly after morning. The mutants were stirring, -going about their early-day business. It seemed a savage parody of a -normal city's routine. The shops were crowded, and what difference did -it make if shopkeepers' heads were of spongy blue flesh and shoppers -had the arms of lizards?</p> - -<p>He felt terribly weary. As he entered the city, he was not surprised to -see Spahl coming toward him.</p> - -<p>"Hello," he said, dismounting.</p> - -<p>"We expected your return," the seal-like creature said without preamble -of formality. "We knew when we asked you to leave that you would be -back."</p> - -<p>"I want to rest," Kesley said. "This time don't throw me out."</p> - -<p>He allowed Spahl to lead him to the room he had occupied on his earlier -visit. A group of mutants congregated; he recognized Foursmith and -Huygen. There were some others, stranger and more bizarre than any he -had yet seen.</p> - -<p>It was odd, Kesley thought, that the one place on Earth he could go for -sanctuary was to this repository of freaks. Angrily, he brushed the -thought away. The mutants were—well, <i>people</i>.</p> - -<p>"I've been to the Colony and to Wiener," he explained. "I couldn't stay -there. Winslow's hunting me all over the country."</p> - -<p>"We know these things," Spahl said quietly. "We have followed your -path, Kesley."</p> - -<p>"And—?"</p> - -<p>"We have decided the time has come for you to go home. You've been long -awaited and we'll make sure you get there safely."</p> - -<p>"Home?"</p> - -<p>"Now your life is in danger. You endanger anyone you come in contact -with. Obviously you must not remain in Winslow's territories any -longer—or Miguel's."</p> - -<p>"And therefore," Foursmith added when Spahl ceased, "we will send you -forth. For your sake and ours."</p> - -<p>Huygens, the man of two heads, said: "Besides, Daveen has been found."</p> - -<p>"What? Where?"</p> - -<p>"He is in Antarctican hands now. We sent him there but recently. He -waits for you. Spahl, is it time?"</p> - -<p>"Not just yet," said the seal-man. "Kesley, will you remember what -we're doing—<i>later</i>? We're buying our lives from you. Will you -remember that?"</p> - -<p>"I don't understand a thing," Kesley said wearily. "I don't even think -I want to understand. But yes, I'll remember. Sure." He rocked forward -on his chair, dizzy, confused.</p> - -<p>The mutants gave way, and a new one entered the room—a small, very -pale man, normal except for the huge circumference of his skull.</p> - -<p>"Edwin is a teleport," Spahl remarked casually.</p> - -<p>"What—"</p> - -<p>Suddenly Kesley felt himself struck by a blinding bolt of force; it -spun him around, whirled him as if he were in a maelstrom, lifted -him up. He saw the smiling faces of Spahl and Foursmith, saw all the -mutants dwindle behind him. He rose, higher and higher, spinning -vertiginously, frozen in an instantaneous moment of time. Space hung -beneath him.</p> - -<p>Then he began to fall.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XIII</p> - - -<p>For a moment, after the spinning stopped, Kesley imagined he was back -on the sands outside Wiener. Then, gradually, his eyes began to shift -into focus. He looked around.</p> - -<p>He was in a room. That was the first thing to grasp.</p> - -<p>His senses told him he was in a room, high, with bare walls that glowed -of their own inner luminescence.</p> - -<p>Good. He was in a room.</p> - -<p>He was no longer in the <i>same</i> room that he had been in in Mutie City. -He was sure of that, too. The big-skulled mutant named Edwin had lifted -him—<i>teleport</i>, Spahl said?—and had sent him somewhere.</p> - -<p>He was somewhere else than Mutie City.</p> - -<p>Patiently, his quivering mind reassembled the world of sense-constructs -and data from which he had been hurled.</p> - -<p>He was not alone.</p> - -<p>He made out the other figure clearly: a tall, old man, sitting upright -in a webwork chair halfway across the room. The old man's eyes were -closed; he grasped a small object, unfamiliar looking, in one hand. His -skull was hairless.</p> - -<p>Kesley assembled the data.</p> - -<p>"The mutants finally found you," the other said. His voice was deep and -musical, a rich basso with an underlying harmonic tremolo. "They were -searching quite diligently, you know."</p> - -<p>"Yes, they found me," Kesley said. "I'm here. Where's <i>here</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Antarctica," the old man said.</p> - -<p>Nodding, Kesley absorbed the fact and added it to those he had already. -The jolting shock of the teleportation was beginning to wear off now; -having been plucked from the spatial framework, he was returning to it, -somewhere else. His mind emerged from its numbness.</p> - -<p>"You're Daveen the Singer," he said calmly.</p> - -<p>"I am Daveen," the other admitted.</p> - -<p>Kesley studied the old man, realizing with a shock that he had almost -forgotten the contours of Narella's face until seeing the girl's -features mirrored here on Daveen's untroubled face.</p> - -<p>A tense silence prevailed in the room.</p> - -<p>Finally Daveen said: "Five years has changed you, young friend. You've -lost your youthful face; I see beginning wrinkles where smoothness once -was."</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. "How do you know? You're blind, aren't you?"</p> - -<p>"The blind have ways of seeing. Besides, it's not a difficult matter to -guess that after what you have been through—"</p> - -<p>"Just what do you know about me?" Kesley interrupted. "Who are you, -anyway?"</p> - -<p>"I was," Daveen said softly, "for many years, poet and singer to the -Court of Duke Winslow. Five years ago I participated in the first -of your many rescues—the first time Winslow attempted to have you -killed." He chuckled musically. "Poor slovenly Winslow. Every time you -fall in his clutches, some blind man comes along to lead you to safety."</p> - -<p>"You rescued me? From what?"</p> - -<p>"That I cannot tell you yet. The Duke warns me that I must be very -careful with you, that I must not swamp your mind with too much -information at once."</p> - -<p>Kesley looked around at the bare, luminescent walls, at the smiling -figure of the gaunt-faced, old, blind man sitting opposite him. "Which -Duke?"</p> - -<p>"The Antarctican Duke. The man who has searched so long and patiently -to bring both of us together. You see?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Kesley said faintly. "<i>He</i> brought us here. But where were you?"</p> - -<p>"I fled from Winslow, five years past, after doing what I did. I sought -refuge in Scandinavia and sang for the Duke there until Winslow's men -found me and forced me to fly. I returned to North America, lived for -a while at the Colony—I believe <i>your</i> odyssey brought you there as -well—and when life there became unbearable, I vanished."</p> - -<p>"Where? How?"</p> - -<p>"There are ways," Daveen said. "When one knows the arts of the mind, -one can do many things. I went into hiding. It was the only way for me -to remain alive. Winslow sought me with desperate urgency, for I had -betrayed him. Miguel had my daughter."</p> - -<p>"I know."</p> - -<p>"I continued to live in North America under Winslow's very nose. It was -a good joke; now that I'm free, I must let Winslow know about it. He -has a fine sense of the ironic."</p> - -<p>"Where did you stay?" Kesley prodded.</p> - -<p>"I lived in the ghetto."</p> - -<p>"Among the <i>mutants</i>?"</p> - -<p>"I <i>was</i> a mutant. You knew me as Lomark Dawnspear."</p> - -<p>For a moment Kesley rocked crazily in his chair; things seemed to wheel -in a dizzy arc around him.</p> - -<p>"What?" he finally asked, recovering himself.</p> - -<p>"Mental projection, complete; constant hypnosis."</p> - -<p>"Dawnspear was blind, too," Kesley recalled suddenly.</p> - -<p>"Yes. It pleased me to retain the image of the blind man who saw so -well. Dawnspear was blind. Otherwise, he was a complete fabrication. -I invented a false background for him, persuaded people that he had -always lived in that house in that part of Chicago. And they believed -it. Unable to do anything else, I lived camouflaged, not knowing how -urgently I was sought."</p> - -<p>"And then I came to Chicago."</p> - -<p>"Then you came. And stumbled into Winslow's grasp exactly as you -had done before. And once again reached the dungeons. Again, it was -necessary for me to rescue you."</p> - -<p>"I did it once before, as Daveen. Five years ago. You came to Winslow's -court, and he delivered you to the headsman. I intervened."</p> - -<p>"Why? How?"</p> - -<p>"You loved my daughter. Furthermore, I thought you should not die."</p> - -<p>"I loved her even then?" Kesley asked, astonished.</p> - -<p>"Yes. She does not remember, nor do you—but you loved each other. When -Winslow ordered you killed, I determined to save you. I hypnotized your -jailers, slipped into the dungeon, freed you, led you out. It was a -gross violation of my oath to Winslow."</p> - -<p>Daveen paused, and Kesley stared intently at him, waiting for him to -go on. There was something grotesque about this calm, matter-of-fact -relation of actions he had been involved in and yet remembered nothing -about. Reality seemed to slide yawingly from moment to moment. He had -loved Narella five years ago? He had been at Winslow's court, and been -sentenced to death?</p> - -<p>Possibly. But it was as if those things had happened to someone else.</p> - -<p>"Go on," Kesley said hoarsely. "What was I doing at Winslow's court? -For God's sake, Daveen, <i>who am I</i>?"</p> - -<p>The singer shook his head slowly. "No. Not yet. Let me go on, and -you'll learn the rest in proper time."</p> - -<p>"Very well," Kesley said, mollified.</p> - -<p>"I took you from the prison, as 'Dawnspear' did just recently. I -attempted to contact those who would receive you safely, but could not. -Failing this, I had to make provision for your safety. I therefore -placed you in full hypnosis, wiped out all knowledge of your past -background, and substituted a pseudo-biography in which you had been -born in—Kansas Province, I believe. It was a slipshod job, but I was -in a hurry. Were there inconsistencies?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Kesley said. "There were."</p> - -<p>"I feared as much. But it was the best I could do, at the time. I took -the precaution of webbing in a pain-threshold that would keep you from -probing your own past too deeply. Then I had you transported to Iowa -Province, safely out of Winslow's way, and established you as a farmer -there. It was a secure, rhythmic life; tied to the soil, you would -remain healthy and unmolested. Later, perhaps, I would be able to take -you from the farm and restore your identity.</p> - -<p>"I returned to Chicago. My daughter asked where you were; I found it -necessary to block her memories of you to prevent unhappiness. They can -be restored as well, when the time comes. Curiously, you and she came -together again later, neither knowing who the other was—and the result -of the meeting was the same as before." Daveen smiled. "This, I think, -should amply prove the strength of your love, at any rate."</p> - -<p>Kesley coughed. Nervously he said: "So you left me in Iowa. You never -came to get me—or were you van Alen, too?"</p> - -<p>"No. I was not van Alen. My plans were interrupted; Winslow discovered -how you had been freed, and in anger ordered my execution. I fled; -Narella was given to Miguel as a plaything."</p> - -<p>"He calls her his daughter," Kesley pointed out.</p> - -<p>"Fortunately. Miguel is going through a paternal cycle; for the -moment, he no longer feels fleshly desires. Narella was sent to be his -mistress—but became his adopted daughter instead. Dukes are difficult -to fathom in advance."</p> - -<p>"I know that well."</p> - -<p>"To continue: I fled. You remained in Iowa Province. Those who loved -you sought you, finally found you."</p> - -<p>"You mean van Alen? He tried to bring me here—to Antarctica."</p> - -<p>"Yes. He failed; you and he were separated. Once again you drifted into -dealings with the Dukes—and when they realized who you were, they -immediately desired your death, both Miguel and Winslow."</p> - -<p>"<i>Why?</i> Why'd they turn on me like that?"</p> - -<p>"For that," Daveen said, "the simplest answer involves the lifting of -the first of the psychic blocks I laid upon you. Are you ready?"</p> - -<p>"I've been waiting for this since you started talking."</p> - -<p>Again Daveen chuckled melodiously. "In all your wanderings you've -learned but little patience. Now you will begin to understand."</p> - -<p>He held forth the object he had been holding. Kesley now saw that it -was a musical instrument of some kind, fashioned of a dark-hued, glossy -plastic. It had three hair-fine strings running its length; at the top, -above the bridge, were three white buttons.</p> - -<p>"My music-maker," Daveen said. "My constant companion always. It holds -the keys to your mind, my friend."</p> - -<p>"What do you mean?"</p> - -<p>"Listen."</p> - -<p>Daveen touched the three buttons lightly with his long fingers, and -a tone appeared, shimmering delicately, followed by a second and a -third. They hung in the air, meshing their subharmonics, quivering and -blending. It was, thought Kesley, like no music he had ever heard.</p> - -<p>Daveen began to play—a slow, mournful, lingeringly lovely melody. -Melodic lines intertwined in complex polyphony; Kesley found himself -following the music with breathless excitement. It soothed and tensed -him at the same time.</p> - -<p>Daveen sang a deep, lulling, wordless chant. Beneath his voice the -music swept to a gentle crest of subdued excitement, and Kesley felt -his nerves quivering with expectation.</p> - -<p>The music, strange, atonal now, shifting keys with impossible rapidity -of modulation, held suddenly.</p> - -<p>Daveen stopped.</p> - -<p>There was complete silence.</p> - -<p>In that silence, Daveen said, "<i>One!</i>"</p> - -<p>And Kesley felt light flash numbingly through him.</p> - -<p>He huddled in his chair while the frozen brain-cells at last discharged -the information they had stored for nearly five years. The words went -rumbling over his synapses, repeating themselves endlessly.</p> - -<p>Finally it stopped. Hesitantly, he looked up at the calmly smiling -Daveen.</p> - -<p>Then he looked down at his hands—his own hands, the hands he had -farmed with and killed with.</p> - -<p>The hands of an Immortal.</p> - -<p>"Me?"</p> - -<p>It was almost impossible. But he knew it was true.</p> - -<p>"You will never die," Daveen said.</p> - -<p>"I will never die."</p> - -<p>"<i>Two!</i>" said Daveen suddenly.</p> - -<p>Kesley was thrown back in his seat by the unexpected, second -data-release. When it was over, he looked up again, smiling.</p> - -<p>"An Immortal and the son of an Immortal. Small wonder Miguel and -Winslow wanted to kill me!"</p> - -<p>The words of Winslow's sentence came drifting back now: "<i>... you -represent as great a threat to the Twelve Empires as has ever been -born, my young friend.</i>"</p> - -<p>Of course! Twelve sterile Dukes, blessed with eternal life but cursed -with the inability to reproduce—what would they do, how would they -react when they knew that one line of Immortals, somewhere in Earth, -bred true? That they were faced with the prospect of a gathering race -of Immortals threatening their powers as the years rolled on?</p> - -<p>"You see?" Daveen asked.</p> - -<p>"I understand now," Kesley said. "They <i>had</i> to try to kill me. I was a -menace—an Immortal who wasn't a Duke, and whose children could breed -true!"</p> - -<p>He stared at his hands as if they were covered with suddenly alien -flesh. "I wasn't a Duke, was I?" He asked cautiously. Anything was -possible now.</p> - -<p>"No," Daveen told him. "You were never a Duke."</p> - -<p>Kesley smiled, thinking now of the centuries stretching endlessly -ahead. "A king without a kingdom, then. Well, there's plenty of time -for me to find one. But you still haven't told me who I am, Daveen."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XIV</p> - - -<p>There was silence in the bare room for almost a minute. Idly, Daveen -strummed his instrument; Kesley tensed, thinking another layer of his -mind-block was to be stripped back, but Daveen was merely striking -random notes.</p> - -<p>"Well?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"The information you want is not mine to give."</p> - -<p>"All right," Kesley said. He rose and stared down at the blind man. "I -won't ask again."</p> - -<p>He had asked too many people too many questions, without result. Now he -would save his breath.</p> - -<p>As he stood there, a door opened silently out of the wall.</p> - -<p>"What's that for?" he demanded. Then, realizing the blind Daveen was -unaware of the occurrence, he added: "A door just opened in the wall."</p> - -<p>"Doors are for leaving rooms," Daveen observed.</p> - -<p>"I'll take the hint." Kesley hesitantly stepped through—and saw -Antarctica.</p> - -<p>He was standing on a short, jutting balcony that hung a few feet out -over the distant street below. Sudden vertigo gripped him as he looked -down, down. It was five hundred—no, a thousand—feet to the ground!</p> - -<p>Tiny dots of color moved rapidly far below on unceasing slide-ramps. -Down the center of the street, graceful cars of blue and gold and red, -topped with plastic bubbles, raced along. Buildings rose on each side -of the street—towering edifices, mighty vaults of steel and plastic. -Kesley sucked in his breath sharply.</p> - -<p>The sky overhead was warm and bright, and just below the clouds, far in -the distance, a curious, tingling, purplish light illuminated the sky. -<i>That's the barrier</i>, Kesley realized. The intangible wall of force -that separated Antarctica from the rest of the world.</p> - -<p>It was a mind-numbing sight, this fantastic city. It was like no city -he had ever seen in the Empires; it stretched to the horizon, tower -after massive tower. A graceful network of airy flexibridges hung like -gossamer in the air, linking building to building far above street -level.</p> - -<p>And the city was shining.</p> - -<p>That was the only way to describe it. The sleek sides of the huge -buildings gleamed brightly in the warm daylight.</p> - -<p>As Kesley looked out, it seemed to him as if so many thousand-foot -mirrors blinked back at him.</p> - -<p>He stepped back inside. Daveen had not moved.</p> - -<p>"You've never seen Antarctica, have you?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>The poet smiled. "I know what it must be like. How do you feel?"</p> - -<p>Kesley thought of the shining towers and compared them with the squat -tenements of Chicago and Buenos Aires. "It's an incredible city."</p> - -<p>"Yes," Daveen said.</p> - -<p>With sudden bitterness Kesley said: "Why does the Antarctican Duke keep -that barrier up? Why doesn't he invite the world down here to see what -he has? Why must ninety percent of mankind live in squalor?"</p> - -<p>"They want it that way," Daveen pointed out.</p> - -<p>He fingered his instrument gently; a mocking note crept forth. Kesley -remained silent in thought for a moment.</p> - -<p>Then he nodded. "You're right. The Dukes see to it that nothing -changes, that no progress is ever made. The Twelve Empires don't want -any part of Antarctica, and Antarctica doesn't want any part of them."</p> - -<p>Antarctica's Duke, for one reason or another, had raised an impregnable -wall around his fantastic paradise. The Twelve Dukes of the war-blasted -world had erected their own barriers. But who was to say those barriers -could not be thrown down again? There was a <i>fourteenth</i> Immortal. And -he was free to act.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes ago such thoughts would have been nothing more than -bravado. Now, Kesley knew, he held power in his hands.</p> - -<p>"Daveen?"</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"I'm going to leave. I'm going to go looking for the Duke. Is there -anything else you want to tell me, before I go?"</p> - -<p>A calm smile spread over the tired face. "Not now," Daveen said.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Another panel in the wall opened as if at Kesley's request, and without -hesitating he stepped through. He found himself in a small rectangular -enclosure whose luminescent walls were inlaid with tiles of a glowing -green plastic.</p> - -<p>"Down," he said, and the enclosure sank.</p> - -<p>It glided downward with no illusion of descent, drifted through a -thousand-foot shaft and came to a silent halt. A wall opened. Kesley -saw that he was at ground level, in the vestibule of the great building.</p> - -<p>He saw the people: tanned, happy-faced people who did not seem to -notice him. They wore smooth, free-flowing tunics of what seemed like -an uncreasable fabric; it put the finest robes of the courtiers of the -Americas to shame.</p> - -<p>As he paused in the vestibule, not quite knowing which way to turn, he -heard a familiar humming sound, turned, and saw a mechanical man near -him. It might have been a twin of the ones he had seen at Wiener.</p> - -<p>"I give information," the robot said.</p> - -<p>"How can I get to the Duke's palace?"</p> - -<p>"Duke's residence is reached by travelling on slidewalk eleven blocks -north to crosspoint, transferring to eastbound slidewalk and continuing -until destination. You will be aware when reaching Duke's residence."</p> - -<p>"Thanks," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"Is any other information requested?"</p> - -<p>"Not just yet," he said. He turned away and broke the photon beam that -controlled the front door. It swung open. He stepped out onto the -slidewalks.</p> - -<p>There were five of them, he saw, running in a parallel series—five -bright metal strips moving at different speeds. He was on the slowest -of the five; it glided forward effortlessly, seemingly without -friction. Carefully, he stepped to the adjoining strip, which was a -little more crowded, and picked up speed. He became intrigued by the -moving roadway and rapidly passed to the fastest of the slidewalks.</p> - -<p>By that time, though, eight blocks had slipped past, and he hastily -edged back to the slow walk. At the eleventh block, he cut off deftly -onto the eastbound walk that intercepted the one he had been on.</p> - -<p>Now he could see the Duke's Palace: a square, blocky edifice of lacy -foamglass that was dwarfed by the towering buildings to either side. -Remembering the awesome majesty of Winslow's and Miguel's palaces in -comparison to the rest of Chicago and Buenos Aires, he thought it -odd—and then not so odd—that Antarctica's Duke should affect a -small, relatively unimpressive home.</p> - -<p>The slidewalk brought him rapidly to the shining door that fronted the -Ducal palace. Kesley formulated his plan, set forth his demands in his -mind.</p> - -<p>It was a bold, rash idea. If it failed, he had lost nothing. And if it -succeeded—</p> - -<p>He stepped off the slidewalk. The Duke's Palace seemed to beckon.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Inside, a robot attendant came humming up to him. Kesley confronted the -featureless face calmly.</p> - -<p>"I'd like to see the Duke."</p> - -<p>"Certainly. Have you an appointment?"</p> - -<p>"No," Kesley said. "Tell him—"</p> - -<p>"Just one moment," the robot interrupted. "I'll arrange for an -appointment. Your name, please?"</p> - -<p>"Dale Kesley."</p> - -<p>There was the momentary clicking of data-sorters over memory banks.</p> - -<p>Then the robot said: "Confirmation requested. Was the name Dale Kesley?"</p> - -<p>"That's right."</p> - -<p>"The Duke will see you at once, Dale Kesley. I will escort you to him."</p> - -<p>A little surprised, Kesley nodded. "That'll be fine."</p> - -<p>The robot glided away on its treads toward a lift-ramp. Kesley -followed, suppressing his impatience.</p> - -<p>He wondered if the Duke of Antarctica would be surrounded by long rows -of halberdiers. Somehow he doubted it.</p> - -<p>A pulse tickled annoyingly in the side of his throat as the elevator -rose. The trip was brief; the door-panel was sliding open almost before -it had closed.</p> - -<p>The robot rolled out first and started off down a long, bright -corridor. Kesley followed.</p> - -<p>The corridor seemed to be endless. Finally, the robot paused before a -richly-panelled door and touched a stud. "Yes?" a deep voice said.</p> - -<p>Inclining its speaking-grid toward a pickup embedded in the ornament of -the door, the robot said: "Dale Kesley to see you?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Kesley?</i>"</p> - -<p>"Dale Kesley to see you," the robot repeated impassively.</p> - -<p>Kesley heard stirring within. He tensed; this was suspicious. Was it -this easy to gain audience with a Duke?</p> - -<p>He waited nervously for the door to open. He had been hired to kill -Winslow; Miguel had begged him once to drive a knife into <i>his</i> breast. -And now he was about to see a third Duke—the first he had any real -motive for killing.</p> - -<p>The door swung back. Another robot waited within.</p> - -<p>"Don't tell me <i>you're</i> the Duke?" Kesley said, aghast. He had long -since learned that anything was likely.</p> - -<p>"Hardly," the new robot replied, with as much of an ironic inflection -as a robot voice could muster. "The Duke waits for you within. Come."</p> - -<p>Fingering the keen knife at his side, Kesley entered the Ducal chambers.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XV</p> - - -<p>The Antarctican Duke lived well, Kesley thought. His private apartments -were sprawling, luxurious, with more than one strange echo of Miguel's -room. For one, a wall of paintings looked down—but they were not -oil works such as Miguel had, but paintings done in some curiously -realistic technique that hardly seemed to involve brushwork at all. -They were more frozen images of life than paintings, he thought.</p> - -<p>In the distance he could see television screens, reminding him of the -closed-circuit battery taking up one wall of Miguel's study. The robot -led him on, gliding him from room to room.</p> - -<p>"This is the Duke's room," the robot said finally. "You may go in."</p> - -<p>Kesley approached the dark, paneled-wood door. It swung open without -his touching it.</p> - -<p>A man stood there, dressed in the customary Antarctican costume, -smiling, his arms folded. Kesley's eyes flickered in surprise; then he -crossed the threshold.</p> - -<p>"Van Alen," he said.</p> - -<p>The noble grinned. "Hello, Dale. I owe you an apology. I found it -necessary to flee, back there in the woods. But I've been following -your subsequent adventures with great interest, Dale."</p> - -<p>"I'll bet you have," Kesley said. He studied van Alen's powerful frame, -meeting eyebrows, wide-set eyes. "I never thought I'd see you again, -but here I am. I suppose you're here to take me to the Duke. Well, I'm -ready."</p> - -<p>Van Alen's smile grew broader. He extracted a jewel-studded, gold case -from his tunic, pressed a stud. A tiny yellow filament licked forth. He -touched it casually to his wrist; a fugitive tingle of pleasure passed -over his face.</p> - -<p>"Electrostimulator," he explained. "Sensory heightening. One of my -favorite vices; one that I had to leave behind when I made my abortive -journey to Iowa Province."</p> - -<p>"I'd like to see the Duke," Kesley repeated impatiently.</p> - -<p>Van Alen chuckled. "Look at my eyes, Dale."</p> - -<p>Kesley glanced up from the electrostimulator in van Alen's hand; his -gaze traveled up over the glossy, green fabric of the noble's tunic, -over his stiff reddish beard, his firm lips, the jutting nose, to the -eyes.</p> - -<p>The eyes.</p> - -<p>The deep, tired, weary, all-seeing eyes of an Immortal.</p> - -<p>Oddly, it came as no surprise. Double identity was almost the rule in -the world, it seemed. Daveen and Dawnspear, van Alen and the Duke, -Kesley and—who?</p> - -<p>Kesley groped unsteadily toward a chair; it sprang forward and settled -itself beneath him. "You, yourself—"</p> - -<p>"Antarctica is mine, Dale. I went north to bring you here, but I -failed. My life was threatened in the forest. I ran. An Immortal is -jealous of his life. Remember the scream of fear when you first drew -the knife on me, after I shot your wolf? That was <i>fright</i>—naked -crawling fright." The Antarctican shook his head bitterly. "I should -never have left here."</p> - -<p>"I've seen Daveen," Kesley said.</p> - -<p>"I know. The otter sent him to me."</p> - -<p>"Spahl?"</p> - -<p>Van Alen nodded. "That's his name. You owe your life to him many times -over, Dale."</p> - -<p>"I owe my life to everyone at least six times, it seems," Kesley said -sardonically. "It seems to be a game everyone likes to play—saving me."</p> - -<p>"Spahl found out who Lomark Dawnspear really was and sent him here. -Spahl was the one who arranged to have you sent here, by the only -method that can penetrate our Barrier. It was Spahl also, I believe, -who discovered you in the forest when you escaped from Miguel."</p> - -<p>Kesley frowned. "Enough of Spahl. I've seen Daveen. I know I'm -Immortal, now."</p> - -<p>"Of course."</p> - -<p>"Why didn't you tell me?"</p> - -<p>Van Alen spread his hands. "Would you have believed me?"</p> - -<p>Kesley paused, thinking for a moment. "No," he said finally. "But when -Daveen struck those notes on his instrument, I <i>knew</i>."</p> - -<p>He rose and began to pace nervously. His booted feet sank deep into the -glistening carpet that covered the entire room.</p> - -<p>"I want to tell you why I came to see the Duke, van Alen. I mean -that—I came to see the Duke as Duke, and the fact that he turned out -to be you doesn't matter a damn to what I'm going to say."</p> - -<p>Lazily van Alen touched the electrostimulator to his wrist again. "Go -ahead. I'm most interested."</p> - -<p>"From what little I've seen of Antarctica, it's a wonderful place. It's -the only place in the world where science didn't die with the Great -Blast—except Wiener, maybe, and there aren't any people in Wiener. -You've got technology, here; you've got a working society. I've only -been here a few hours and I don't know <i>what</i> you have. But I do know -this: you've got the power to knock Winslow and Miguel and the rest of -them sprawling from their thrones, and break down the resistance to -progress that the Twelve Dukes have so carefully built up."</p> - -<p>The smile had left van Alen's face. The Duke was studying Kesley -reflectively, his lips drawn into a tight scowl, his lean fingers -knotted in the fringes of his beard.</p> - -<p>Kesley moistened his lips. "For one reason or another, you've set up -this impassable wall. You want to keep what you've got, and you don't -want anything to do with the rest of the world to the north. Is this -right?"</p> - -<p>"This has been my policy," van Alen admitted.</p> - -<p>Kesley glanced around uneasily. "Can you justify that policy?"</p> - -<p>"I see no need to."</p> - -<p>"All right," Kesley said. "Let me suggest an alternate policy: you step -down from the throne and appoint me Duke. I'm an Immortal too, I've -discovered lately; I'll take your job. And I'll break down all the -barriers that keep the people of the world penned away from each other."</p> - -<p>"Just how will you persuade me to allow this?" van Alen asked, with icy -calmness.</p> - -<p><i>This is the moment</i>, Kesley thought. He stepped toward van Alen, -seized the momentarily relaxed arm quickly, twisted it up behind the -Immortal's back. At the same moment he drew his knife, touched it to -van Alen's throat just below the beard.</p> - -<p>"Miguel taught me that Immortals can be killed. He sent me off to kill -one. I don't want to drive this knife home, van Alen, but I will if I -have to. Get your robots in here and dictate a message of abdication."</p> - -<p>"If I don't—"</p> - -<p>Kesley twitched the knife slightly. Van Alen winced.</p> - -<p>"I can break your hold, you know," the Duke pointed out.</p> - -<p>"Probably." Kesley remembered the time van Alen had broken Kesley's -grip in the Iowa farmhouse, had removed Kesley's hands from his throat -as if he were a child. "But while you're doing that, I push the knife -in. You don't have a chance. Will you dictate the abdication?"</p> - -<p>"I've ruled here three hundred sixty years and more," van Alen said. -"It's not easy to give up a throne in a moment after so long."</p> - -<p>Again Kesley dug the knife in. This time, a few drops of blood trickled -down, staining van Alen's broad collar. Immortal blood.</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>Sweat mingled with the blood droplets on van Alen's throat. "I agree to -terms," he said hoarsely. "Snap on the recorder on my desk."</p> - -<p>Kesley looked suspiciously at the knob mounted in the cabinet. "If this -is a trick—"</p> - -<p>"No trick," van Alen said.</p> - -<p>Kesley backed across the room without releasing his grip on van Alen, -and spun the noble around. "Reach down and snap on the recorder -yourself. I'll be ready with the knife if anything strange happens. -Then start to talk."</p> - -<p>Van Alen shifted the position of the stud with an extended finger. A -faint hum resulted; otherwise, nothing happened. Kesley relaxed just a -trifle.</p> - -<p>"Talk," he ordered.</p> - -<p>Van Alen said: "People of Antarctica, hear and believe this message.</p> - -<p>"Today, in the three hundred sixty-second year of my rule, I am giving -up my throne.</p> - -<p>"I turn it over to the man named Dale Kesley—like myself an Immortal. -He will rule you wisely and well, I am sure, and will lead you to -greatnesses I never dared to attain.</p> - -<p>"Thank you."</p> - -<p>Van Alen shut the machine off. "There," he said. "When I touch the -spiral lever, the message will be beamed on wide circuit to the entire -continent. The robots will shift allegiance to you at once; the place -will be yours."</p> - -<p>"Touch the lever," Kesley said hoarsely.</p> - -<p>Van Alen reached out—but as he nudged the control, a bright green beam -licked out suddenly. Acting instinctively, Kesley jabbed at the Duke's -throat with the knife.</p> - -<p>There was no knife.</p> - -<p>The knife had been whisked from his hand the instant the beam had shot -forth.</p> - -<p>Van Alen turned, easily extricating his imprisoned arm from Kesley's -numbed grasp. His fist crashed into Kesley's stomach, rocking him -backward.</p> - -<p><i>Cheated!</i> Kesley thought wildly. He recalled an earlier, forgotten -resolution never to have dealings with Dukes again.</p> - -<p>Mechanically he raised a fist to defend himself. Van Alen's attack -drove through, and blows thudded against his face and chest. He tried -to fight back; he hit van Alen glancingly on the shoulder, struck for -his midsection. Another blow sent him staggering away.</p> - -<p>Desperately Kesley leaped forward and flung himself on van Alen. They -tumbled to the floor, rolled over several times, once with Kesley -on top. Then van Alen began to get the upper hand. The Immortal was -fantastically strong.</p> - -<p>He rose to a sitting position atop Kesley, gripping both of Kesley's -hands in one of his. He wiped flecks of perspiration from his chin and -dabbed at the tiny cut on his throat.</p> - -<p>"Sorry, Dale. In five hundred years I've learned a few tricks. That was -a teleport beam; your knife's now somewhere in the main routing depot -of my post office."</p> - -<p>Kesley muttered a harsh, wordless curse. Then he said: "You'll kill me -now, I suppose."</p> - -<p>"For reacting the way I expected you would? Nonsense." Van Alen rolled -off Kesley and stood up. Reaching to his desk, he pressed a buzzer and -said, "Admit Daveen."</p> - -<p>"Why do you want <i>him</i>?" Kesley asked.</p> - -<p>"You'll see."</p> - -<p>The panel glided open and Daveen stepped through, walking with uncanny -assurance.</p> - -<p>"Three," van Alen said.</p> - -<p>Daveen began to play the same haunting melody he had played before. -Kesley, lying on the floor, waited uncertainly for the moment when—</p> - -<p>"<i>Three</i>," Daveen said.</p> - -<p>One crushing fact rolled down on Kesley like a shock wave. <i>One</i> fact.</p> - -<p>He waited while its implications shuddered through him like -subharmonics from Daveen's music-maker. His dazed mind evaluated the -new datum.</p> - -<p>"Of course," he said finally, standing up. "Why else would you have -gone to Iowa Province looking for me? Why else would you be so -interested in my whereabouts?"</p> - -<p>"You see now?" van Alen asked.</p> - -<p>"I see part of it. I see that <i>yours</i> is the line of Immortals that -breeds true, since I'm your son."</p> - -<p>"I thought you would have guessed that when Daveen rolled back the very -first layer of fog," van Alen said. "You didn't. But now you know <i>who</i> -you are."</p> - -<p>"And why—why—"</p> - -<p>"Four," van Alen ordered.</p> - -<p>"<i>Four!</i>" Daveen cried.</p> - -<p>And Kesley began to understand.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="ph1">XVI</p> - - -<p>"You know, now?" van Alen asked.</p> - -<p>Kesley smiled wanly. "This isn't the first time we've had this -discussion, then."</p> - -<p>"No. The last time, though, you had no knife."</p> - -<p>"If I had known who you were, I'd never—"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," van Alen said. "You're not to be blamed."</p> - -<p>"May I go?" Daveen interrupted suddenly.</p> - -<p>Van Alen nodded. "Of course, Daveen. You've done splendidly."</p> - -<p>"Thank you, sire," said the Singer gravely. Bowing, the blind man -backed unerringly out into the adjoining elevator. Van Alen turned back -to Kesley.</p> - -<p>"You remember, now, the circumstances under which we last met in this -room?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," Kesley said. "I came to you—to ask you to abdicate in my favor, -Father. You refused."</p> - -<p>"And you ran away."</p> - -<p>"What else could I do? You were Immortal; I was twenty-three, and you -refused to leave the throne. I thought you were wrong in your ways."</p> - -<p>"Twenty-three—and you wanted to rule," van Alen repeated reflectively. -"Now, of course, you have the wisdom of mature years. Why, you must be -nearly thirty, old man!"</p> - -<p>"Twenty-eight. And I'm still aging. What was it Stohrbach said, your -geneticist? That I'll continue to age until about the age of thirty and -then stop?"</p> - -<p>"Thirty-five. You haven't reached full maturity yet."</p> - -<p>"But my cells show the regenerative pattern of an Immortal."</p> - -<p>Kesley let the other newly-awakened memories filter through his mind.</p> - -<p>"I left you," he said. "Angrily. I had myself teleported through your -Barrier and into North America, where I intended to live under an -assumed name and work for the overthrow of Winslow—as a start."</p> - -<p>"Is that it?" van Alen asked. "I was never sure of your plan."</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded. "I intended gradually to seize the Twelve Empires—and -then ask you to lower your force-screen."</p> - -<p>Van Alen smiled slowly. "Worthy of a Duke, son. But it didn't work. -One of Winslow's mutant telepaths—now dead and out of circulation, -happily—discovered your true identity. Word traveled fast among the -Twelve Dukes that I had had a son who bore the Immortal traits. They -resolved to kill you, hoping I would never have another. And you were -caught, there in Winslow's own home yard. It was Daveen who rescued -you. The rest you've already relearned."</p> - -<p>Kesley nodded, calmly now. "I'm back home now, Father."</p> - -<p>"At last. Daveen hid you so well I thought we'd never find you. Finally -I decided to go myself. I found you—and lost you again."</p> - -<p>"You're missing my point," Kesley said sharply. "I'm <i>back home</i>."</p> - -<p>"And?"</p> - -<p>"And I haven't changed my ideas."</p> - -<p>Van Alen slipped the electrostimulator into his hand once again and -let the minute voltage caress his nerves. "So?" he said quizzically.</p> - -<p>"I still feel the force-screen ought to come down."</p> - -<p>Van Alen shook his head frowningly. "You're not the green boy you were -when you left, you know. You've seen the courts of the Dukes; you've -worked on a farm. You know what it is to flee for your life."</p> - -<p>"And I've seen Mutie City and the Colony and Wiener," Kesley added. -"I've really been around."</p> - -<p>"And?"</p> - -<p>"And I think the world's rotten at the core! I think <i>you</i> can save -it—if you'll only lift your damned Barrier and give what you have here -to the rest of the world!"</p> - -<p>Pain filtered over van Alen's face. He stared sadly at Kesley for a -moment, with the timeless expression in his eyes that Kesley knew he, -himself, would one day acquire. "You still don't understand," van Alen -said huskily, "why that Barrier is up."</p> - -<p>"No. I don't."</p> - -<p>"You've dealt with three Immortals: Winslow, Miguel, me. What do we -have in common?" van Alen demanded suddenly.</p> - -<p>Startled, Kesley stopped to think of their common characteristics. -<i>Nothing in common</i>, he nearly answered. Then he saw he was wrong.</p> - -<p>Physical vitality. Long life. These things were obvious.</p> - -<p>The deepness of the eyes. Constant for all three.</p> - -<p>And a deepness of personality, a strange complexity of behavior, a -pattern of actions that appeared to be based on random selection. Yes, -that was it. "You're unpredictable," Kesley said. "One never knows what -to expect from you. It's as if you act without motivation sometimes."</p> - -<p>"It seems that way, doesn't it? But look: you're lying in a tub of -water, completely submerged. A hand suddenly breaks the surface of the -water and plunges a knife into you. All you see is the hand; for all -the evidence you have, that's all there is—just a hand.</p> - -<p>"It's completely unmotivated, isn't it? Why would a mere <i>hand</i> want to -murder you? No reason at all. But suppose that hand is attached to the -arm of your most deadly enemy? It's not so unmotivated then, is it?"</p> - -<p>"You mean we only see segments of events; you see the entire happening. -That it?"</p> - -<p>"It comes with long life. You'll have it too," van Alen said. "It's a -curse. You'll be living in three dimensions and everyone else in two. -And no one will ever manage to understand you fully except another one -like you."</p> - -<p>"You're stalling. The Barrier," Kesley prodded.</p> - -<p>"The Barrier. I put that up out of fear." Van Alen's strong head -drooped; his ancient eyes looked bleak. "I'm safe, secure down here. -We've continued to progress. No bombs were dropped on Antarctica. I -don't want any bombs coming down."</p> - -<p>"But there won't be! There can't be! They've virtually reverted to -a pre-mechanical culture in the Twelve Empires. They've got as much -chance of being able to build bombs as you do of sprouting wings."</p> - -<p>A new thought occurred to Kesley. "When did you come to Antarctica? You -said you'd only been ruling three hundred sixty-odd years. The Blast -was more than four hundred years ago."</p> - -<p>Van Alen seemed to be trembling. "I came to Antarctica in 2164, -established control, and erected the barrier the following year." His -voice wavered. "Do you want the rest of it?"</p> - -<p>"I don't need it." Kesley jabbed a forefinger at the Duke. "You never -told me this, but now I understand. 2162—that's the year the Twelve -Dukes met and divided up the world, all except Antarctica. Right?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," van Alen said tonelessly.</p> - -<p>"Okay. In 2162, there were twelve Empires—and <i>thirteen Immortals</i>! -You were the odd man out!"</p> - -<p>Van Alen winced, and Kesley felt a surge of pity now that he finally -had voiced the words. Van Alen had lived alone with these memories for -hundreds of years.</p> - -<p>"They cast you out," Kesley went on. "You were an Immortal—it was -obvious, you were a hundred years old and still in the prime of -life—and everyone else grabbed a Dukedom before you did. So you slunk -off to Antarctica with your tail wrapped around your hind legs, and -founded yourself an Empire down here."</p> - -<p>"No more, please," van Alen said. "Please."</p> - -<p>"I want to go on." Kesley's eyes flashed. "You built that barrier -out of fear and hatred; you closed yourself away from the Twelve who -rejected you! And now—"</p> - -<p>"And now I'm very tired," said van Alen. He rose. "Five years ago you -argued for overthrowing the Barrier. I refused without citing reason. -Now you understand why."</p> - -<p>"It was because you didn't dare face your twelve old enemies," Kesley -said mercilessly. "Even though Antarctica had continued scientific -development and they had shunned it, even though you now had the -weapons and the techniques to blast the twelve of them off their -thrones at long distance, you still kept thinking of yourself as the -poor relation who got shunted away. That's why you ran away when the -bandits caught me in Argentina; you dreaded going before Miguel. You -had to escape even at the cost of leaving me behind."</p> - -<p>"That's part of it." Van Alen seemed to recover some of his former -poise. "If you'll remember, though, I couched my refusal of your ideas -five years ago in such a way that you'd almost certainly react by -running away."</p> - -<p>"I remember. Why?"</p> - -<p>"You've seen the world. You've seen other Dukes. You know what the -world is like. You've matured. It was a sink-or-swim process, and you -swam."</p> - -<p>Kesley began to see what was coming. His fingers started to tremble.</p> - -<p>"Five years ago," van Alen went on, "I said no. Today's answer is -different. It's <i>yes</i>."</p> - -<p>Van Alen laid his still powerful hand on Kesley's shoulder. -"I can't take down the Barrier myself. I need it up there, as -protection—protection against emotional fears that even I know, -intellectually, are foolish.</p> - -<p>"But <i>you</i> can take it down, Dryle—as Duke of Antarctica!"</p> - -<p>Kesley had seen it coming. He nodded. "I'm so used to thinking of -myself as Dale Kesley that it's hard to remember my name's the same as -yours—Dryle van Alen."</p> - -<p>"<i>Dux et Imperator</i>," the older man added, grinning. "A little while -ago I dictated an abdication. At knifepoint, to be sure, but I kept my -voice calm. That message is still on the tapes. Any time you want, you -have my permission to broadcast it."</p> - -<p>Young van Alen stared evenly at his father. "The Barrier <i>will</i> come -down. The Dukes will fall. I'll get Narella back from Miguel."</p> - -<p>"These things will happen. Remember, though, there will be others after -Narella. It's one of the prices you pay for long life."</p> - -<p>"I know," he said gravely. He grinned. "I'm still young, yet, and so is -she. There's time for me to start learning how to take the long view -later."</p> - -<p>He turned away and extended a hand toward the control that would -broadcast his father's message to all the continent of Antarctica.</p> - -<p>His hand hovered for a moment.</p> - -<p>Once, he knew, Antarctica had been covered with ice, a frozen, desolate -land. Men had cleared the ice and built a garden continent.</p> - -<p>Now, the new Duke thought, it was the other nine-tenths of the world -that lay under an icy pall. That could be altered, too. The Twelve -Dukes could be swept away; the walls around the cities and around men's -minds could be destroyed. And it was not necessary that the tragedy of -2062 be repeated.</p> - -<p>His finger brushed the stud and his father's words began to echo -through the city and out over the entire continent.</p> - -<p>"<i>People of Antarctica, hear and believe this message. Today, in the -362nd year of my rule, I am giving up my throne.</i>"</p> - -<p>As the abdication decree resounded through the halls of the Ducal -palace, he turned and saw the robots rolling toward him, ready to give -allegiance to their new lord.</p> - -<p>He drew a deep breath. Plenty of work lay ahead. The years of the -freeze were at their end; the great thaw was just beginning.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE 13TH IMMORTAL ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for -copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very -easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation -of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project -Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away--you may -do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected -by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark -license, especially commercial redistribution. -</div> - -<div style='margin:0.83em 0; font-size:1.1em; text-align:center'>START: FULL LICENSE<br /> -<span style='font-size:smaller'>THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE<br /> -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK</span> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™ -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person -or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the -Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when -you share it without charge with others. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country other than the United States. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work -on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the -phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: -</div> - -<blockquote> - <div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most - other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions - whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms - of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online - at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you - are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws - of the country where you are located before using this eBook. - </div> -</blockquote> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project -Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™ -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™ -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg™ License. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format -other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain -Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -provided that: -</div> - -<div style='margin-left:0.7em;'> - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation.” - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™ - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™ - works. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - </div> - - <div style='text-indent:-0.7em'> - • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works. - </div> -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of -the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set -forth in Section 3 below. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right -of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™ -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™ -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, -Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up -to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website -and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread -public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state -visit <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/donate/">www.gutenberg.org/donate</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate -</div> - -<div style='display:block; font-size:1.1em; margin:1em 0; font-weight:bold'> -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. -</div> - -</div> -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/65538-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/65538-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 86755f2..0000000 --- a/old/65538-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/65538-h/images/illusc.jpg b/old/65538-h/images/illusc.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4e4caa0..0000000 --- a/old/65538-h/images/illusc.jpg +++ /dev/null |
