My Name is Legion

by Roger Zelazny

  I hurried then, trying to learn as much as I could before Barthelme returned and decompressed us any further. I was afraid that it would sober him up suddenly, because decompression works that way when you hit the right point in nitrogen-narcosis cases. He and Mike seemed to have been bringing in the diamonds, all right, from where, I did not learn. Whenever I tried to find out whether Frank had been disposing of them for them, he began muttering endearments to Linda. The part I hammered away most at began to come clear, however.

  Mike must have said something one time, in the ashram back of the Chickcharny. It must have interested Rudy sufficiently so that he put together a specialty of the house other than a Pink Paradise for him, apparently, several times. These could have been the bad trips I had heard about. Whatever Rudy served him, he got the story out of him and saw dollar signs. Only Paul proved a lot tougher than he had thought. When he made his request for hush money and Mike told Paul about it, Paul came up with the idea for the mad dolphin in the park and got Mike to go along with it, persuading Rudy to meet him there for a payoff. Then things got sort of hazy, because the mention of dolphins kept setting him off. But he had apparently waited at a prearranged point, and the two of them took care of Rudy when that point was reached, one holding him, the other working him over with the jawbone. It was not clear whether Mike was injured fighting with Rudy and Paul then decided to finish him off and make him look like a dolphin slashee also, or whether he had planned that part carefully too and simply turned on Mike afterward, taking him by surprise. Either way, their friendship had been declining steadily for some time and the blackmail business had driven the final nail into the lid.

  That was the story I got, punctuated rather than phrased by his responses to my oblique questioning. Apparently, killing Mike had bothered him more than he had thought it would, also. He kept calling me Mike, kept saying he was sorry, and I kept redirecting his attention.

  Before I could get any more out of him, Barthelme came back and asked me how he was doing.

  Babbling, I replied. That's all.

  I'm going to decompress some more. That might straighten him out. We're on our way now, and there will be someone waiting.

  Good.

  But it did not straighten him out. He remained exactly the same. I tried to take advantage, to get more out of him, specifically, the source of the diamonds, but something went wrong. His nirvana switched over to some version of hell.

  He launched himself at my throat, and I had to fight him off, push him back, hold him in place. He sagged then, commenced weeping, and began muttering of the horrors he was witnessing. I talked slowly, softly, soothingly, trying to guide him back to the earlier, happier part of things. But nothing worked, so I shut up, stayed silent and kept my guard up.

  He drowsed then, and Barthelme continued to decompress us. I kept an eye on Paul's breathing and checked his pulse periodically, but nothing seemed amiss in that area.

  We were fully decompressed by the time we docked, and I undogged the hatch and chucked out our gear. Paul stirred at that, opened his eyes, stared at me, then said, That was weird.

  How do you feel now?

  All right, I think. But very tired and kind of shaky.

  Let me give you a hand.

  Thanks.

  I helped him out and assisted him down the plank to a waiting wheelchair. A young doctor was there, as were the Cashels, Deems, and Carter. I could not help wondering what was going on at the moment inside Paul's head. The doctor checked his heartbeat, pulse, blood pressure, shined a light into his eyes and ears, and had him touch the tip of his nose a couple of times. Then he nodded and gestured, and Barthelme began wheeling him toward the dispensary. The doctor walked along part of the way, talking with them. Then he returned while they went on, and he asked me to tell him everything that had happened.

  So I did, omitting only the substance I had derived from the babbling part. Then he thanked me and turned toward the dispensary once more.

  I caught up with him quickly.

  What does it look like? I asked.

  Nitrogen narcosis, he replied.

  Didn't it take a rather peculiar form? I said. I mean, the way he responded to decompression and all?

  He shrugged.

  People come in all shapes and sizes, inside as well as out, he said. Do a complete physical on a man and you still can't tell what he'd be like if he got drunk, say, loud, sad, belligerent, sleepy. The same with this. He seems to be out of it now, though.

  No complications?

  Well, I'm going to do an EKG as soon as we get him to the dispensary. But I think he's all right ... Listen, is there a decompression chamber in the dispensary?

  Most likely. But I'm new here. I'm not certain.

  Well, why don't you come along until we find out? If there isn't one, I'd like to have that submersible unit moved over.

  Oh?

  Just a precaution. I want him to stay in the dispensary overnight, with someone around to keep an eye on him. If there should be a recurrence, I want the machine handy so he can be recompressed right away.

  I see.

  We caught up with Barthelme at the door. The others were there also.

  Yes, there is a unit inside, Barthelme told him, and I'll sit up with him.

  Everyone volunteered, though, and the night was finally divided into three shifts, Barthelme, Frank, and Andy, respectively. Each of them, of course, was quite familiar with decompression equipment.

  Frank came up and touched my arm.

  Nothing much we can really do here now, he said.

  Shall we go have that dinner?

  Oh? I said, automatically glancing at my watch. So we eat at seven instead of six thirty, he said, chuckling.

  Fine. That will give me time to shower and change.

  Okay. Come right over as soon as you're ready. We'll still have time for a drink.

  All right. I'm thirsty ... See you soon. I went on back to my place and got cleaned up. No new billets-doux, and the stones were still in the disposal unit. I combed my hair and started back across the islet.

  As I neared the dispensary, the doctor emerged, talking back over his shoulder to someone in the doorway. Barthelme, probably. As I approached, I saw that he was carrying his bag.

  He withdrew, began to move away. He nodded and smiled when he saw me.

  I think your friend will be all right, he said.

  Good. That is just what I was going to ask you.

  How do you feel?

  All right. Fine, actually.

  You have had no symptoms at all. Correct?

  That's right.

  Fine. If you were to, you know where to go. Right?

  Indeed.

  Okay, then. I'll be going now.

  So long.

  He headed off toward a tiny hopper he had landed near the main lab. I continued on over to Frank's place.

  Frank came out to meet me.

  What did the doctor have to say? he asked.

  That everything looks all right, I told him.

  Uh-huh. Come on in and tell me what you're drinking.

  He opened the door, held it.

  A bourbon would be nice, I said.

  With anything?

  Just ice.

  Okay. Linda's out back, setting things on the table.

  He moved about, putting together a pair of drinks. I wondered whether he was going to say anything about the diamond business now, while we were alone. But he didn't.

  He turned, passed me my drink, raised his in a brief salute, took a sip, Tell me all about it, he said.

  All right

  The telling lasted into dinner and out of it. again. I was very hungry, Linda was quite quiet, and Frank kept asking questions, drawing out every detail of Paul's discomfort, distress. I wondered about Linda and Frank. I could not see her keeping her affair secret on a small place like the station. What did Frank really know, think, feel about it? What was the true function of their triangle in this bizarre case?<
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  I sat with them for a while after dinner, and I could almost feel the tension between the two of them, a thing he seemed set on dealing with by keeping the conversation moving steadily along the lines he had established, she by withdrawing from it. I had no doubt that it had been precipitated by Paul's mishap, but I came to feel more and more awkward in my role as a buffer against an approaching quarrel, a confrontation, or the renewal of an old one. Thanking them for the meal, I excused myself as soon as I could, pleading a weariness that was half real.

  Frank got to his feet immediately.

  I'll walk you back, he said.

  All right.

  So he did.

  As we neared my place, he finally said it.

  About those stones ...

  Yes?

  You're sure there are lots more where they came from?

  Come this way, I said, leading him around me cottage to the patio and turning when we reached it. Just in time for me last couple of minutes of sunset. Beautiful. Why don't you watch it finish up? I'll be right back.

  I let myself in through the rear door, moved to the sink, and got the disposal unit open. It took me a minute or so to work the bag out. I opened it, seized a double fistful, and carried them back outside.

  Cup your hands, I said to him.

  He did, and I filled them.

  How's that?

  He raised them, moved nearer the light spilling through the open door.

  My God! he said. You really do!

  Of course.

  All right. I'll dispose of them for you. Thirty-five percent.

  Twenty-five is tops. Like I said.

  I know of a gem-and-mineral show a week from Saturday. A man I know could be there if I gave him a call. He'd pay a good price. I'll call him, for thirty percent.

  Twenty-five.

  It's a pity we are so close and can't quite come to terms. We both lose that way.

  Oh, all right. Thirty it is.

  I took back the stones and dumped them into my pockets, and we shook on it. Then Frank turned.

  I'm going over to the lab now, he said. See what's the matter with that unit you brought back.

  Let me know when you find out, will you? I'd like to know.

  Sure.

  He went away and I restashed the gems, fetched a dolphin book, and began to page through it. Then it struck me just how funny it was, the way things were working out. All the talk about dolphins, all my reading, speculating, including a long philosophical dissertation on their hypothetical dreamsongs as a religio-diagogical form of Indus, for what? To find that it was probably all unnecessary? To realize that I would probably get through the entire case without even seeing a dolphin?

  Well, that was what I had wanted, of course, what Don and Lydia Bames and the Institute wanted, for me to clear the good name of the dolphin. Still, what a tangled mess it was turning out to be! Blackmail, murder, diamond smuggling, with a little adultery tossed in on the side ... How was I going to untangle it sweetly and neatly, clear the suspects, who were out practicing their ludus and not giving a damn about the whole business, and then fade from the picture, as is my wont, without raising embarrassing questions, without seeming to have been especially involved?

  A feeling of profound jealousy of the dolphin came over me and did not entirely vanish. Did they ever create problem situations of this order among themselves? I strongly doubted it. Maybe if I collected enough green karma stamps I could put in for dolphin next time around ...

  Everything caught up with me, and I dozed off with the light still burning.

  A sharp, insistent drumming awakened me.

  I rubbed my eyes, stretched. The noise came again, and I turned in that direction.

  It was the window. Someone was rapping on the frame. I rose and crossed over, saw that it was Frank.

  Yeah? I said. What's up?

  Come on out, he said. It's important.

  Okay. Just a minute.

  I went and rinsed my face, to complete the waking-up process and give me a chance to think. A glance at my watch showed me that it was around ten-thirty.

  When I finally stepped outside, he seized my shoulder.

  Come on! Damn it! I told you it was important!

  I fell into step with him.

  All right! I had to wake up. What's the matter?

  Paul's dead, he said.

  What?

  You heard me. Dead.

  How'd it happen?

  He stopped breathing.

  They usually do ... But how did it happen?

  I'd gotten to fooling with the unit you'd brought back. It's over there now. I moved it in when my time came to relieve Bartheime, so that I could keep working on it. Anyway, I got so involved that I wasn't paying much attention to him. When I finally did check on him again, he was dead. That's all. His face was dark and twisted. Some sort of lung failure, it seems. Maybe there was an air embolism ...

  We entered the rear of the building, the nearest entrance, the water splashing softly behind us, a light breeze following us in. We passed the recently set-up workbench, tools and the partly dismantled sonic unit spread across its surface. Rounding the comer to our left, we entered the room where Paul lay. I switched the light on.

  His face was no longer handsome, bearing now the signs of one who had spent his final moments fighting for breath. I crossed to him, felt for a pulse, knew in advance I would find none. I covered a fingernail with my thumb and squeezed. It remained white when I released it.

  How long ago? I asked.

  Right before I came for you.

  Why me?

  You were nearest.

  I see., Was the sheet torn in this place before, I wonder?

  I don't know.

  There were no cries, no sounds at all?

  I didn't hear anything. If I had, I would have come right away.

  I felt a sudden desire for a cigarette, but there were oxygen tanks in the room and NO SMOKING signs all over the building. I turned and retraced my steps, pushed the door open, held it with my back, leaning against it, lit a cigarette, and stared out across the water.

  Very neat, I said then. With the day's symptoms behind him, he'll warrant a 'natural causes' with a 'possible air embolism,' 'congestive lung failure,' or some damn thing behind it.

  What do you mean? Frank demanded.

  Was he sedated?, I don't know. It doesn't matter. I'd imagine you used the recompressor. Right? Or did you tough it out and just smother him?

  Come off it. Why would I ...

  In a way, I helped kill him, I said. I thought he was safe with you here because you hadn't done anything about him all this time. You wanted to keep her, to win her back. Spending a lot of money on her was one way you tried. But it was a vicious circle, because Paul was a part of your source of extra revenue. Then I came along and offered an alternative supply. Then today's accident, the whole setup here tonight ... You rose to the occasion, seized the opportunity, and slammed the barn door. Not to mention striking while the iron was hot ... Congratulations. I think you'll get away with it. Because this is all guesswork, of course. There is no real proof. Good show.

  He sighed.

  Then why go into all that? It's over. We will go see Barthelme now and you will talk because I will be too distraught.

  But I'm curious about Rudy and Mike. I've been wondering all along. Did you have any part in it when they got theirs?

  What do you know? he asked slowly. And how do you know it?

  I know that Paul and Mike were the source of the stones. I know that Rudy found out and tried to blackmail them. They dealt with him, and I think Paul took care of Mike for good measure at the same time. How do I know? Paul babbled all the way back this afternoon and I was in the decompressor with him, remember? I learned about the diamonds, the murders, and about Linda and Paul, just by listening.

  He leaned back against the workbench. He shook his head.

  I was suspicious of you, he said, but you had the diamonds for
proof. You came across them awfully fast, I'll admit. But I accepted your story because of the possibility that Paul's deposit was really somewhere quite near. He never told me where it was, either. I decided you had to have either stumbled across it or followed him to it and known enough to recognize it for what it was. Whichever way, though, it doesn't matter. I would rather do business with you. Shall we just leave the whole thing at that?

  If you will tell me about Rudy and Mike.

  I don't really know any more than what you've just said. That was none of my affair. Paul took care of everything. Answer one for me now: How did you find the deposit?

  I didn't, I said. I haven't the least idea where he got them.

  He straightened.

  I don't believe you! The stones, where did they come from?

  I found where Paul had hidden a bag of them. I stole it.

  Why?

  Money, of course.

  Then why did you lie to me about where you got them?

  You think I'd come out and say they were stolen? Now, though ...

  He came forward very fast, and I saw that he had a large wrench in his hand.

  I jumped backward, and the door caught him on the shoulder as it snapped inward. It only slowed him for an instant, though. He burst through and was at me again. I continued my retreat, falling into a defensive position.

  He swung and I dodged to the side, chopping at his elbow. We both missed. His backstroke grazed my shoulder then, so that the blow I did land, seconds later, fell near his kidney with less force than I had hoped for. I danced back as he swung again, and my kick caught him on the hip. He dropped to one knee, but was up again before I could press in, swinging toward my head. I backed farther and he stalked me.

  I could hear the water, smell it. I wondered about diving in. He was awfully close ...

  When he came in again, I twisted back and grabbed for his arm. I caught hold near the elbow and hung on, hooking my fingers toward his face. He drove himself into me then and I fell, still clutching his arm, catching hold of his belt with my other hand. My shoulder smashed against the ground, and he was on top of me, wrestling to free his arm. As he succeeded in dragging it away, his weight came off me for an instant. Pulling free, I doubled myself into a ball and kicked out with both legs.