This Immortal

by Roger Joseph Zelazny

  I was knocked down twice by all its lashing about, but I got Myshtigo free, and we got about fifty feet away and watched it die. This took quite awhile.

  Hasan stood there, expressionless. The assagai he had spent so much time practicing with had done its work. When George dissected the creature later we learned that the shaft had lodged within two inches of its heart, severing the big artery. By the way, it had two dozen legs, evenly distributed on either side, as might be expected.

  Dos Santos stood beside Hasan and Diane stood beside Dos Santos. Everyone else from the camp was there, too.

  "Good show," I said. "Fine shot. Thanks."

  "It was nothing," Hasan replied.

  It was nothing, he had said. Nothing but the death blow to my notion that he had gimmicked the golem. If Hasan had tried to kill me then, why should he have saved me from the boadile?

  Unless what he had said back at the Port was the overriding truth-that he had been hired to protect the Vegan. If that was his main job and killing me was only secondary, then he would have had to save me as a by-product of keeping Myshtigo alive.

  But then…

  Oh hell. Forget it.

  I threw a stone as far as I could, and another. Our Skimmers would be flown up to our campsite the following day and we would take off for Athens, stopping only to drop Rameses and the three others at New Cairo. I was glad I was leaving Egypt, with its must and its dust and its dead, half-animal deities. I was already sick of the place.

  Then Phil's call came through from the Port, and Rameses called me into the radio tent.

  "Yeah?" said I, to the radio.

  "Conrad, this is Phil. I've just written her elegy and I should like to read it to you. Even though I never met her, I've heard you speak of her and I've seen her picture, so I think I've done a pretty good job-"

  "Please, Phil. I'm not interested in the consolations of poetry right now. Some other time, perhaps-"

  "This is not one of the fill-in sort. I know that you do not like those, and in a way I do not blame you."

  My hand hovered above the cutoff toggle, paused, reached for one of Rameses' cigarettes instead.

  "Sure, go ahead. I'm listening."

  And he did, and it wasn't a bad job, either. I don't remember much of it. I just remember those crisp, clear words coming from halfway around the world, and me standing there, bruised inside and out, hearing them. He described the virtues of the Nymph whom Poseidon had reached for but lost to his brother Hades. He called for a general mourning among the elements. And as he spoke my mind went time-traveling back to those two happy months on Kos, and everything since then was erased; and we were back aboard the Vanitie, sailing toward our picnic islet with its semi-sacred grove, and we were bathing together, and lying together in the sun, holding hands and not saying anything, just feeling the sunfall, like a waterfall bright and dry and gentle, come down upon our pink and naked spirits, there on the endless beach that circled and circled the tiny realm and always came back to us.

  And he was finished and cleared his throat a couple times, and my isle sank from sight, carrying that one part of me along with it, because that was the time that was.

  "Thanks, Phil," I said. "That was very nice."

  "I am pleased that you find it appropriate," he said. Then, "I am flying to Athens this afternoon. I should like to join you on this leg of your tour, if it is all right with you."

  "Surely," I replied. "May I ask why, though?"

  "I have decided that I want to see Greece once more. Since you are going to be there it might make it seem a little more like the old days. I'd like to take a last look at some of the Old Places."

  "You make it sound rather final."

  "Well… I've pushed the S-S series about as far as it will go. I fancy I can feel the mainspring running down now. Maybe it will take a few more windings and maybe it won't. At any rate, I want to see Greece again and I feel as if this is my last chance."

  "I'm sure you're wrong, but we'll all be dining at the Garden Altar tomorrow evening, around eight."

  "Fine. I'll see you then."

  "Check."

  "Goodbye, Conrad."

  "Goodbye."

  I went and showered and rubbed me with liniment, and I put on clean clothing. I was still sore in several places, but at least I felt clean. Then I went and found the Vegan, who had just finished doing the same thing, and I fixed him with my baleful glare.

  "Correct me if I'm wrong," I stated, "but one of the reasons you wanted me to run this show is because I have a high survival potential. Is that correct?"

  "That is correct."

  "Thus far, I have done my best to see that it did not remain potential, but that it was actively employed to promote the general welfare."

  "Was that what you were doing when you attacked the entire group single-handed?"

  I started to reach for his throat, thought better of it, dropped my hand. I was rewarded by a flicker of fear that widened his eyes and twitched the corners of his mouth. He took a step backward.

  "I'll overlook that," I told him. "I am here only to take you where you want to go, and to see that you come back with a whole skin. You caused me a small problem this morning by making yourself available as boadile bait. Be warned, therefore, that one does not go to hell to light a cigarette. When you wish to go off by yourself, check first to see whether you are in safe country." His gaze faltered. He looked away. "If you are not," I continued, "then take along an armed escort-since you refuse to carry weapons yourself. That is all I have to say. If you do not wish to cooperate, tell me now and I'll quit and get you another guide. Lorel has already suggested that I do this, anyhow. So what's the word?" I asked.

  "Did Lorel really say that?"

  "Yes."

  "How extraordinary… Well, certainly, yes, I shall comply with your request. I see that it is a prudent one."

  "Great. You said you wanted to visit the Valley of Queens again this afternoon. Rameses will take you. I don't feel like doing it myself. We're pulling out tomorrow morning at ten. Be ready."

  I walked away then, waiting for him to say something-just one word even.

  He didn't.

  Fortunately, both for the survivors and for the generations as yet unborn, Scotland had not been hard hit during the Three Days. I fetched a bucket of ice from the freeze-unit and a bottle of soda from our mess tent. I turned on the cooling coil beside my bunk, opened a fifth from out of my private stock, and spent the rest of the afternoon reflecting upon the futility of all human endeavor.

  Late that evening, after I had sobered up to an acceptable point and scrounged me a bite to eat, I armed myself and went looking for some fresh air.

  I heard voices as I neared the eastern end of the warning perimeter, so I sat down in darkness, resting my back against a largish rock, and tried to eavesdrop. I'd recognized the vibrant diminuendoes of Myshtigo's voice, and I wanted to hear what he was saying.

  I couldn't, though.

  They were a little too far away, and desert acoustics are not always the finest in the world. I sat there straining with that part of me which listens, and it happened as it sometimes does:

  I was seated on a blanket beside Ellen and my arm was around her shoulders. My blue arm…

  The whole thing faded as I recoiled from the notion of being a Vegan, even in a pseudotelepathic wish-fulfillment, and I was back beside my rock once again.

  I was lonesome, though, and Ellen had seemed softer than the rock, and I was still curious.

  So I found myself back there once more, observing…

  "… can't see it from here," I was saying, "but Vega is a star of the first magnitude, located in what your people call the constellation Lyra."

  "What's it like on Taler?" asked Ellen.

  There was a long pause. Then: "Meaningful things are often the things people are least able to describe. Sometimes, though, it is a problem in communicating something for which there is no corresponding element in the person to whom
you are speaking. Taler is not like this place. There are no deserts. The entire world is landscaped. But… Let me take that flower from your hair. There. Look at it. What do you see?"

  "A pretty white flower. That's why I picked it and put it in my hair."

  "But it is not a pretty white flower. Not to me, anyhow. Your eyes perceive light with wavelengths between about 4000 and 7200 angstrom units. The eyes of a Vegan look deeper into the ultraviolet, for one thing, down to around 3000. We are blind to what you refer to as 'red,' but on this 'white' flower I see two' colors for which there are no words in your language. My body is covered with patterns you cannot see, but they are close enough to those of the others in my family so that another Vegan, familiar with the Shtigo-gens, could tell my family and province on our first meeting. Some of our paintings look garish to Earth eyes, or even seem to be all of one color-blue, usually-because the subtleties are invisible to them. Much of our music would seem to you to contain big gaps of silence, gaps which are actually filled with melody. Our cities are clean and logically disposed. They catch the light of day and hold it long into the night. They are places of slow movement, pleasant sounds. This means much to me, but I do not know how to describe it to a-human."

  "But people-Earth people, I mean-live on your worlds…"

  "But they do not really see them or hear them or feel them the way we do. There is a gulf we can appreciate and understand, but we cannot really cross it. That is why I cannot tell you what Taler is like. It would be a different world to you than the world it is to me."

  "I'd like to see it, though. Very much. I think I'd even like to live there."

  "I do not believe you would be happy there."

  "Why not?"

  "Because non-Vegan immigrants are non-Vegan immigrants. You are not of a low caste here. I know you do not use that term, but that is what it amounts to. Your Office personnel and their families are the highest caste on this planet. Wealthy non-Office persons come next, then those who work for the wealthy non-Office persons, followed by those who make their own living from the land; then, at the bottom, are those unfortunates who inhabit the Old Places. You are at the top here. On Taler you would be at the bottom."

  "Why must it be that way?" she asked.

  "Because you see a white flower." I handed it back.

  There was a long silence and a cool breeze.

  "Anyhow I'm happy you came here," she said.

  "It is an interesting place."

  "Glad you like it."

  "Was the man called Conrad really your lover?"

  I recoiled at the suddenness of the question.

  "It's none of your blue business," she said, "but the answer is yes."

  "I can see why," he said, and I felt uncomfortable and maybe something like a voyeur, or-subtlety of subtleties-one who watches a voyeur watching.

  "Why?" she asked.

  "Because you want the strange, the powerful, the exotic; because you are never happy being where you are, what you are."

  "That's not true… Maybe it is. Yes, he once said something like that to me. Perhaps it is true."

  I felt very sorry for her at that moment. Then, without realizing it, as I wanted to console her in some way, I reached out and took her hand. Only it was Myshtigo's hand that moved, and he had not willed it to move. I had.

  I was afraid suddenly. So was he, though. I could feel it.

  There was a great drunk-like, room-swimming feeling, as I felt that he felt occupied, as if he had had sensed another presence within his mind.

  I wanted away quickly then, and I was back there beside my rock, but not before she'd dropped the flower and I heard her say, "Hold me!"

  Damn those pseudotelepathic wish-fulfillments! I thought. Someday I'll stop believing that that's all they are.

  I had seen two colors in that flower, colors for which I have no words…

  I walked back toward the camp. I passed through the camp and kept on going. I reached the other end of the warning perimeter, sat down on the ground, lit a cigarette. The night was cool, the night was dark.

  Two cigarettes later I heard a voice behind me, but I did not turn.

  "'In the Great House and in the House of Fire, on that Great Day when all the days and years are numbered, oh let my name be given back to me,'" it said.

  "Good for you," I said softly. "Appropriate quote. I recognize the Book of the Dead when I hear it taken in vain."

  "I wasn't taking it in vain, just-as you said-appropriately."

  "Good for you."

  "On that great day when all the days and years are numbered, if they do give you back your name, then what name will it be?"

  "They won't. I plan on being late. And what's in a name, anyhow?"

  "Depends on the name. So try 'Karaghiosis.'"

  "Try sitting down where I can see you. I don't like to have people standing behind me."

  "All right-there. So?"

  "So what?"

  "So try 'Karaghiosis.'"

  "Why should I?"

  "Because it means something. At least, it did once."

  "Karaghiosis was a figure in the old Greek shadow shows, sort of like Punch in the European Punch and Judy plays. He was a slob and a buffoon."

  "He was Greek, and he was subtle."

  "Ha! He was half-coward, and he was greasy."

  "He was also half-hero. Cunning. Somewhat gross. Sense of humor. He'd tear down a pyramid. Also, he was strong, when he wanted to be."

  "Where is he now?"

  "I'd like to know."

  "Why ask me?"

  "Because that is the name Hasan called you on the night you fought the golem."

  "Oh… I see. Well, it was just an expletive, a generic term, a synonym for fool, a nickname-like if I were to call you 'Red.'-And now that I think of it, I wonder how you look to Myshtigo, anyhow? Vegans are blind to the color of your hair, you know?"

  "I don't really care how I look to Vegans. Wonder how you look, though. I understand that Myshtigo's file on you is quite thick. Says something about you being several centuries old."

  "Doubtless an exaggeration. But you seem to know a lot about it. How thick is your file on Myshtigo?"

  "Not very, not yet."

  "It seems that you hate him more than you hate everyone else. Is that true?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "He's a Vegan."

  "So?"

  "I hate Vegans, is all."

  "No, there's more."

  "True.-You're quite strong, you know?"

  "I know."

  "In fact, you're the strongest human being I've ever seen. Strong enough to break the neck of a spiderbat, then fall into the bay at Piraeus and swim ashore and have breakfast."

  "Odd example you've chosen."

  "Not so, not really. Did you?"

  "Why?"

  "I want to know, need to know."

  "Sorry."

  "Sorry is not good enough. Talk more."

  "Said all."

  "No. We need Karaghiosis."

  "Who's 'we'?"

  "The Radpol. Me."

  "Why, again?"

  "Hasan is half as old as Time. Karaghiosis is older. Hasan knew him, remembered, called you 'Karaghiosis.' You are Karaghiosis, the killer, the defender of Earth-and we need you now. Very badly. Armageddon has come-not with a bang, but a checkbook. The Vegan must die. There is no alternative. Help us stop him."

  "What do you want of me?"

  "Let Hasan destroy him."

  "No."

  "Why not? What is he to you?"

  "Nothing, really. In fact, I dislike him very much. But what is he to you?"

  "Our destroyer."

  "Then tell me why, and how, and perhaps I'll give you a better answer."

  "I can't."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I don't know."

  "Then good night. That's all."

  "Wait! I really do not know-but the word has come down from Taler, from the Radpol liaison there: He m
ust die. His book is not a book, his self is not a self, but many. I do not know what this means, but our agents have never lied before. You've lived on Taler, you've lived on Bakab and a dozen other worlds. You are Karaghiosis. You know that our agents do not lie, because you are Karaghiosis and you established the spy-circuit yourself. Now you hear their words and you do not heed them. I tell you that they say he must die. He represents the end of everything we've fought for. They say he is a surveyor who must not be permitted to survey. You know the code. Money against Earth. More Vegan exploitation. They could not specify beyond that point."

  "I'm sorry. I've pledged myself to his defense. Give me a better reason and maybe I'll give you a better answer.-And Hasan tried to kill me."

  "He was told only to stop you, to incapacitate you so that we could destroy the Vegan."

  "Not good enough; not good enough, no. I admit nothing. Go your ways. I will forget."

  "No, you must help us. What is the life of one Vegan to Karaghiosis?"

  "I will not countenance his destruction without a just and specific cause. Thus far, you have shown me nothing."

  "That's all I have."

  "Then good night."

  "No. You have two profiles. From the right side you are a demigod; from the left you are a demon. One of them will help us, must help us. I don't care which one it is."

  "Do not try to harm the Vegan. We will protect him."

  We sat there. She took one of my cigarettes and we sat there smoking.

  "… Hate you," she said after a time. "It should be easy, but I can't."

  I said nothing.

  "I've seen you many times, swaggering in your Dress Blacks, drinking rum like water, confident of something you never share, arrogant in your strength.-You'd fight your weight in anything that moves, wouldn't you?"

  "Not red ants or bumblebees."

  "Do you have some master plan of which we know nothing? Tell us, and we will help you with it."

  "It is your idea that I am Karaghiosis. I've explained why Hasan called me by that name. Phil knew Karaghiosis and you know Phil. Has he ever said anything about it?"

  "You know he hasn't. He is your friend and he would not betray your confidence."

  "Is there any other indication of identity than Hasan's random name-calling?"

  "There is no recorded description of Karaghiosis. You were quite thorough."