"Yes."
"Well, there is a photo between your last page and the back cover. Can you see it?"
"No. It is facing in the wrong direction. Insert it almost anywhere else. Page 78 is particularly—"
He withdrew the photo, thrust it into the center of the volume, squeezed tight. Several seconds ticked by.
"Well?" he asked.
"Yes. I have scanned the photo."
"Is it him? Is that Dorakeen?"
"It— It appears to be. If it is not, the resemblance is very strong."
"Then let's go and find him.
He started the engine.
As he headed down the ramp, he asked, "What line of work is he in?"
There was a long pause; then, "I am not exactly certain. He transported all sorts of things for a long while. Made considerable sums of money. Much of that time he was in partnership with a man named Chadwick, who later transferred his operations a good distance up the Road. Chadwick became extremely powerful, apparently as a result of their activities, and they eventually had a falling-out. This occurred at about the time I was—forgotten—by him. He must have departed suddenly, as you say. So all I really know of his occupation is that it involved transportation."
Randy chuckled.
"... But I have always wondered," Leaves continued.
"What?" Randy asked.
"Whether he might not have been in one of those categories I mentioned earlier—the people who can't find their ways home. He always seemed to be looking for something—exploring, testing. And I never did know exactly where he came from. He spent a lot of time poking around sideroads. And after a while, I believe that he did try to—alter things—here and there. Only his memory of the exact set of circumstances he wanted to re-create did not seem quite complete—as though it might have been something from a very long time ago. Yes, he traveled a lot..."
"Made it to Cleveland, anyway," Randy said, "at least for a little while." Then, "What was he like? I mean, personally."
"That is a difficult question. Restless-if I had to choose one word."
"I mean-honest? Dishonest? A nice guy? A prick?"
"Yes, he was all of those things at various times. His personality was liable to change suddenly. But later... Later on he got—self-destructive..."
Randy shook his head.
"I guess I'll just have to wait, if he's still around. How about a language lesson?"
"Very well."
One
Red cut suddenly to the right, taking a narrow turnoff without slowing. "What," Flowers asked, "are you doing?" "Twelve hours of driving is plenty," he replied. "I
want to sleep now."
"Collapse the seat and I'll take over." He shook his head. "I want to get out of this damned car and get some
real rest."
"Then please use a phony name when you register." "No place to register. We're just going to camp. It's
a devastated area. No problem." "Mutants? Radiation? Booby traps?" "No, no and no. I've been here before. It's clean." After a time he slowed, found another turnoff—
narrow, poorly surfaced. The sky phased into a pink
and purple twilight. In the distance, a shattered city
appeared in the sunset glow. He turned again. " '... Et que lews grands piliers, droits et majestueux,
rendaient pareils. Ie soir, aux grottes bascdtiques,'"
Flowers observed. "You're going to camp in a death
museum."
"Not really," he replied. They were on a dirt road now. It ran across the face
of a mountain for a time, crossed a creaking bridge over a narrow gorge, rounded a bluff, and reached a plain within sight of the city again. Red pulled off into a field, dotted here and there, amid its craters, with rusting equipment—mostly damaged vehicles, surface and air. He braked to a stop in a clear area.
The curiously shaped shadow which now lay across the vehicle's roof took on a reptilian outline, darkening thickening...
"Alter the truck's appearance to resemble one of these wrecks," Red instructed.
"Occasionally you have a decent idea," Flowers observed. "It will take about five or six minutes to do a really fine decadent job. Leave the engine running."
When the alteration began, the shadow contracted suddenly into a circle, dropped from the vehicle and slid off quickly across the ground in the direction of a crashed aircar. Red and Mondamay climbed out and began stringing a barrier. The air stirred sluggishly about them, dry, with a faint hint of coolness to come. A bank of clouds was building in the east. Somewhere, an insect began buzzing.
In the meantime, warped areas appeared in the truck's body, deepening, twisting. Random dents appeared. Rust-colored spots flashed across the vehicle's surface, slowed, settled. The machine tilted to one side. Red returned to it and unloaded a parcel of rations and a sleeping bag. The engine stopped.
"That's it," Flowers said. "How's it look?"
"Hopeless," Red replied, sprawling on the bag and
opening a food container. "Thanks."
Mondamay approached, halted and said softly, "I detect nothing of an overtly hostile nature within ten kilometers."
"What do you mean 'overtly'?"
"There are a number of undetonated bombs and | unfired weapons amid the wreckage."