curved outward for several inches.
"Extrudable claws. Extremely powerful. He could disembowel a man with a single swipe."
"I like that. Can he do it with his feet too?"
"Yes. Just a moment . . . "
"Forget it. He has retained all of his combat skills?"
"Of course."
More pictures. Archie Shellman, looking almost bored, tossing around karateists, boxers, wrestlers with ease and proficiency. Archie Shellman permitting himself to receive powerful blows without changing expression . . .
"Is he as big as he seems? That's the first sequence involving other people."
"Yes. A hundred kilos and tall enough to be slim. He can turn over a car, kick down a heavy door, run all day. Has almost perfect night vision. He also has attachments . . . ”
"What about his mind?"
"It's all yours. Built-in gratitude for the new body and a reinforced desire to use it in combat. We've blocked the depression, but the manic response is ready and waiting if you feel you should need it. He considers himself the toughest, meanest thing on two feet — ”
"Perhaps he is."
"Quite likely, and he would welcome the chance to prove it and show his gratefulness at the same time."
"I wonder . . . Of all the cyborgs you've shown me, he certainly has the most class. I have some pictures of the intended victim. Would you recommend just siccing him on him, or do you think a little hate conditioning might be in order?"
"Oh, some sort of conditioning, to make it into a duty. Then he won't rest until he does it personally. You know our motto: 'We never let well enough alone.' "
"Very well. I'll give him a try, as soon as I know where to send him. We might have a winner here."
"Uh — none of my business, of course — but what is so special about the man you are sending him after?"
Sundoc shook his head as he passed Cargado the photos of Red Dorakeen.
"Damned if I really know," he said. "Someone, somewhere, just doesn't like him."
ONE
Passing a succession of heavily laden chariots, they came to a quiet section of the Road.
"Now, neither of you can pick up any more signals, can you?"
"None here."
"No."
"Good. Now I can settle down to the business of keeping alive on more of a long-range basis — one of the reasons I was coming to see you, Mondy."
"The old arm isn't what it used to be, but I'll be glad to help."
"It's your advice that I'm really after. You're still the greatest mayhem computer I know about. Now, you know me and you know something of the situation — and I can get you more data if you need it. The first thing I want is your opinion as to the course of action I should take."
"You are more than welcome to return with me to my place. I will be glad to give you sanctuary for as long as you wish, and teach you to make pots."
"Thank you. But I can't see my enjoying that on a permanent basis. I require a little more variety."
"This hostel on the Byzantine cutoff — How is it that you know of it?"
Red chuckled.
"I did quite a bit of trading along that route. Made out pretty well on it. But — Well, I like it. Manuel I is emperor there. He's usually off fighting somewhere, but he found time to build a really lovely place, a palace called the Blachernae, on the seashore right out at the end of the Golden Horn. An amazing piece of architecture, covered with gold and jewels, shining even at night. Does some fine entertaining there, and I got invited a few times as a high-class merchant. And Constantinople itself is really at its height. Literature and scholarship are flourishing. It's as if, for a little while, the Renaissance were trying to get started here. The climate is clement, the women lovely, the — "
"In other words, you're fond of the place?"
"I guess that's what I was trying to say."
"Well, if you don't want to make pots with me, why not get yourself a villa there? You'd have your variety, in a place you're truly fond of . . . "
Red was silent for a time. He searched out a match and relit his cigar.
Then, "It's a
"Extrudable claws. Extremely powerful. He could disembowel a man with a single swipe."
"I like that. Can he do it with his feet too?"
"Yes. Just a moment . . . "
"Forget it. He has retained all of his combat skills?"
"Of course."
More pictures. Archie Shellman, looking almost bored, tossing around karateists, boxers, wrestlers with ease and proficiency. Archie Shellman permitting himself to receive powerful blows without changing expression . . .
"Is he as big as he seems? That's the first sequence involving other people."
"Yes. A hundred kilos and tall enough to be slim. He can turn over a car, kick down a heavy door, run all day. Has almost perfect night vision. He also has attachments . . . ”
"What about his mind?"
"It's all yours. Built-in gratitude for the new body and a reinforced desire to use it in combat. We've blocked the depression, but the manic response is ready and waiting if you feel you should need it. He considers himself the toughest, meanest thing on two feet — ”
"Perhaps he is."
"Quite likely, and he would welcome the chance to prove it and show his gratefulness at the same time."
"I wonder . . . Of all the cyborgs you've shown me, he certainly has the most class. I have some pictures of the intended victim. Would you recommend just siccing him on him, or do you think a little hate conditioning might be in order?"
"Oh, some sort of conditioning, to make it into a duty. Then he won't rest until he does it personally. You know our motto: 'We never let well enough alone.' "
"Very well. I'll give him a try, as soon as I know where to send him. We might have a winner here."
"Uh — none of my business, of course — but what is so special about the man you are sending him after?"
Sundoc shook his head as he passed Cargado the photos of Red Dorakeen.
"Damned if I really know," he said. "Someone, somewhere, just doesn't like him."
ONE
Passing a succession of heavily laden chariots, they came to a quiet section of the Road.
"Now, neither of you can pick up any more signals, can you?"
"None here."
"No."
"Good. Now I can settle down to the business of keeping alive on more of a long-range basis — one of the reasons I was coming to see you, Mondy."
"The old arm isn't what it used to be, but I'll be glad to help."
"It's your advice that I'm really after. You're still the greatest mayhem computer I know about. Now, you know me and you know something of the situation — and I can get you more data if you need it. The first thing I want is your opinion as to the course of action I should take."
"You are more than welcome to return with me to my place. I will be glad to give you sanctuary for as long as you wish, and teach you to make pots."
"Thank you. But I can't see my enjoying that on a permanent basis. I require a little more variety."
"This hostel on the Byzantine cutoff — How is it that you know of it?"
Red chuckled.
"I did quite a bit of trading along that route. Made out pretty well on it. But — Well, I like it. Manuel I is emperor there. He's usually off fighting somewhere, but he found time to build a really lovely place, a palace called the Blachernae, on the seashore right out at the end of the Golden Horn. An amazing piece of architecture, covered with gold and jewels, shining even at night. Does some fine entertaining there, and I got invited a few times as a high-class merchant. And Constantinople itself is really at its height. Literature and scholarship are flourishing. It's as if, for a little while, the Renaissance were trying to get started here. The climate is clement, the women lovely, the — "
"In other words, you're fond of the place?"
"I guess that's what I was trying to say."
"Well, if you don't want to make pots with me, why not get yourself a villa there? You'd have your variety, in a place you're truly fond of . . . "
Red was silent for a time. He searched out a match and relit his cigar.
Then, "It's a
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