This Immortal by Roger Zelazny Read Free Book Online Page A

in, come in."
    And we were off.
    It took me ten minutes to turn the conversation to the lamentable bashing of the Bedouin, as Red Wig was there distracting me by being there and being distracting.
    "Good morning," she said.
    "Good evening," I said.
    "Anything new happening in Arts?"
    "No."
    "Monuments?"
    "No."
    "Archives?"
    "No."
    "What interesting work you must do!"

48 ROGER ZELAZNY
    "Oh, it's been overpublicized and glamorized all out of shape by a few romanticists in the Information Office. Actually, all we do is locate, restore, and preserve the records and artifacts mankind has left lying about the Earth."
    "Sort of like cultural garbage collectors?"
    "Mm, yes. I think that's properly put."
    "Well, why?"
    "Why what?"
    "Why do you do it?"
    "Someone has to, because it's cultural garbage.
    That makes it worth collecting. I know my garbage better than anyone else on Earth."
    "You're dedicated, as well as being modest.
    That's good, too."
    "Also, there weren't too many people to choose from when I applied for the job-and I knew where a lot of the garbage was stashed." She handed me a drink, took a sip and a half of her own, and asked, "Are they actually still around?"
    "Who?" I inquired.
    "Divinity Incorporated. The old gods. Like Angelsou. I thought all the gods had left the Earth."
    "No, they didn't. Just because most of them resemble us doesn't mean they act the same way.
    When man left he didn't offer to take them along, and gods have some pride, too. But then, maybe they had to stay, anyhow-that thing called ananke, death-destiny. Nobody prevails against it."
    "Like progress?"
    "Yeah. Speaking of progress, how is Hasan progressing? The last time I saw him he had stopped entirely."
    "Up, around. Big lump. Thick skull. No harm."
    THIS IMMORTAL 49
    "Where is he?"
    "Up the hall, left. Games Room."
    "I believe I'll go render him my sympathy. Excuse me?"
    "Excused," she said, nodding, and she went away to listen to DOS Santos talk at Phil. Phil, of course, welcomed the addition.
    Neither looked up as I left.
    The Games Room was at the other end of the long hallway. As I approached, I heard a thunk followed by a silence, followed by another thunk.
    I opened the door and looked inside.
    He was the only one there. His back was to me, but he heard the door open and turned quickly. He was wearing a long purple dressing gown and was balancing a knife in his right hand. There was a big wad of plastage on the back of his head.
    "Good evening, Hasan."
    A tray of knives stood at his side, and he had set a target upon the opposite wall. Two blades were sticking into the target-one in the center and one about six inches off, at nine o'clock.
    "Good evening," he said slowly. Then, after thinking it over, he added, "How are you?"
    "Oh, fine. I came to ask you that same question.
    How is your head?"
    "The pain is great, but it shall pass."
    I closed the door behind me.
    "You must have been having quite a daydream last night."
    "Yes. Mister DOS Santos tells me I fought with ghosts. I do not remember."
    "You weren't smoking what the fat Doctor Emmet would call Cannabis sativa, that's for sure."
    "No, Karagee. I smoked a stirge-fleur which had 50 ROGER ZELAZNY
    drunk human blood. I found it near the Old Place of Constantinople and dried its blossoms carefully.
    An old woman told me it would give me sight into the future. She lied."
    "... And the vampire-blood incites to violence?
    Well, that's a new one to write down. By the way, you just called me Karagee. I wish you wouldn't.
    My name is Nomikos, Conrad Nomikos."
    "Yes, Karagee. I was surprised to see you. I had thought you died long ago, when your blazeboat broke up in the bay."
    "Karagee did die then. You have not mentioned to anyone that I resemble him, have you?"
    "No; I do not make idle talk."
    "That's a good habit."
    I crossed the room, selected a knife, weighed it, threw it, and laid it about ten inches to the right of center.
    "Have you been working for Mister DOS Santos very long?" I