Free Zelazny, Roger - Novel 05 by Today We Choose Faces Page A

long there was applause.
Weak-kneed, I got through the bows. Then the bandstand darkened and I followed
the others down.
                   As we moved around back, Martin's hand fell on
my shoulder. He was the leader, stocky going to fat, three-quarters bald, heavy
pouches under his pale, watery eyes. A very good trombone player and a nice
guy, too.
                   "What happened to you up there,
Engel?" he asked me.
                   "Stomach pains," I said. "Must
have been something I ate. They were pretty bad for a couple minutes."
                   "How are you feeling now?"
                   "A lot better, thanks."
                   "Hope you're not getting an ulcer.
They're no fun. Something been bothering you?"
                   "Yes. But it will be over soon."
                   "Well, that's good. Take it easy."
                   I nodded.
                   "See you tomorrow."
                   "Right."
                   I moved away quickly. Damn! I had to find a
collapsing place in a hurry. Every second counted now. Damn! How could I have
been so complacent, so blind? So stupid! Damn!
                   I slapped my instrument into its case, changed
clothes in record time and ignored or avoided everyone and everything that
might slow me as I made for the beltway. I got over into the fastest lane and
began some evasive traveling. I switched belts at nearly every intersection. I
jackpoled down three levels and walked until I was fairly certain I was not
being followed. Then I took to the belts again and worked my way toward the
Living Room.
                   My sense of urgency was enormous by then, and
I knew that I was near to the edge of hysteria. A small, hot core of anger was
the only thing that kept my panic in check. Something I did not understand had
reached me and struck me, twice. Then, almost without my realizing it, the
anger was there, and I could feel it growing. It was strange and it was strong.
I could not recall whether I had ever felt so before. I must have, since I
recognized it and embraced it so readily. Whatever, it seemed to buoy me a bit.
Perhaps it was this, that in its incipience had served to prevent my collapse
this time around. I felt the slow beginnings of a desire to reach out and
punish my murderers—for purposes of a personal accounting, rather than in the
interest of justice. Though I recognized the aberrant nature of the impulse I
did not seek to straitjacket it with self-discipline, for I had to have
something to sustain me.
                   ... And it was not an altogether unpleasant
feeling.
                   Now the faintest of smiles quirked the corners
of my mouth upwards. No, it was not a bad thing to be angry. It was a natural,
human feeling. Everybody knew that. It almost seemed a shame to waste it on
aggression surro-
                   I stepped down into the Living Room and walked
through section after section. People sat, stood, reclined, talking, reading,
napping, listening to music, viewing tapes, and there was always a quiet nook
for someone who wanted to be alone. I hurried across the soft carpeting,
rounding corner after corner, passing through a great variety of periods and
styles, hoping I would not encounter anyone who knew me.
                   Luckl
                   A small, deserted alcove, dimly lit ... a fat,
green chair that looked as if it might recline ...
                   Sure enough. It did. I turned the light even
lower and leaned far back. There were two entrances to the place and I could
keep an eye on both, though I was certain I had not been followed.
                   The first thing I did was try to relax and
decide who I was. It is gratifying that the nexus-mesh occurs so smoothly. You
always wonder, I guess, what it will feel like.