Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“I already gave you your wish. There were no guarantees as to duration. Her time was overdue.”

“You let her live just long enough to bear the child you wanted. I don’t think that’s fair.”

“The universe is not a fair place, Donnerjack. I cannot release her again. Would you wish to join her? It may not be as bad as you think, over in my Elysian Fields where certain things are preserved. Some concessions involving pleasantries can even be made for those I favor.”

“And my son?”

“He is mine by fair trade. Have you forgotten so quickly?”

“No, but could you make me some concessions here and now, rather than later?”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Let him live long enough to know what life is all about before you take him.”

“Life is tribulation. Life is disappointment. It would be better for him if I claimed him now and raised him here.”

“Life is only bad in parts, and you need that to appreciate the good parts—the feeling of a balmy wind on a summer day, watching a garden grow that you have planted yourself, the joy of discovery—be it scientific or otherwise—the taste of a good meal, a good wine, the friendship of one’s fellows, love. It may all be love in one form or another.”

“Love is the biggest delusion of all, invented to hold back the fears of the darkness which surrounds you.”

“I pity you. Love is why I dare stand before you.”

“Pity is a worthless commodity, Donnerjack. I do not need any.”

“Nevertheless, if you do not need the boy immediately, could you grant him a life before you claim him?”

“He could become a demon factor in both worlds if I were to permit him to achieve maturity.”

“And you don’t believe in taking chances?”

Death chuckled.

“I don’t believe in making promises.”

“A small assurance might suffice.”

“I never give anything away.”

“And you never take chances. How boring your existence must be.”

“I did not say that I never take chances.”

“Then take one now.”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I’ll fight you for his life.”

Death chuckled again.

“You seem to forget that I cannot be destroyed,” he said after a time. “If you were to disassemble everything of me that you see before you, yet would the forces of the universe bring back together their overseer of entropy—somewhere, somehow—and I would return. I am necessary to the proper functioning of things. My existence cannot be erased. You, on the other hand, are quite mortal. It would be a no-win contest for you.”

“I know. So I was hoping that you might grant me a handicap.”

“That being?”

“If I give you a good enough fight you consider it a draw and consider my petition.”

“This is awkward. You ask a measure of honor from me, who am considered to have none.”

“Yes.”

“And you mean to say that if I feel I have won though you are still standing, your life is forfeit?”

“Yes.”

“Intriguing. Indeed.” He paused, then, “Very well, I agree,” he said, and suddenly he vanished.

“Scan like you’ve never scanned before,” said Donnerjack to the Babboon.

But Donnerjack saw him first. Death suddenly stood beside the cab, rising, reaching toward the window.

“The flames, boss?”

“No. Do nothing. This is a test.”

Abruptly, Death drew his hand back, studied the window. He reached again and withdrew.

“I must know how you are doing that, Donnerjack,” said Death. “It is very dangerous.”

“Not for me.”

“Given time, I’ll slip through.”

“In the meantime, you can’t,” said Donnerjack, and he lobbed two strange attractors at him.

Death fell, and when Donnerjack peered out the window he was no longer in sight.

Suddenly, he stood before them again. He withdrew his hands from his sleeves. Lights danced at his fingertips, forming into balls that sped toward the cab, exploding as they neared.

“What now?”

“It is a distraction. Do nothing. We’re going to live. I know that now.”

Donnerjack blew the whistle long and hard.

The firestorm continued, and at length Donnerjack said, “Snap the blades.”

Like a pair of scissors, a pair of long blades swung forward from the engine’s sides, closing with a snap upon the figure of Death.

Death fell in two parts as the firestorm ceased.

“Breathe your flames upon him now, and start lobbing strange attractors at him.”

Death’s two parts began to smolder, dwindle.

“More strange attractors. They seem to be affecting him.”

Death melted away as the first one arrived.

“Back up slowly, then lay a side track to loop back to the one we came in on.”

“You mean we’ve beaten him?”

“He’s not around to argue with so I’ll call the draw myself. Let’s get out of here.”

The Babboon backed up and began the maneuver.

As they approached the junction a fog blew before them. Donnerjack switched on the headlamp and they slowed. The fog swirled and darkened. Then it coalesced into a great, dark, towering, winged figure. Suddenly, blazing multitudes of stars shone through it and its face at once seemed too dark and too bright to look upon. Moire filled the air between them as it extended its arms.

“No. It is for me to call tie or truce,” Death’s voice came.

He seemed to lean forward then, beginning to envelop them.

Donnerjack turned a dial on the black box all the way up, hit the fire blossom control, snapped the blades, blew the whistle, and cried, “Hit him with all the remaining attractors and get us back onto the track!”

There was a moment of absolute blackness, and Donnerjack felt them switching tracks. They advanced slowly and the air began to clear.

A mile or so later they saw a moving light ahead and Donnerjack slowed for it. It proved to be a lantern in the hands of an old man wearing bib overalls, an engineer’s cap, and a red bandanna.

Donnerjack halted, leaned out.

“What is it?” he asked.

The man was grinning, an everyday-seeming expression for him.

“I’ve decided to call it a draw,” he said.

“Then you grant my petition?”

“Your request was that I think about it.”

“Well? Will you?”

“Take your brass monkey and get out of here. I told you I never make promises.”

The man and his lantern vanished.

“Do as he said,” said Donnerjack. “Back to our station and its yard.”

“And after that? Will you have more use for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then in the meantime may I have my freedom, to tour Virtu?”

“Certainly. You’ve served me well.”

“Thanks. It was good to be part of a legend.”

Defiantly, Donnerjack let the child play upon the Great Stage—its locale shifting every fifteen minutes to keep his attention—as he fortified his castle with projectors of the field Death had told him he could slip through, given time. His next order of business was to multiply the defenses, while he worked on varying and strengthening the field itself. Then, as Duncan and Angus installed new projectors with the assistance of the robots, Donnerjack continued to modify the personal fields in his son’s bracelet, succumbing to idea after idea concerning it. He also had his memories and personality chip-recorded with an AI overlay.

Despite his precautions, he felt it prudent to drag his heels on the design of Death’s palace. He felt certain that Death would hold off on any vindictive response to their latest encounter at least until the design was complete. In the meantime, he amused himself in seeing how many hiding places and entrances and exits he could insinuate into the design for the strange laborers to create unthinking, hopefully to slip by Death’s casual surveillance of the plans.