Roger Zelazny - My Name is Legion

He chuckled.

If you're very lucky. If you're lucky, you'll find one willing to take a chance. If you're very lucky, you'll find one willing to take a chance and also willing to give you a fair deal. I assume you would like to avoid the creation of a record, the crediting of extra income to your master account? Taxable income?

As I said, I would like to get as much as I can for them.

Naturally. Then am I correct in assuming that your purpose in coming to me over this might somehow be connected with this desire?

In a word, yes.

I see.

Well? .

I am thinking. To act as your agent for something like this would not be without risks of its own.

How much?

No, I'm sorry, he said then. It is probably too risky altogether. After all, it is illegal. I'm a married man. I could jeopardize my job by getting involved in something like this. If it had come along perhaps fifteen years ago ... well, who knows? I'm sorry. Your secret is safe. Don't worry about that. But I would just as soon not be party to the enterprise.

You are certain of that?

Positive. The return would have to be quite high for me even to consider it.

Twenty percent? I said.

Out of the question.

Maybe twenty-five ... I said.

No. Twice that would scarcely ...

Fifty percent? You're crazy!

Please! Keep your voice down! You want the whole station to hear?

Sorry. But that's out of the question. Fifty percent! No. If I can find a willing jeweler. I'll still be better off, even if he does cheat me. Twenty-five percent is tops. Absolutely.

I am afraid I can't see it.

Well, I wish you would think about it anyway.

He chuckled.

It will be difficult to forget, he said.

Okay ... Well, I'll be seeing you.

Tomorrow, at six.

Right. Good night.

Good night.

So I began walking back, reflecting on the possible permutations of people and events leading up to and culminating in the killings. But there were still too many gaps in the picture for me to come up with anything I really liked.

I was most troubled, of course, by the fact that there was someone who was aware that my presence actually represented more than its outward appearance. I searched my mind again and again for possible giveaways, but I did not see where I could have slipped up. I had been quite careful about my credentials. I had encountered no one with whom I had ever been familiar. I began wishing, not for the first time, nor, I was certain, the last, that I had not accepted this case.

I considered then what I ought to be about next, to push the investigation further along. I supposed I could inspect the place where the bodies had been found. I had not been there yet, mainly because I doubted there would be anything to be learned from it. Still ... I put that on my list for the morrow, if I could hit it before dinner with the Cashels. If not, then the next day.

I wondered whether I had done the expected thing as to the stones. I felt that I had, and I was very curious as to the repercussions, almost, but not quite, as curious as I was concerning the motives of my informant. Nothing I could do at the moment, though, but wait.

Thinking these thoughts, I heard myself hailed by Andy Deems from where he stood near his cottage, smoking his pipe. He wondered whether I was interested in a game of chess. I wasn't, really, but I went over anyhow. I lost two and managed to stalemate him on the third one. I felt very uncomfortable around him, but at least I didn't have to say much.

The following day. Deems and Carter were sent over to Station Six, while Paul and I took our turn at miscellaneous duties as assigned in and about the equipment shed. Another time-marking episode, I had decided, till I got to my real work once more.

And so it went, until late afternoon, when I was beginning to wonder what sort of cook Linda Cashel might be. Barthelme hurried into the shed.

Get your gear together, he said. We have to go out.

What's the matter? Paul asked him.

Something is wrong with one of the sonic generators.

What?

He shook his head.

No way of telling till we've brought it back and checked it over. All I know is that a light's gone out on the board. I want to pull the whole package and put in a new unit. No attempt at underwater repair work on this one, even if it looks simple. I want to go over it very carefully in the lab.

Where is it situated?

To the southwest, at about twenty-eight fathoms. Go look at the board if you want. It will give you a better picture ... But don't take too long, all right? There are a lot of things to load.

Right. Which vessel?

The Mary Ann.

The new deepwater rules ... ?

Yes. Load everything. I'm going down to tell Davies now. Then I'm going to change clothes. I'll be back shortly.''

See you then.

Yes.

He moved away and we set to work, getting our own gear, the shark cage, and the submersible decompression chamber ready to go. We made two trips to the Mary Ann, then took a break to go see the map, learned nothing new from it, and returned for the DC, which was stored on a cart.

Ever been down in that area before? I asked Paul as we began maneuvering the cart along.

Yes, he said. Some time back. It is fairly near to the edge of a submarine canyon. That's why there's a big bite out of that comer of the 'wall.' It plunges pretty sharply right beyond that section of the perimeter.

Will that complicate things any?

It shouldn't, he said, unless a whole section broke loose and carried everything down with it. Then we would have to anchor and hook up a whole new housing, instead of Just switching the guts. That would take us somewhat longer. I'll review the work with you on the unit we'll be taking out.

Good.

Barthelme rejoined us about then. He and Davies, who would also be going along, helped get everything stowed. Twenty minutes later, we were on our way.

The winch was rigged to lower both the shark cage and the decompression chamber tandem-fashion and in that order. Paul and I rode the DC down, keeping the extra lines from tangling, playing our lights about as we descended. While I had never had to use one, I had always found the presence of a decompression chamber on the bottom a thing of comfort, despite its slightly ominous function for the sort of work we would be doing. It was good to know that if I were injured I could get inside, signal, and be hauled directly to the top with no delays for decompression stops, the bottomside pressure being maintained in the bell's chamber on the way up and gradually returned to normal as they rushed me back to the dispensary. A heartening thought for all that, time-wise.

Bottomside, we positioned the cage near to the unit, which we found still standing, exhibiting no visible signs of damage, and we halted the illuminated DC a couple of fathoms up and off to the east We were indeed on the edge of a steep cliff. While Paul inspected the sonic-broadcast unit, I moved nearer and flashed my light downward.

Jutting rocky pinnacles and twisting crevices ... Reflexively, I drew back from the edge of the abyss, turned my light away. I returned and watched Paul work.

It took him ten minutes to disconnect the thing and free it from its mountings. Another five saw it secured and rising on its lines.

A bit later, in the periodic sweep of our beams, we caught sight of the replacement unit on the way down. We swam up to meet it and guided it into place. This time, Paul let me go to work. I indicated by pantomime that I wanted to, and he wrote on his slate: GO AHEAD SEE WHAT YOU REMEMB.

So I fastened it in place, and this took me about twenty minutes. He inspected the work, patted me on the shoulder, and nodded. I moved to connect the systems then, but stopped to glance at him. He indicated that I should go ahead.