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"Send them in." She led them to the dark, paneled door in the back of the room and opened it before them.
They entered, and the husky man behind the glasstopped desk leaned backward in his chair and wove his short fingers together in front of his chins and peered over them through eyes just a shade darker than the gray of his hair. His voice was soft and rasped Just slightly. "Have a seat," he said to Ta
"You know this guy's dangerous. Mister Denton," said the man with the shotgun as Ta
Steel shutters covered the room's three windows, and though the men could not see outside they could guess at the possible furies that stalked there as a sound like machine-gun fire suddenly rang through the room.
"I know." "Well, he's handcuffed, anyway. Do you want a gun?""I've got one,"
"Okay, then. We'll be outside."
They left the room.
The two men stared at one another until the door closed, then the man called Denton said, "Are all your affairs settled now?" and the other shrugged. Then, "What the hell is your first name, really? Even the records show—"
"Hell," said Ta
"So your mother raised all seven of you?"
"No. She croaked a couple weeks later and different relatives took us kids."
"I see," said Denton. "You've still got a choice, you know. Do you want to try it or don't you?"
"What's your job, anyway?" asked Ta
"I'm the Secretary of Traffic for the nation of California."
"What's that got to do with ir?"
"I'm coordinating this thing. It could as easily have been the Surgeon General or the Postmaster General, but more of it really falls into my area of responsibility. I know the hardware best. I know the odds—"
"What are the odds?" asked Ta
For the first time, Denton dropped his eyes.
"Well, it's risky.. .."
"Nobody's ever done it before, except for that aut who ran it to bring the news and he's dead. How can you get odds out of that?"
"I know," said Denton slowly. "You're thinking it's a suicide job, and you're probably right. We're sending three cars, with two drivers in each. If any one just makes it close enough, its broadcast signals may serve to guide in a Boston driver. You don't have to go, though, you know."
"I know. I'm free to spend the rest of my life in prison."
"You killed three people. You could have gotten the death penalty."
"I didn't, so why talk about it? Look, mister, I don'twant to die and I don't want the other bit either."
"Drive or don't drive. Take your choice. But remember, if you drive and you make it, all will be forgiven and you can go your own way. The nation of California will even pay for that motorcycle you appropriated and smashed up, not to mention the damage to that police car."
"Thanks a lot." And the winds boomed on the other side of the wall, and the steady staccato from the window shields filled the room,
"You're a very good driver," said Denton, after a time. "You've driven just about every vehicle there is to drive. You've even raced. Back when you were smuggling, you used to make a monthly run to Salt Lake City. There are very few drivers who'll try that, even today." Hell Ta
"That wasn't my fault."
"You were the best man on the Seattle run, too," Denton continued. "Your supervisor said so. What I'm trying to say is that, of anybody we could pick, you've probably got the best chance of getting through. That's why we've been indulgent with you, but we can't afford to wait any longer. It's yes or no right now, and you'll leave within the hour if it's yes."
Ta
"In all this crap?" he asked. "The cars can take this storm," said Denton.
"Man, you're crazy," "People are dying even while we're talking," said Denton.
"So a few more ain't about to make that much difference. Can't we wait till tomorrow?"
"No! A man gave his life to bring us the newsl And we've got to get across the continent as fast as possible now or it won't matter! Storm or no storm, the cars leave nowl Your feelings on the matter don't mean a good goddamn in the face of thtsl All I want out of you. Hell, is one word: Which one will it be?"
"I'd like something to eat. I haven't..."
"There's food in the car. What's your answer?"Hell stared at the dark window.
"Okay," he said, "I'll run Damnation Alley for you. I won't leave without a piece of paper with some writing on it, though."
"I've got it here."
Denton opened a drawer and withdrew a heavy cardboard envelope from which he extracted a piece of stationery bearing the Great Seal of the nation of California. He stood and rounded the desk and handed it to Hell Ta
Hell studied it for several minutes, then said, "This says that if I make it to Boston I receive a full pardon for every criminal action I've ever committed within the nation of California ..."
"That's right."
"Does that include ones you might not know about now, if someone should come up with them later?"
"That's what it says, Hell—'every criminal action.' "
"Okay, you're on, fat boy. Get these bracelets off me and show me my car."
The man called Denton moved back to his seat on the other side of his desk.
"Let me tell you something else. Hell," he said. "If you try to cop out anywhere along the route, the other drivers have their orders, and they've agreed to follow them. They will open fire on you and burn you into little bitty ashes. Get the picture?"
"I get the picture," said Hell. "I take it I'm supposed to do them the same favor?"
"That is correct."
"Good enough. That might be fun."
"I thought you'd like it."
"Now, if you'll unhook me, I'll make the scene for you."
"Not till I've told you what I think of you," Denton said.
"Okay, if you want to waste time calling me names, while people are dying—"
"Shut up! You don't care about them and you know it! I just want to tell you that I think you are the lowest, most reprehensible human being I have ever encountered. You have killed men and raped women. You once gouged out a man's eyes, just for fun. You've been indicted twice for pushing dope and three times as a pimp. You're -a drunk and a degenerate, and I don't think you'vehad a bath since the day you were born. You and your hoodlums terrorized decent people when they were trying to pull their lives together after the war. You stole from them and you assaulted them, and you extorted money and the necessaries of life with the threat of physical violence. I wish you had died in the Big Raid, that night, like all the rest of them. You are not a human being, except from a biological standpoint. You have a big dead spot somewhere inside you where other people have something that lets them live together in society and be neighbors. The only virtue that you possess—if you want to call it that—is that your reflexes may be a little faster, your muscles a little stronger, your eye a bit more wary than the rest of us, so that you can sit behind a wheel and drive through anything that has a way through it. It is for this that the nation of California is willing to pardon your inhumanity if you will use that one virtue to help rather than hurt. I don't approve. I don't want to depend on you, because you're not the type. I'd like to see you die in this thing, and while I hope that somebody makes it through, I hope that it will be somebody else. I hate your bloody guts. You've got your pardon now. The car's ready. Let's go."