The Eve of RUMOKO

By Roger Zelazny

Since he was no one, he could be anyone.

He'd been an important part of the team putting together the International Data Bank, which would track every single move made by every single human being. As the project neared completion he realized that no one would ever truly be free again. At the very last moment he blanked his file, changed his face, and created a back door into the system. Now he was nameless, had no past, left no traces, according to the IDB he no longer existed. But he could become anyone at anytime for any reason. Not being in the system meant that he had to earn a living outside of the normal confines of human society. But there were people willing to pay cold, hard cash for a man who could be anyone and then disappear once the job was done.

Project RUMOKO plans to use atomic explosions to create artificial island in the ocean. Someone is trying to sabotage the Project. Our nameless hero has been hired to find out who that Someone is. But when he finds out who and why he has some hard decisions to make that have far reaching consequences.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wilder Publications, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 24, 2024
• ISBN: 9781515462316

Roger Zelazny

Roger Zelazny burst onto the SF scene in the early 1960s with a series of dazzling and groundbreaking short stories. He is the winner of six Hugo Awards, including for the novels This Immortal and the classic Lord of Light; he is also the author of the enormously popular Amber series, starting with Nine Princes in Amber. In addition to his Hugos, he went on to win three Nebula Awards over the course of a long and distinguished career. He died on June 14, 1995.

Book preview

The Eve of

RUMOKO

Roger Zelazny

©2024 Amber LTD

Cover Image © Jay O’Connell

The Eve of RUMOKO is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales or institutions is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except for brief quotations for review purposes only.

ISBN 13: 978-1-5154-6231-6

Other Works by Roger Zelazny

Lord of Light

Roadmarks

The Last Defender of Camelot

The Dead Man’s Brother

Creatures of Light and Darkness

The Magic

Shadows & Reflections

Doorways in the Sand

Manna from Heaven

Chronicles of Amber

Nine Princes in Amber

The Guns of Avalon

The Hand of Oberon

Sign of the Unicorn

The Courts of Chaos

Blood of Amber

Trumps of Doom

Sign of Chaos

Knight of Shadows

Prince of Chaos

Seven Tales in Amber

The Eve of RUMOKO

I was in the control room when the J-9 unit flaked out on us. I was there for purposes of doing some idiot maintenance work, among other things.

There were two men below in the capsule, inspecting the Highway to Hell, that shaft screwed into the ocean’s bottom thousands of fathoms beneath us and soon to be opened for traffic. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have worried, as there were two J-9 technicians on the payroll. Only, one of them was on leave in Spitzbergen and the other had entered sick bay just that morning. As a sudden combination of wind and turbulent waters rocked the Aquina, and I reflected that it was now the Eve of RUMOKO, I made my decision. I crossed the room and removed a side panel.

Schweitzer! You’re not authorized to fool around with that! said Doctor Asquith.

I studied the circuits, and, "Do you want to work on it?" I asked him.

Of course not. I wouldn’t know how to begin. But—

Do you want to see Martin and Demmy die?

You know I don’t. Only you’re not—

Then tell me who is, I said. That capsule down there is controlled from up here, and we’ve just blown something. If you know somebody better fit to work on it, then you’d better send for him. Otherwise, I’ll try to repair the J-9 myself.

He shut up then, and I began to see where the trouble was. They had been somewhat obvious about things. They had even used solder. Four circuits had been rigged, and they had fed the whole mess back through one of the timers . . . . 

So I began unscrewing the thing. Asquith was an oceanographer and so should know little about electronic circuits. So I guessed that he couldn’t tell that I was undoing sabotage. I worked for about ten minutes, and the drifting capsule hundreds of fathoms beneath us began to function once again.

As I worked, I had reflected upon the powers soon to be invoked, the forces that would traverse Hell’s Highway for a brief time, and then like the Devil’s envoy — or the Devil himself, perhaps — be released, there in the mid-Atlantic. The bleak weather that prevails in these latitudes at this time of year did little to improve my mood. A deadly force was to be employed, atomic energy, to release an even more powerful phenomenon — live magma — which seethed and bubbled now miles beneath the sea itself. That anyone should play senseless games with something like this was beyond my comprehension. Once again, the ship was shaken by the waves.

Okay, I said. There were a few shorts and I straightened them out. I replaced the side panel. There shouldn’t be any more trouble.

He regarded the monitor. It seems to be functioning all right now. Let me check . . . . 

He flipped the toggle and said, "Aquina, to capsule. Do you read me?"

Yes, came the reply. What happened?

Short circuit in the J-9, he answered. It has been repaired. What is your condition?

All systems returned to normal. Instructions?

Proceed with your mission, he said, then turned to me. I’ll recommend you for something or other, he said. I’m sorry I snapped at you. I didn’t know you could service the J-9.

I’m an electrical engineer, I replied, and I’ve studied this thing. I know it’s restricted. If I hadn’t been able to figure out what was wrong, I wouldn’t have touched it.

I take it you’d rather not be recommended for something or other?

That is correct.

Then I will not do it.

Which was a very good thing, for the nonce, as I’d also disconnected a small bomb, which then resided in my left-hand jacket pocket and would soon be tossed overboard. It had had another five to eight minutes to go and would have blotted the record completely. As for me, I didn’t even want a record; but if there had to be one, it would be mine, not the enemy’s.

I excused myself and departed. I disposed of the evidence. I thought upon the day’s doings.

Someone had tried to sabotage the project. So Don Walsh had been right. The assumed threat had been for real. Consume that and digest it. It meant that there was something big involved. The main question was, what? The second was, what next?

I lit a cigarette and leaned on the Aquinas rail. I watched the cold north sea attack the hull. My hands shook. It was a decent, humanitarian project. Also, a highly dangerous