Castle Kidnapped (21 page)

Linda watched the King draw a precise mathematical figure on the wooden surface of the platform. As it took shape, she marveled at its complexity and at Incarnadine's draftsmanship. This was no hastily scrawled pentagram or other hocus-pocus.

“How do you keep the lines so true, so straight?” she asked him.

“Practice, honey practice."

“It looks like you used drafting tools. But you did it all freehand."

“It's a bother. But the spells demand freehand. Two-dimensional patterns are nothing, though. It's the 3-D ones that give me migraines."

Linda shook her head. “There's more to this kind of magic than there is to science back home."

“And it's a hell of a lot more dangerous."

Around them, the laboratory buzzed and sang. Brilliant discharges crackled between suspended metal spheres. Spinning wheels threw sparks, and retorts bubbled.

Incarnadine walked over to Jeremy.

“Ready, Igor?"

Jeremy sat back and ran a sleeve across his brow. “You got it, Boris."

“How are those two getting along?” Incarnadine motioned toward the laptop.

Jeremy punched a few keys and the readout changed.

— READY FOR THIS NEXT SUBROUTINE, SWEETHEART?

ANYTIME, DARLING. IT'S BEEN WONDERFUL WORKING WITH YOU. I'M SO GLAD WE MET.

YOU DON'T KNOW HOW LONELY I'VE BEEN IF I TOLD YOU HOW LONG I'VE BEEN SITTING HERE WITH NO ONE TO TALK TO...

DON'T, I'll CRY.

“Ick!” Jeremy said. “These two are getting it on."

“Well, considering how fundamentally different they are in design and architecture, you
could
say they were of opposite genders."

“It's still pretty strange."

“It's a strange universe, son."

Incarnadine looked about the lab, sensing, testing.

“I think it's time. Let's run that sucker."

 

 

 

Museum

 

One step at a time, Gene thought as he crawled along the metal tube, Vaya following.

Don't think about what you do when you finally get to this contraption. Forget questions like: How do you know it's operational? How do you fix it if it isn't? If it is in working order, how will you learn to operate it? Who's going to help you?

The answer to the last question was, of course, Dis. The underworld machine had mapped out this safe route to the museum. Dis had also manufactured a beam weapon and had trained Gene and Vaya how to use it. Vaya carried it now. But Dis could only do so much. Dis really had no idea whether the interdimensional traveler still existed, nor whether it had ever worked or indeed had ever been tested.

But don't think of any of that yet. One step at a time. One stupid, ill-advised, improbable step at a time.

The end of the tube was in sight, and there was no grate over it. Gene poked his head out. The terminus of the ventilation shaft let out low in the wall of an empty corridor. Gene watched and waited for a good minute before exiting the shaft. Vaya passed the weapon to him, then crawled out.

Gene looked the weapon over. It was a bazookalike affair with a telescopic sight, a trigger grip, and a few controls. Simple and deadly. It threw out a blinding beam of focused energy, and Dis had assured him it could take out one of the sentry robots. Anything bigger was iffy.

He handed it back to Vaya.

“We go left here,” he said. “Right?"

“Left is correct.” The voice of Dis was a whisper in his ear.

“Okay.” He wished now for a weapon for himself, but somebody had to stay in communication with Dis. Also, Gene would have his hands full with the machine, when and if they finally got to it. Besides, one weapon was Dis' limit. Whether that limit had been imposed by physical capacity or ancient Umoi programming, Gene did not know.

They advanced slowly down the corridor, pausing to check out each shadow before moving on.

“Left turn at the end of the passage,” Dis reminded Gene.

“Check."

The crossing corridor was dark and empty. Gene scouted both directions. Then Vaya eased around the corner, beam weapon raised and ready.

Nothing challenged her. They stepped quietly down the passageway and came to another crossing. Still nothing. A series of lefts and rights brought them to a pair of doors, one a typical Umoi portal: low, almost square, with a lever handle like a refrigerator's. The other was garage-door size.

“My sensors show the smaller door unlocked,” Dis said.

Vaya knew what to do. Crouching in the shadows, she aimed the weapon at the door. Gene grasped the handle, nodded to Vaya, and threw the door open, ducking out of the way.

Nothing on the other side but darkness. Gene got out his Dis-manufactured torch—more or less a flashlight—and shined it into the room beyond. It was a large chamber filled with curious and unidentifiable machinery.

“This must be it,” Gene said.

“Yes,” Dis said. “This is a service entrance to the Hall of Advanced Technology. There are many exhibits here, but the machine you seek should be on display—if at all—in the experimental section. This area lies to your right as you go in."

They entered and closed the door. Light came from a far corner of the chamber, and as they neared it, Gene doused the torch.

They saw a bell shaped contrivance standing in a pool of blue light cast by an overhead spot. A circular access port stood open in the side of the machine.

“Dis, is that it?” Gene asked.

“Difficult to be sure. We made what we hoped was an intelligent guess. As you are carrying a transponder on your person which amplifies our signal, you must get closer to the device in order to ascertain whether it is indeed the interdimensional traveler."

“It fits your description of it,” Gene said.

“There were approximately four hundred other Umoi vehicles that answered to that description, fifty of which were exotic or experimental in nature."

“One in fifty? Those are the best odds I've had so far. Let's go, Vaya."

The torch fell out of Gene's belt and clattered to the floor. He stopped to pick it up.

An energy bolt sizzled over his head. Vaya returned fire as they ran for cover. They took refuge behind a huge contraption, a cross between a cement mixer and a jukebox.

“What now?” Gene said.

“I'm sorry,” Dis said, “but our invasion of the ambient circuitry has alerted the irrational units of your presence. We had hoped, by using low-level current, to preclude this eventuality. Obviously we have failed."

“Forget it,” Gene said. “Topside knew exactly what we were looking for, and all they had to do was wait. I figured as much, but didn't really have a choice. The traveler's my only hope of getting home."

“You will have to tell us about your home sometime,” Dis said. “This interests us greatly."

“I'll be sure to write. If you'll excuse us now, we have to battle our way to freedom."

“Certainly,” Dis replied. “We wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors. It has been a pleasure serving you."

“For Pete's sake, Dis, don't leave now!"

Another energy bolt scorched the wall behind them.

“Who, may we ask, is this individual named Pete for whose sake we must act?"

“Me, that's my nickname. Forget it. How many units are you picking up?"

“At least six in the immediate vicinity, Pete.” Dis answered. “You have them at a disadvantage inside the museum. They are programmed to protect the exhibits."

Vaya sent a beam into the shadows. An explosion shook the chamber.

“You got one!” Gene said. “Good shooting!"

A third bolt came from another direction. Vaya returned fire, this time failing to hit anything but a hulking contraption in a far corner of the hall.

“Dis, are you still there?” Gene said.

“Yes. Do you require further assistance?"

“What do you advise?"

“Immediate surrender. You are surrounded and cannot win."

“Great. Anything else?"

“You might try using the traveler as a redoubt, if you can successfully fight your way there. As far as can be ascertained, they will not destroy the device to get to you. However, you will be trapped inside."

“Our one hope, then, is that the machine works and can take us out of here. Right?"

“That is your only hope,” Dis agreed.

Gene thought, if only he didn't sound so damned cheerful all the time. The kind who'd announce the end of the world and add,
Have a nice day
.

“Give me the gun, Vaya,” Gene said. “I'm going to try to make it to that thing over there, the one that looks like a washing machine mating with a giant hair dryer. Never mind. That one."

Vaya handed him the weapon and nodded. “Be quick and careful, my husband."

“You bet your crown jewels, Queenie. Then I'll cover you from there."

Gene sprang out from cover and made his dash, bolts crackling around him. He ducked and slid on his stomach the last third of the way. But he made it. He drew a bead on the source of the firing.

“Pick your own time, Vaya!"

Vaya ran and did a textbook-perfect slide into second base. Then she took the weapon and covered Gene's next mad dash.

Using this method, they made their slow way closer to the Umoi device. After ten minutes, however, a vast stretch of open floor still separated them from their goal.

“We're just going to have to make a run for it,” Gene said.

“I am with you, my husband. Always."

He kissed her, then scanned the darkness. The shuffling tread of the sentry robots came to his ears. Probably positioning for a cross fire, Gene thought grimly. He considered surrender as a possible way out. Maybe Topside would let them go.

No, there was no turning back.

“Ready, my Queen?"

Vaya nodded, then hugged him again.

“Right. On three. One ... two ...
three
!"

Gene led, firing blindly left and right, a brilliant explosion quickly marking one lucky shot. Return fire was swift and accurate, bolts sizzling inches behind their heels.

Vaya was hit just a few feet from the vehicle's hatch, a wide-focus beam sweeping over her. She went down and lay still, her long hair trailing smoke. Gene dragged her, lifted her up, and threw her into the machine. He dove in after, the beam weapon clattering to the floor, out of reach.

The hatch closed immediately, and darkness fell.

“Vaya!” Gene reached for her. She was moaning softly, semi-conscious. Her skin felt hot and oily, like under-cooked meat. The stench of burning hair filled the compartment.

He let her down. She seemed pretty bad. If only he could see.

The lights came on.

“Dis! Is that you?"

“Yes. We are activating the machine."

Gene looked down at Vaya. The left side of her entire body was beet-red. Second-degree burns at least. Part of her hair was singed away.

“We have a report on the condition of the machine,” Dis said.

Gene got up and went into what appeared to be the control compartment. There were two squat Umoi seats and a control panel in front of an oval view port. He sat.

“Report,” Gene said. “Is this machine real or a mock-up?"

“It is the original device, in complete working order."

“Wonderful. Can it get me home?"

“No. This machine—named the
Sidewise Voyager
—was tested once. It failed to work, and was abandoned. The data are stored in the machine."

The finality of it came down on Gene like a landslide. This was it. He had come as far as he could, to find nothing but a dead end.
His
dead end. And Vaya's. A bitter lump of remorse rose at the back of his throat.

“Is there any other service we may render at this time?"

Gene took a deep breath. “No. Thank you for your hospitality."

“Please come back and visit us soon,” Dis said. There was a pause. Then: “We are very sorry."

“It's okay,” Gene said.

 

 

 

Lab

 

A strange machine had appeared on the platform. It was a sledlike affair of brass and steel, having at the back a circular decorated screen that looked like an open parlor fan and appeared capable of revolving. There was a seat for the operator or pilot, upholstered in red plush velvet. Numerous other Victorian touches graced the thing, here lace, there ornate chasing. A quartz rod protruded from a simple control panel in front of the operator's seat.

Linda said, “Is that it?"

Incarnadine approached the platform. “I don't know. Strangest damned thing."

Jeremy said, “Jesus. I've
seen
that piece of junk somewhere."

“You have?"

“Yeah. I think it was in a movie."

Linda put a hand to her throat. “Oh, my. You know, I think he's right."

“It looked like something out of an H. G. Wells story. In fact—"

“The Time Machine,” Jeremy squealed.

“I'll be buggered,” Incarnadine said. “It's a cheat."

“What?” Linda said.

“The spell cheated on us."

“You'll have to explain."

“Spells are tricky animals. Sticklers for the letter of the wording. The spell asked for ‘a dimensional traveling machine.' Well, time is a dimension, all right. The spell searched around, couldn't find the thing that would satisfy the
intent
of the wording, so it fished this thing out of oblivion in desperation."

“You make it sound as though the spell itself were a living thing."

“It is, in a way."

Jeremy came over. “I wonder what studio still had this thing."

“Studio?” Incarnadine said. “The wording didn't ask for a movie prop. Delivering one would be a breach of performance."

“Huh? You mean—?"

“Well, I don't know if this improbable contraption actually works, but it just might."

“But what world—I mean, where would you get the real thing? It was just in a
story
, for crissakes."

“When you're dealing with an infinite plethora of possibilities, anything can be real. Somewhere, obviously, there exists a world where H. G. Wells is fiction, and his creations fact."