He was having afterthoughts about his plans. Perhaps he should give up his idea of tricking Red Orc out of hiding. Some things were worth chancing, but with the police actively looking for him, and his and Anana’s features in every home in California, he did not want to attract any attention at all. Besides, the idea had been one of those wild hares that leaped through the brier patches of his mind. It was fantastic, too imaginative, but for that very reason might have succeeded. Not now, though. The moment he put his plan into action, he would bring down Orc’s men and the police, and Red Orc would not come out himself because he would know where Kickaha was.
“Put on the dark glasses now,” he said. “Enough time has gone by that nobody’d get suspicious and connect us with the pictures.”
“You don’t have to explain everything,” she said sharply. “I’m not as unintelligent as your Earthwomen.”
He was silent for a moment. Within a few minutes, so many events had dropped on his head like so many anvils. He wanted desperately to pursue the question of the origin and nature of this universe, but there was no time. Survival, finding Wolff and Chryseis, and killing the Beller, these were the important issues. Just now, survival was the most demanding.
“We’ll pick up some more luggage,” he said. “And the bell, too. I may be able to use it later, who knows?”
He paid the bill, and they walked out. Ten minutes later, they had the bell. The metalworker had done a good enough job. The bell wouldn’t stand a close-up inspection by any Lord, of course. But at a reasonable distance, or viewed by someone unfamiliar with it, it would pass for the prized possession of a Beller. It was bell-shaped but the bottom was covered, was one and a half times the size of Kickaha’s head, was made of aluminum, and had been sprayed with a quick-dry paint. Kickaha paid the maker of it and put the bell in the hatbox he had gotten from the shop.
A half hour later they walked across MacArthur Park.
Besides the soap-box speakers, there were a number of winos, hippie types, and some motorcycle toughs. And many people who seemed to be there just to enjoy the grass or to watch the unconventionals.
As they rounded a big bush, they stopped.
To their right was a concrete bench. On it sat two bristly-faced, sunken-cheeked, blue-veined winos and a young man. The young man was a well-built fellow with long dirty blond hair and a beard of about three days’ growth. He wore clothes that were even dirtier and more ragged than the winos’.
A cardboard carton about a foot and a half square was on the bench by his side.
Anana started to say something, and then she stopped.
Her skin turned pale, her eyes widened, she clutched her throat, and she screamed.
CHAPTER SIX
The alarm embedded in her brain, the alarm she had carried since she had become an adult ten thousand years ago, was the only thing that could be responsible for this terror.
Nearness to the bell of a Beller touched off that device in her brain. Her nerves wailed as if a siren had been tied into them. The ages-long dread of the Beller had seized her.
The blond man leaped up, grabbed the cardboard box, and ran away.
Kickaha ran after him. Anana screamed. The winos shouted, and many people came running.
At another time, he would have laughed. He had originally planned to take his box and the pseudo-bell into some such place as this, a park where winos and derelicts hung out, and create some kind of commotion, which would make the newspapers. That would have brought Red Orc out of his hole.
Instead, he had stumbled across the real Beller.
If the Beller had been intelligent enough to cache his bell some place, he would have been safe. Kickaha and Anana would have passed him and never known.
Suddenly, he stopped running. Why chase the Beller, even if he could catch up with him? A chase would draw too much attention.
He took out the beamer disguised as a pen and set the little slide on its barrel for a very narrow flesh-piercing beam. He aimed it at the back of the Beller and, at that moment, as if the Beller realized what must happen, he dropped to the ground. His box went tumbling, he rolled away and then disappeared behind a slight ridge. Kickaha’s beam passed over him, struck a tree, drilled a hole into it. Smoke poured out of the bark. Kickaha shut the beamer off. If it was kept on for more than a few seconds, it needed another powerpack.
The Beller’s head popped up, and his hand came out with a slender dark object in it. He pointed it at Kickaha, who leaped into the air sideways and at the same time threw the hatbox away. There was a flash of something white along the box, and the box and its contents, both split in half, fell to the ground. The hatbox burst into flames just before it struck.
Kickaha threw himself onto the ground and shot once. The grass on the ridge became brown. The next instant, the Beller was shooting again. Kickaha rolled away and then was up and away, zigzagging.
Anana was running toward him, her hand held up with the huge ring pointed forward. Kickaha whirled to aid her and saw that the Beller, who had retrieved the cardboard box, was running away again. Across the grass toward them, from all sides, people were running. Among them were two policemen.
Kickaha thought that his antics and those of the Beller must have seemed very peculiar to the witnesses. Here were these two youths, each with a box, pointing ballpoint pens at each other, dodging, ducking, playing cowboy and Indian. And the woman who had been screaming as if she had suddenly seen Frankenstein’s monster was now in the game.
One of the policemen shouted at them.
Kickaha said, “Don’t let them catch us! We’ll be done for! Get the Beller!”
They began running at top speed. The cops shouted some more. He looked behind him. Neither had their guns out, but it would not be long before they did.
They were overtaking the Beller, and the policemen were dropping behind. He was breathing too hard, though.
Whatever his condition, the Beller’s was worse. He was slowing down fast. This meant that very shortly he would turn again, and Kickaha had better be nimble. In a few seconds, he would have the Beller within range of the beamer, and he would take both legs off. And that would be the end of possibly the greatest peril to man, other than man himself, of course.
The Beller ran up concrete steps in a spurt of frantic energy and onto the street above. Kickaha slowed down and stopped before ascending the last few steps. He expected the Beller to be waiting for his head to appear. Anana came up behind him then. Between deep gasps, she said, “Where is he?”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here,” he said.
He turned and left the steps to run crouching across the steep slope of the hill. When he was about forty feet away from the steps, he got down on his belly and crawled up to the top of the slope. The Beller would be wondering what he was doing. If he were intelligent, he would know that Kickaha wasn’t going to charge up and over the steps. He’d be looking on both sides of the steps for his enemy to pop up.
Kickaha looked to his right. Anana had caught on and was also snaking along. She turned her head and grinned at him and waved. He signaled that they should both look over the edge at the same time. If the Beller was paralyzed for just a second by the double appearance, and couldn’t make up his mind which one to shoot first, he was as good as dead.
That is, if the cops behind them didn’t interfere. Their shouts were getting louder, and then a gun barked and the dirt near Kickaha flew up.
He signaled, and they both stuck their heads up. At that moment, a gun cracked in the street before them.
The Beller was down on his back in the middle of the street. There was a car beside him, a big black Lincoln, and several men were about to pick the Beller up and load him into the car. One of the men was Kleist.
Kickaha swore. He had run the Beller right into the arms of Orc’s men, who were probably cruising this area and looking for a man with a big box. Or maybe somebody had—oh, irony of ironies!—seen Kickaha with his box and thought he
was the Beller!
He gestured at Anana and they both jumped up and ran off toward the car. More shouts but no shots from the policemen. The men by the limousine looked up just as they hurled the limp form of the Beller into the car. They climbed in, and the car shot away with a screaming of burning rubber into the temporarily opened lane before it.
Kickaha aimed at the back of the car, hoping to pierce a tire or to set the gasoline tank on fire. Nothing happened, and the car was gone yowling around a corner. His beamer was empty.
There was nothing to do except to run once more, and now the policemen would be calling in for help. The only advantage for the runners was the very heavy rush hour traffic. The cops wouldn’t be able to get here too fast in automobiles.
A half hour later, they were in a taxi, and, in another twenty minutes, they were outside a motel. The manager looked at them curiously and raised his eyebrows when he saw no luggage. Kickaha said that they were advance agents for a small rock group and their baggage was coming along later. They’d flown in on fifteen minutes’ notice from San Francisco.
They took the keys to their room and went down the court and into their room. Here they lay down on the twin beds and, after locking the door and pushing the bureau against it, slept for fifteen minutes. On awakening, they took a shower and put their sweaty clothes back on. Following the manager’s directions, they walked down to a shopping area and purchased some more clothes and necessary items.
“If we keep buying clothes and losing them the same day,” Kickaha said, “we’re going to go broke. And I’ll have to turn to robbery again.”
When they returned to the motel room, he eagerly opened the latest copy of the Los Angeles Times to the personals column. He read down and then, suddenly, said, “Yay!” and leaped into the air. Anana sat up from the bed and said, “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing’s the matter! This is the first good thing that’s happened since we got here! I didn’t really believe that it’d work! But he’s a crafty old fox, that Wolff! He thinks like me! Look, Anana!”
He shoved the paper at her. Blinking, she moved away so she could focus and then slowly read the words:
Hrowakas Kid. You came through. Stats. Wilshire and San Vicente. 9 P.M. C sends love.
Kickaha pulled her up off the bed and danced her around the room. “We did it! We did it! Once we’re all together, nothing’ll stop us!”
Anana huged and kissed him and said, “I’m very happy. Maybe you’re right, this is the turning point. My brother Jadawin! Once I would have tried to kill him. But no more. I can hardly wait.”
“Well, we won’t have long to wait,” he said. He forced himself to become sober. “I better find out what’s going on.”
He turned the TV on. The newscaster of one station apparently was not going to mention them, so Kickaha switched channels. A minute later, he was rewarded.
He and Anana were wanted for questioning about the kidnapping of Kleist. The manager of the motel in which Kleist had been tied up had described the two alleged kidnappers. Kleist himself had made no charges at first, but then Cambring’s body had been found. The police had made a connection between Cambring and Kickaha and Anana because of the ruckus at the La Brea Tar Pits. There was also an additional charge: the stealing of Cambring’s car.
Kickaha did not like the news, but he could not help chuckling a little because of the frustration that Red Orc must feel. The Lord would have wanted some less serious charge, such as car stealing, but on such as kidnapping, he might not be able to get them released.
These charges were serious enough, though not enough to warrant their pictures and descriptions on TV newscasts. What made this case so interesting was that the fingerprints of the male in the case had checked out as those of Paul Janus Finnegan, an ex-serviceman who had disappeared in 1946 from his apartment in Bloomington, Indiana, where he had been attending the university.
Twenty-four years later, he had showed up in Van Nuys, California, in very mysterious or questionable circumstances. And this was the kicker according to the newscaster—Finnegan was described by witnesses as being about twenty-five, yet he was fifty-two years old!
Moreover, since the first showing of his picture over TV, he had been identified as one of the men in a very mysterious chase in MacArthur Park.
The newscaster ended with a comment supposed to be droll. Perhaps this Finnegan had returned from the Fountain of Youth. Or perhaps the witnesses may have been drinking from a slightly different fountain.
“With all this publicity,” Kickaha said, “we’re in a bad spot. I hope the motel manager didn’t watch this show.”
It was eight thirty. They were to meet Wolff at nine at Stats Restaurant on Wilshire and San Vicente. If they took a taxi, they could get there with plenty of time to spare. He decided they should walk. He did not trust the taxis. And while he would use them if he had to, he saw no reason to take one just to avoid a walk. Especially since they needed the exercise.
Anana complained that she was hungry and would like to get to the restaurant as soon as possible. He told her that suffering was good for the soul and grinned as he said it. His own belly was contracting with pangs, and his ribs felt more obtrusive than several days ago. But he was not going to be rushed into anything if he could help it.
While they walked, Kickaha questioned her about Red Orc and the “alleged” creation of Earth.
“There was the universe of the Lords in the beginning, and that was the only one we knew about. Then, after ten thousand years of civilization, my ancestors formulated the theory of artificial universes. Once the mathematics of the concept was realized, it was only a matter of time and will until the first pocket universe was made. Then the same ‘space’ would hold two worlds of space-matter, but one would be impervious to the inhabitants of the other, because each universe was ‘at right angles to the other.’ You realize that the term ‘right angles’ does not mean anything. It is just an attempt to explain something that can really only be explained to one who understands the mathematics of the concept. I myself, though I designed a universe of my own and then built it, never understood the mathematics or even how the world-making machines operated.
“The first artificial universe was constructed about two hundred years before I was born. It was made by a group of Lords—they did not call themselves Lords then, by the way—among whom were my father Urizen and his brother Orc. Orc had already lived the equivalent of two thousand Terrestrial years. He had been a physicist and then a biologist and finally a social scientist.
“The initial step was like blowing a balloon in non-space. Can you conceive that? I can’t either, but that’s the way it was explained to me. You blow a balloon in non-space. That is, you create a small space or a small universe, one to which you can ‘gate’ your machines. These expand the space next to, or in, the time-space of the original universe. The new world is expanded so that you can gate even larger machines into it. And these expand the universe more, and you gate more machines into the new larger space.
“From the beginning of this making of a new world, you have set up a world which may have quite different physical ‘laws’ than the original universe. It’s a matter of shaping the space-time-matter so that, say, gravity works differently than in the original world.
“However, the first new universe was crude, you might say. It embodied no new principles. It was, in fact, an exact imitation of the original. Well, not exact in the sense that it was not a copy of the world as it was but as it had been in our past.”
“The copy was this—my—world?” Kickaha said. “Earth’s?”
She nodded and said, “It—this universe—was the first. And it was made approximately fifteen thousand Earth years ago. This solar system deviated only in small particulars from the solar system of the Lords. This Earth deviated only slightly from the native planet of the Lords.”
“You mean …?”
He was silent while they walked a half block, then he said, �
�So that explains what you meant when you said this world was fairly recent. I knew that that could not be so, because potassium argon and xenon-argon dating prove irrefutably that this world is more than four and a half billion years old, and hominid fossils have been found which are at least one million seven hundred and fifty thousand years old. And then we have carbon-14 dating, which is supposed to be accurate up to fifty thousand years ago, if I remember that article correctly.
“But you’re saying that the rocks of your world, which were four and a half billion years old, were reproduced in this universe. And so, though they were really made only fifteen thousand years ago, they would seem to be four and a half billion years old.
“And we find fossils which prove indubitably that dinosaurs lived sixty million years ago, and we find stone tools and the skeletons of men who lived a million years ago. But these were duplicated from your world.”
“That is exactly right,” she said.
“But the stars!” he said. “The galaxies, the super-novas, the quasars, the millions, billions of them, billions of light-years away! The millions of stars in this galaxy alone, which is one hundred thousand light-years across! The red shift of light from galaxies receding from us at a quarter of the speed of light and billions of light-years away! The radio stars, the—my God, everything!”
He threw his hands up to indicate the infinity and eternity of the universe. And also to indicate the utter nonsense of her words. “This universe is the first and the largest, of the artificial ones,” she said. “Well, not the largest, the second one was just as large. Its diameter is three times that of the distance from the sun to the planet Pluto. If men ever build a ship to voyage to the nearest star, they will get past the orbit of Pluto and then to a distance twice that of Pluto from the sun. And then …”
“Then?”
“And then the ship will enter an area where it will be destroyed. It will run into a—what shall I call it?—a force field is the only term I can think of. And it will disappear in a blaze of energy. And so will any other ship, or ships, coming after it. The stars are not for men. Mainly because there are no stars.”
The World of Tiers Volume Two: Behind the Walls of Terra, the Lavalite World, Red Orc's Rage, and More Than Fire Page 10
