by Pam Uphoff
He stood and looked around, walked away from the glowing hole. "Looks like an ordinary warehouse." He raised his voice, looking down into the Lincoln bedroom. "Can you hear me?" He put a hand to his ear. Frankie and the soldier next to him both shook their heads.
The soldier tossed something to him, its trajectory bent in mid-flight as the direction of gravity shifted. He caught it. Radio. "Can you hear me?" Nothing but static in return. He shook his head and turned to walk toward the warehouse doors. A scramble behind him was the SF coming through. Frankie was on their heels, cameras in hand and on shoulder.
The SF beat him to the doors. They checked around the outside, and then opened it a crack to look outside. Frankie extended a lens and optic fiber combination over their heads and Marsden looked over his shoulder at the little screen. A quiet street, no cars or traffic. A warehouse across the street had its door open, crates and wooden barrels in evidence.
A car drove down the street toward them. Unfamiliar model, Chrysler symbol in the middle of a small grill. It whined passed the door.
"Electric," Frankie breathed. "We ain't in Kansas, Toto. Chrysler dropped all their electrics five years ago."
"The driver was male, and looked to be wearing a shirt and tie. How about I take a little stroll?" Marsden grinned. "I'd love to pick up a newspaper. Wait, what about radio? Have you got anything that can pick up a radio station?"
They all looked at him blankly. He wrote a note and tossed it through the hole in the wall. He could feel the pull . . . Sooner or later he was going to get too close and take a header through it. "That would take care of worrying about retirement." He watched the people scrambling around sideways until Tiny showed up with his hands full of things and climbed through with a grin. He picked himself up off the floor.
"That first step is a doozy. Three radios, with recorders. Portable TV. All battery operated."
They obviously used the same protocol for TV. Station three came in clear as a bell. With a strange show he never heard of. He clicked through the dial and found shows he knew well, re-runs, one an episode of a mystery he'd swear he'd never seen before. They set the radios to three different stations, and kept them far enough apart to not interfere with the recordings. More cars drove by. Several were old and burned gasoline. The trucks were all diesel. Pedestrians, one in grimy tee and chinos, one in white shirt, loosened tie and dark slacks. It looked just like home. A car turned into their parking lot and they were all suddenly moving. Radios and recorders, TV and people all through the rabbit hole. Marsden bounced off the bed (sacrilege!) and down to the floor.
"All right, nobody look up, nobody says a thing." The Director glared around, then stepped out of the room.
The ladders were already gone, and most of the people cleared out. Marsden ground his teeth in frustration, to keep from glancing up, and finally walked out of the room. Everyone was next door, watching through the hole on TV. There were four men pointing through the hole and laughing about something. One of them turned around and dropped his trousers and wagged his butt at the two guards left in the room.
"I left a tiny spy cam recording over there. Only six hours of battery. Hopefully we can go back over soon."
Marsden nodded thoughtfully and walked out. A short search located Wolfson and his attached marine. "We're pretending we haven't located the hole, and we're ignoring the people looking out at us. I'd like to see their reactions to seeing you in custody."
Wolfson grinned. "Tey'll bust a gut laughing. Whatever you do Hansen, don't look up. Tey might start shooting, if they are discovered."
He slumped a bit and let Hansen push him through the door. "Yeah, this is the room with the Gate. We sort of tumbled through and hit the bed." He gestured at bed and floor. "Then the floor. The gate should be right over here." He started running his hands over the wall and stepped back, baffled. "I was sure it would be right there." He got a bit of whine in his voice.
Two men hustled in, grabbed him and hustled him back out. "The Director didn't give you permission to bring him here . . . " the spokesman let the tirade trail off as they left. Back in the TV room, the four men could be seen, holstering pistols and looking disappointed.
"Ouch! Didn't tink tey'd risk teir invisibility just to get me."
The Director eyed him. "So you know them?"
"Fur better or worse. Left to right, may I introduce Tyrone Westerly, dumb muscle. Greg Neartione, smart arrogant muscle. Geotakis and Enocrates, vicious muscle, well trained on modern weapons systems. T'five guys you've got in jail, I hope, are two of Westerly's cousins, and tree more greekish guys. T'leader is Rior Withione and Jade Ultradaut. Got a couple dozen others, too."
Frankie was practically hopping up and down, grinning.
"Who turned you on?" Marsden asked.
"Fatty! For gods sake. That's a whole other World! We can explore it . . . "
Wolfson interrupted. "Sensibly, please. No raiding. There’s plenty of empty Worlds, no people. Grab them, don't start wars."
"Who's going to stop us?" The Director asked.
"Me. T'Dimension Cops. Tere's more empty Worlds tan ones with people. One parallel World will double your natural resources. Untouched. Tat World, they've already got all t'gold in California, and t'diamonds in South Africa. And they shut back."
"Shoot back. Yes." The Director nodded thoughtfully. "Well, Mr. Wolfson, we need to know specifically what they were after here. Spike their plans, and then figure out how to make these holes ourselves. In case they attack again."
Wolfson nodded. "We have an Embassy planet, come and set up there. Set up trade, and we can arrange for a gate to an Empty World all your own. Tis gang, tat we know of, tey have people from all four of t'Worlds that have discovered dimensional travel, and a couple that don't. Tey are not connected to the government in tat World, no blame tere. Criminal gang. Question is, what'd tey want here? How tey find out about it? Or if tey were hired, by who, and how tat who know tis dimension if you not do tem?" He drummed his fingers. "I don't like tis, too much like t'start of a cross dimensional invasion. May I question your prisoners?"
The Director ignored the question. "Do you get many invasions?"
"Yus. Usually an advanced planet invading primitives. One bad one, weird situation, was advanced against advanced. Tens of millions killed. All we could do was evac most of a planet to Empty Worlds. Almost got myself killed tat time. Tese Greek sounding guys are very very bad." He bit his lip. "An embassy pretty quick might be a good idea." He frowned back at the TV. The people were moving about, ignoring the hole now.
"Can you get home?"
"Not easily. I can make gates, but I can't see where they’re going. Blind luck would get me tere eventually. Others can see where they're going. I need to try to attract teir attention. Somehow." He glowered at the TV, as the four men walked out.
Frankie bounced out to fetch his spy cam and replace it with another.
Teams had been assembling, and as soon as the SF gave the all clear, they swarmed through to photograph every scrap of paper in the place.
Frankie's recording was quite clear. The people on the other side laughed to see Wolfson handcuffed to the marine, then one said he could escape any time he wanted, why was he cooperating. Another said something about a silver tongued devil, and warning the natives. At which point they decided to kill him.
They grumbled when the two Secret Service got in the way.
Splitting his attention between the recording and the live shot through the hole, Marsden saw four men in plain clothes climbing through and exiting the warehouse. "Drat, my only chance to look around just got usurped."
The Director snorted. "Now that we've had to accept the improbable, why don't you take Mr. Wolfson to question our other prisoners."
"Right. Private Hansen . . ." Marsden looked around at the Director. "Can we dispense with the handcuffs?"
"Yes, but keep Hansen."
Chapter Three
Wolfson looked at their three prisoners wit
h resignation. "Killed t'only two with any brains, unfortunately. Mnason’s going to be a problem. Well, let's start with Lew und Eddi,"
"Alone or together?"
"One at a time, I think. Then maybe trow, throw, them together—can we listen in?"
"Certainly." Tiny slopped off to arrange it, and a moment later they were all in a small dark room watching.
Lew Westerly was the first one in. He roamed nervously, looked at the one way glass and slicked his hair back.
Marsden walked in first. Lew sized him up, then his eyes opened wide as he spotted Wolfson. "Sen! Sen you gotta get me outta here, away from dese natives. Dell kill me."
Wolfson shook his head. "Lew . . . why de hell do ya keep doing what Tyroon tells ya? He is gun git ya killed. An Rior don care. Wut does he wanna seal dis time, eh?"
"Jest pitchures onna wall. Goota be fast e said. Ya ruint it all."
"Naow kidding." Wolfson shook his head. "Wull, ya dint kill anyone here, zo I’ll see wut I kin do, ya sit tight."
"Wut about Eddy?"
"E wull be all right. I’ll zee of I kin lit ya zee im."
"An get us out o'here. Tell Morty, eel geet us out."
Wolfson walked out without saying anything else.
"The other one's over here." Tiny pointed the them to the next room.
Eddy was wild-eyed and pacing. He threw himself on Wolfson. "Weres Lew! Tay me Lew's all right."
"Lew's fine. Relast. Wut the hell were ya tinking? Tat was a big guvernment palace ya were bricking into. Who is Rior and his sassins going to kill?"
Eddy drew back in shock. "No, no, no. We ain’t no murders. We were jist gone take pitcures an stuff."
Wolfson shook his head. "I just had a chat wit that Helios Cannibal, Mnason, he’s got another idea."
Eddy's eyes got round. "Aww, look, Sen, we old buddies, ya wurk wit Mortimer, yah, zee, ya get is outta here and we, uh, we . . . "
"You’ll wut? Turn on Rior and Jade? Ya, I believe tat wen I zee it." He shook his head. "I tink you can zee Lew fer a few mins, ten I gotta go zee wut ter doing to t’Helaos."
"Wut you mean, wut are te doing?" He paled as Wolfson hunched his shoulders defensibly.
"This isn't hoom. The Police are different."
Eddy paled and shot nervous glances at Hansen, looming in the background. The big man cracked his knuckles.
Then a couple of jailers walked in. "The warden says you can have five minutes with your brother. That's it." They led him out the far door, and Marsden, Wolfson and Hansen hustled to the observation room.
The brothers grabbed each other in relief, then started babbling, yelling, feeding each other's panic, and added absolutely nothing new.
Wolfson shook his head. "If they’re planning anything but a robbery, these two don’t know it. But I wouldn't tell them my plans. Idiots.
"Less see Mnason, he's not smart, but he's a trained soldier. You stay awake, Hansen."
The jailers took the brothers away, and returned, with reinforcements and the third prisoner. They left his handcuffs on and kept their eyes on him as they left the room. Their actions spoke volumes about the differences in behavior of the three men. Mnason, as Wolfson called him, looked narrowly around the room. He gave the mirror a cold, knowing look and sat down with his back to them.
Marsden led the way again. The man sized him up with contempt, leaving him with the feeling that he'd been judged as not worth eating by a man-eating tiger. When Wolfson ducked through the door, the prisoner's eyes narrowed and he froze, not moving at all, save for a flick of a glance at Hansen.
But he was sweating. Marsden felt his stomach curdling as he realized it was an expression of hatred, not nerves or fear.
Wolfson walked around to the far side of the table, and looked the man up and down in satisfaction. He purred something in a foreign language, and Marsden could hear the satisfaction in his voice. The only word he understood was 'President'.
The prisoners fingers tightened their grip on the table edge, and he growled a reply.
"Cannibal." Wolfson's voice dripped scorn as he continued in the foreign language.
Mnason's eyes dropped to Wolfson's left hand, making slight movements, and he interrupted with a smirking comment.
Wolfson nodded, and showed his teeth in something that was only superficially like a smile, as he replied. He sat down opposite the prisoner, put his elbows on the table and stared at the prisoner for a long five minutes, before he sat back with a scowl. "Damn yur scrambled brains." He added something in the foreign language.
The foreign language exchange continued for another half hour, sounding like a negotiation. Then Xen shrugged and stood up.
"That’s enough for now."
Marsden rapped on the outside door, and it was unbolted for them. The prisoner sat without moving while they left.
"I'll translate t’recordings, but he claims he didn't know anything specific beyond an art theft either."
"And if that was what they wanted, why not a museum?" Hansen asked. "Gotta be easier."
Wolfson and Marsden both nodded.
***
Wolfson's translations were compared with the greek speaker's attempts and found to match where the greek professor had been able to tease out root words and a few specifics.
"This merge you two had the spat over must have been a beauty." The director looked thoughtfully at the tall alien.
"I only hope whatever started the situation is at least rare, preferably unique."
"Do you have any suggestions about how we should proceed?" The Director leaned back in his chair.
"What I would like to do is contact my colleagues. The easiest way would be to pop back through their corridor and see if any of them are handy. If we could get one of the experts to make a gate of our own, we – well, you – could investigate the possibility that the government on the other side is planning to attack you." He tapped his fingers on the polished table. "You see, if they don't have gate tech, we'd just as soon shut the gang down quietly, so the government doesn't get gate tech."
Marsden nodded. "And you'd just as soon we didn't either."
"Yes, but, the location of that corridor indicates probably aggressive plans. You lot haven't shown any such. So, better you than them, and if they have it, you need it for parity to help make an attack look like a really bad idea."
The Director snorted. "So, all you want is for us to let you go?"
Wolfson grinned. "Yes. Hard decision. Wait long enough, my people will be investigating their Corridor and come through."
An aide slipped in and handed the Director a note. He tapped the table top and a wall display lit. It was Frankie's vid feed, looking up the hole.
"Oh, am I prescient, or what?"
A dozen plainly dressed people were spread out all over the warehouse in watchful, on-guard-duty type stances except for the young woman in slacks sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the Gate.
"Meet the Dimension Cops. Complete with The expert on gates. If you'd like to collaborate, this would be an easy opportunity to contact them. Whoops, maybe not. Oh, Damn! I hate missing a good ambush. Never mind, they just changed their minds." Xen frowned at the display. "I wonder how many of the bad guys are coming?"
The Dimension cops gave up their ambush positions, clustered and disappeared.
The next group to enter included the ones they'd seen before, more of them, and then some obvious military troops, armed and ready.
Xen shot to his feet. "Sir, I think I need to try to close that corridor right now."
"I don't know if we have enough time. It'll take us half an hour . . . "
"I can teleport. But I'd really prefer to not get shot, so if you could call ahead?"
"Can you take me with you?"
"Yes, that will work." Xen reached out to the Director's hand and disappeared, taking the head of the FBI with him.
They reappeared on the wall display, in the Lincoln Bedroom. The guards, distorted images around the e
dges of the wide lens, jumped but didn't shoot. Not so the people on the other side, who charged, firing as they spotted Wolfson.
Wolfson just stood there, both hands raised. The first soldier leaped for the hole and . . . the hole shrank and winked out.
Wolfson lowered his hands. "Well, that was easy. Unfortunately they can open a new corridor whenever they wish. Quicksilver is no doubt somewhere near on that side also working on it."
"Quicksilver?" The Director leaned over and picked something up off the bed.
"The young woman studying the gate. I suspect she felt me closing it, so I suspect she'll be along soon to see how much trouble I'm in."
Since their sudden appearance, the room had filled up with the Special Forces types who had been stationed there for the last . . . had it actually been four days since the aliens fell out of the ceiling?
"May I suggest, Director, that you locate a place you'd like to have a gate, and take me there? I'd guess Q will be building the gate within a day, and will use me as the local destination."
The screen's fidelity was excellent. Marsden clearly heard the Director's sigh. "You know, I used to think I was missing the excitement of front line field assignments." He handed the thing in his hand to one of the guards.
The guard raised an eyebrow. "Nine millimeter steel jacketed round. Identical to what we use, sir."
Xen nodded. "Recent split. I wonder when their Rain of Fire was?"
"Their . . . so things that happen here also happen there?"
"Umm, well, perhaps we have some time for history and multidimensional discussions." He looked around. "Do you want to go back to your conference room, sir?"
"Certainly. Wouldn't miss a good teleport for the . . . World."
The last word came from the man not the speakers. Marsden snorted. "Is it fun?"
