But no such luck.
“Jake, I have visually acquired our pursuers.”
“Damn.”
“Missile alert! Incoming! Take evasive action!”
I’d already taken it, panic-braking. The orchard had given way to a sort of wide esplanade lined with dark monuments leading diagonally off to the right. I barely managed the turn, scraping the side of the trailer against one of the huge metallic blocks. With any luck
There was a flash and an accompanying crump as the missile hit one of the monoliths. I was momentarily relieved for more than one reason—they hadn’t unleashed a barrage of missiles. They were probably low, trying to make each shot count, but they probably had at least one more to chuck at us.
I raced down the stone-paved esplanade. It flared into a circus, in the center of which stood a free-form sculpture done in twisted metal. I skirted that, roaring off the pavement and onto turf. Ahead was an obstacle course of monuments and other odd bric-a-brac, and on the other side lay a grouping of turquoise domes.
I dodged and weaved through the field of monuments—it was like a driver training course. Stray exciter bolts sizzled around us, but no missiles came our way. I made a lurching turn around the domes, coming to the foot of a low hill dotted with more orchard trees. There was nowhere to go but up, so I went, flooring the pedal and hitting the first tree dead on. Not much to these trees—it snapped, fell, and we steamed right over it. I wanted to leave as much debris behind as I could, so I started sideswiping them, getting them to fall and block our pursuers’ path. Branches scraped against the ports and crunched beneath the rear rollers. I tore the hell out of that goddamn hill. It would have been fun under other circumstances.
It wasn’t a big hill, and we were over the top quickly. Apparently the gun buggies were having a hard time getting up the slope. They hadn’t fired at us. There were no trees here on the other side, nothing but a gradual grade down to a flat meadow with no cover other than tall weedlike plants. It was a good hundred meters across to the edge of a thick forest. I hurried. We shot down the hill and bumped across level ground. I floored the pedal and cut a swath through the tall grass, scanning ahead to judge how thick the forest was and whether we could go crashing through or whether we had to turn and fight. I decided to risk more damage to the ecology and plunged the rig into the trees. This stuff was thicker. The cab shook with the impact. I heard a horrendous cracking, looked out and saw the right stabilizer foil fall away. But we didn’t stop. Trees fell in our path, branches slammed against the view ports. It was rough going. I got hung up a few times, but managed to get free and keep rolling. Momentum was on our side; also a 600 megadyne nuclear-fusion engine. We crashed out into a small clearing, and I paused to look about for a trail or a road. There was a tiny break in the tree line off to the right, so I headed for it, and it turned out to be the start of little more than a deer path. But it helped.
“Hope Smokey the Bear isn’t around,” Carl managed to say over the snapping, thumping, and banging.
“Who the hell is that?” I shouted.
“Forget it.”
The vegetation was not quite Earthlike, but not very exotic either, just more of thousands of variations I had seen on the basic theme of “tree.” These had drooping branches bright with feathery red and yellow leaves. There didn’t seem to be any wildlife about—nothing squawked or hooted disapproval at our intrusion, nothing bolted from cover to run for its life. I wondered if the whole planet were lifeless except for vegetation, Prime, we humans, and the White Lady.
We crashed out into the clear, and I stopped, slid back the port, and listened. No noise behind, nothing like two vehicles trying to follow our trace. They’d have a rough time getting around the tree stumps and other debris I’d left. Good. Better and better.
“We have sustained some damage, Jake,” Bruce informed me.
“I know. Anything critical?”
“All main systems seem to be functional. However, we have a hull breach in the trailer, and the right stabilizer foil has detached itself.”
“Yeah. So much for stability. Well, it could have been worse.”
“I must compliment you on your creative driving, Jake,” Bruce said.
“Thank you. I was inspired.”
I got moving, crossing a grassy field to the slope of a low rise. At the crest, I stopped. There was an abrupt transition in terrain beginning a few meters away. The grass petered out, giving way to dust and gravel. A few wiry bushes with brilliant pink blossoms dotted a parched landscape. An eroded butte ringed by mounds of talus lay about half a kilometer ahead. Near it sat a complex of buildings that looked like some sort of industrial facility.
“Interesting,” I said.
“There’s a road down by those buildings,” Carl said.
“Yeah. Good as any, I guess.”
I drifted down the hill and rolled out into the desert.
Carl gave a look out the port, checking the rearview parabolic mirror. “You think we lost ‘em?’
“I hope. Not much cover out here.”
It was pretty, though. The dust was red, the rocks coffeebeige, and the vegetation was in colorful bloom. The sky had turned a deeper shade of violet as the “sun” declined to our right, coaxing long shadows from outcroppings of rock and stunted, rough-barked trees.
“We should look for someplace to spend the night, a hideout of some sort,” I said.
“What about that place there?” Lori asked.
“I’d like to get some more distance between us and those gun buggies first,” I answered.
I hurried toward the thin green line of the road, bumping over rocks and fallen tree trunks, following the edge of a sinuous depression to our right that looked like a dry wash. Darla began, “Maybe we should—”
“Alert!” Bruce interrupted. “Bandits at six o’clock!”
The rearview screen showed two camouflage-painted buggies rushing down the hill.
“Fire rear exciters at will!” I shouted, mashing the power pedal.
“Affirmative. Have commenced firing.”
I weaved the rig back and forth, eyeing the terrain ahead for cover. There wasn’t much to eye. A few rock formations, low mounds, nothing elevated enough to completely hide the rig. Best we could do was to swing around and bring our forward guns to bear, hunkering down behind the crest of a ridge to present a low profile. Basic tank warfare in open country.
But they still had missiles, and one was coming our way. “Tracking multiple missiles,” Bruce said imperturbably. “Jake, you had better take cover. I can’t seem to knock any of them out.”
I had already steered sharply to the right, heading for the dry wash. If I could get down in there without wrecking us, and if the wash were deep enough, and if we could get back out of there, and if—We practically fell into the wash. The cab dropped, crashing to the stream bed, pulping our bones and teeth. I recovered quickly enough to floor the pedal and pull the cab away before the trailer flipped over. The accordion joints along the trailer groaned, bent to the failure point.
There was a crunching thud—the trailer falling in behind as I wheeled out into the dry wash, rollers jouncing over ruts and boulders. I heard a whoosh. A missile impacted about twenty meters downstream, throwing up a geyser of dust and rubble.
“Only one actual blip, Jake,” Bruce informed. “The others were electronically generated decoys. I’m very sorry to report that our defensive systems are not quite up to par.”
“They never were,” I said. “Can’t afford it.”
Now what? We were sitting ducks in this hole. I raced downstream, feeling the undercarriage whack against protruding boulders. I winced, hoping the rig would hold together. One hole or tear in a vital component and it would be over.
Farther downstream the channel widened and the height of the banks shrank to half a meter. I looked around, checked the parabolic. Nothing, so I wheeled to the right. Whump, bang, and the cab was up and out of the wash—crash, rep, the trailer
following. I cringed. Ohmygod, I thought, I’m going to cry when I look underneath the rig. If I ever get the chance.
We were out and exposed, but no more missiles came our way. Those buggies would have just as much trouble crossing the wash, so now was my chance to pack some distance between us and them.
“Jake,” Bruce said, “I’m getting a very unusual blip on the scanners. Airborne, descending and closing with us.”
Carl craned his neck, looking up. “See anything?” I asked.
“No … I—?” He froze. “Carl? What is it?”
He turned around. The color had drained out of his face. “Shit,” he said in a scared, half-audible whisper. “Shit!”
“What the hell is it, Carl?” I shouted.
He looked at me. His eyes were panicky, crazed. “Not again,” he said.
“Jesus Christ, Carl, what—” The rig left the ground.
I yelled. The engine quit, and a blood-freezing silence fell. The rig was taking off like a plane, nose high and soaring. I looked out the port. A huge black object, irregularly shaped, hovered above us. The angle was wrong to get a good view.
“Jake, what is it?” Darla screamed.
“I don’t know,” I said. “A craft. Sucking us up in some sort of gravitic beam.”
“Prime,” she said flatly.
“I guess.”
The object came into the forward ports as our angle of ascent steepened. The thing was rounded, bulbous in spots, and big. Other than that, it was almost featureless.
Carl was tugging futilely at the hatch lever—the master sealing circuit was on.
“I gotta get outta here,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Carl, take it easy. It’s probably Prime, picking us up.”
He tore off his harness and leaped at me, gabbing the front of my jacket with both hands. He shook me. “Open that fucking door, d’you hear? Open that door! I gotta get out! I gotta get outta here!” His face was contorted by blind fear, his eyes sightless, his lips the color of his face, a dead fish’s belly.
“Carl, what the hell’s wrong with you?” I snapped.
“You don’t understand, you don’t understand. That thing can’t get me again, I won’t let it, I gotta get outta here, I—” He let me go, wrenched around and stabbed at the instrument panel.
I unstrapped myself and seized both of his arms. “Carl, take it easy!”
He struggled free, turning around. He sent a haymaker at me, which I ducked. I closed with him and wrapped him up. We Indian wrestled for a moment, then he dragged me to the right. I tripped, falling between the front seats. Carl stepped over me and fled aft. I was in an awkward position and couldn’t get up immediately, my left foot wedged underneath the power pedal. I finally freed it and hauled myself up.
Carl was lying facedown on the deck. Darla stood over him. Lori, still strapped in, was in tears.
“Hope I didn’t hurt him,” Darla said. “Side neck chop.”
“You’re good at that,” I said. I went back and checked him. He wasn’t unconscious, just stunned. He writhed, groaning.
“He’ll be okay. You have a light touch.”
“What’s his problem?” I said.
“I think that thing up there is his flying saucer.”
12
I CLIMBED FORWARD—the rig was inclined at a sharp angle now. I sat in the driver’s seat and looked out. A large structure, part of the strange craft, loomed before us. It looked something like the neck of a bottle with an aperture like an iris. The aperture began dilating as we approached, soon widening enough to admit the truck. Which it did. We shot right in there. The aperture closed behind us, and we were in semidarkness.
The truck settled.
Prime’s voice boomed at us from the dark cavity ahead.
“I AM VERY DISPLEASED,” he said gravely. “IT SEEMS THAT YOU MAY NOT BE TRUSTED. VERY WELL, THEN. YOU HAVE FORCED ME TO TAKE HARSH MEASURES. PREPARE TO MEET YOUR DOOM!”
“Go to hell!” I shouted.
We heard an impish chuckle.
“JUST KIDDING!” came Arthur’s voice.
“What?” I rasped, switching the feed from my mike to the outside speakers. “Arthur! You son of a bitch, where the hell are you?”
“Now don’t get testy,” Arthur said, his voice at a lower volume. “Just having some fun. You ought to be grateful. I just saved your butt, you know.”
I exhaled, relief flooding over me. “You did?”
“You better believe it, dearie. That last missile had your number on it.”
“Oh,” I said. “There was one coming at us?”
“Right on target. Of course, I knocked it out before it got very far.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” Arthur said mockingly.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Hold on a minute.”
We waited. A minute later, Arthur came waddling out of the darkness. “Come on out,” he said.
Carl was sitting up. He looked embarrassed, still a little scared, and at least partially rational.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah. I…” He ran a hand over his face, and shook his head to clear it. “I don’t know what happened. Something snapped. I dunno.” He looked up. “I’m sorry,” he added, rubbing his neck.
“Forget it. Is this your flying saucer? The one that nabbed you?”
Carl got to his feet, came forward. “Looks like it. Same damn goofy-looking place.”
We got out. The chamber was like the inside of an egg flattened on the bottom. Behind the truck, the entrance had closed up into a puckered sphincter-valve affair. The room was uniformly constructed out of some dark material.
“Still angry?” Arthur asked, smirking.
“A little,” I said. “You do a good imitation of Prime.”
“Why, thank you, Jake,” Arthur said in Prime’s voice. “I plan to make a career in show business, you know.”
I looked around. “What now?”
Arthur shrugged. “What do you want to do?”
“You’re not taking us back to Emerald City?”
Arthur shook his head. “Not if you don’t want to go.”
I turned to Darla. “What do you think?”
Darla shook her head. “I don’t know, Jake. We’d probably be safer in Emerald City, but…”
“I don’t want to go,” I said. “But I have to find Sam. He’s got to be there somewhere.”
Arthur said, “Oh, Sam’s fine. I kind of like him. He’s your father, right? You know, he looks a lot like you.”
I must have looked as if I’d been hit with a power hammer. Arthur stared at me blankly for a second; then something dawned on him. “Oh, of course. You left before Sam…” He brought his four-fingered hand up and slapped his face. “Dearie me, I think I’ve made a boo-boo.”
“What are you saying?” I managed to get out.
“Um … I think I’d better take you back to Emerald City. Right now. Follow me.”
We followed him. Another sphincter-valve, this one much smaller than the first, was set into the far wall. It opened to admit us, and we went through into a curving tube-shaped corridor that bent to the right and led into a circular room. In the center was a high cylindrical platform on which rested a wedge-shaped box affair looking somewhat like a lectern. Arthur stood in front of it and began to slide his fingers across the box’s slanted top face. A control panel, I thought.
Nothing much happened. I didn’t feel any movement. I looked over Arthur’s shoulder. The triangular panel, made of the same dark material that the rest of the ship was composed of, was totally blank, yet Arthur seemed to know where to put his fingers.
“Want a view?” Arthur asked.
“Huh? Oh, yeah.”
The ship around us disappeared.
Darla squealed, and Lori fell to all fours. Carl jumped back, yelling, “Jesus Christ!” He stared unbelieving at his feet, beneath which was nothing but air.
I stared down, stamping my
right foot. The floor was still there—something was there, anyway. I turned around. And behind us, about ten meters away, flying along with us like a escorting fighter, was the truck.
We were soaring in open air about three hundred meters above the surface of Microcosmos. Arthur still had his hands extended over the now invisible control panel.
“Sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you. Let me opaque the ship’s mass a little.”
The walls and floor came back abruptly, then gradually faded to full transparency, but this time they looked like tinted glass.
“Do you have a sense of the ship around you now?” Arthur inquired.
“Yeah, better,” I said.
Lori got up. “I’m going crazy,” she declared. “I really think I’m gonna go completely bats.”
“Hang on, honey,” Darla said soothingly, putting an arm around her shoulders.
“Where did you get this … ship?” I asked.
“Belongs to Emerald City’s fleet,” Arthur told me. “It’s a spacetime ship. Goes anywhere, anytime. Zips you there real fast.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s probably the most advanced spacecraft ever built. Don’t ask me who built it. I’d break my jaw trying to pronounce the name.”
“Do you know how it works? What drives it?”
“Oh, quantum this, that, and the other thing. You really want me to go into it? You couldn’t understand it, anyway.”
“Forget it.”
The patchwork quilt of Microcosmos rolled beneath us. Our airspeed couldn’t have been much. Ahead, I could see the Emerald City atop its citadel, sparkling in the light of the setting sun.
Paradox Alley Page 11
