by Brian Lumley
shadows, mobile on the wall of the cave, as two armed, gas-masked men entered at the run. Silhouetted against the smoky lighting of the wire-mesh tunnel, Trask saw that they wore civilian clothing, the anonymous grey of CMI. As yet, however, they hadn’t seen him. Then .. .
… A third man, unmasked, joined them; and Trask froze as he heard this one say, ‘Okay, where are they?’ For it was a voice he recognized. A lot older than he remembered, true (of course it would be), but the same clipped, efficient, cynical and self-serving voice he had known all those years ago. Yet even though his talent told Trask it was so, still he had to be sure, even at the risk of life and limb. Which was why he waited with the door only half-closed, knowing that if they spotted him and started shooting - and if a few lucky rounds should get into the tube - then he’d be finished.
‘A bunch of them came running in here,’ a gruff, muffled voice answered the first. They can only be back there. If the three of us open up together, hose the place down, we’ll probably get them all. And remember, our orders concerning the one called Nathan are clear: we’re to kill him. If the others get taken out in the process, so what?’
‘I don’t much care about the others,’ that eager, oh so well-remembered voice snarled in return. ‘But as for the alien - my orders are to take him alive! Now cover me …’ The owner of the voice crouched down and came loping through the writhing smoke into the cave, following the course of the sluice. Trask had his machine-pistol, and it was still cocked. Apply a gentle pressure to the trigger . .. this one would bother him no more. But he couldn’t do it, even though he now knew who or what he was dealing with. For if Harry Keogh had spared this man - despite all he’d done or tried to do to him - who was Trask to take his life?
And still he waited.
Tendrils of smoke cleared, and now the man was only a few paces away. Trask’s eyes were accustomed to the gloom; he looked, saw, knew that he was right. And at the same time the man spotted him on all-fours in the airlock. Their
76
77
eyes met, narrowed, bridged a gap of years. And Trask remembered again that scene in the garden of the old house outside Edinburgh:
The Necroscope, Harry Keogh, monstrous in his drooling, halloween, halogen lantern-eyed Wamphyri mode, holding in one hand a small, thin, dried-up, withered-looking prune of a man … called Geoffrey Paxton/
Paxton the mind-flea, an E-Branch telepath, but treacherous to a fault; indeed, to every fault in the book! He had been maybe twenty-seven then, was in his early forties now. But while the weaselish face and eyes — and certainly the voice — were the same, Paxton’s body appeared to have undergone something of a metamorphosis of its own. Deprived by the Necroscope of his telepathy, Paxton had had to develop other talents, not mental or parapsychological but physical. Forced to work for a living, he’d been obliged to become more nearly the man. And Trask thought, Why, he’s looking in good shape! His body, at least. ..
But the mind was the same as ever. Still devious, still full of hatred, still lusting after revenge. Revenge against Harry Keogh … or his heirs! And once again Trask recognized the truth of it, and as easily as that the mystery was solved. Paxton of CMI! Sixteen years it had taken him to get in shape, climb to the top, become a high-ranking officer in the Department of Dirty Tricks. And all that time he’d been watching E-Branch and waiting, always waiting.
Vindictive? God, yes, he was! Trask thought. But as vindictive as this? To have worked all these years for this? Or was there more to it than simple revenge on Harry Keogh and whoever followed after him? Harry had considered Paxton a mind-flea, an irritation, an itch he couldn’t scratch without surrendering to the monstrous parasitic Thing inside him, whose prime objective had been to make him Wamphyri. But in the end he’d found a way, had entered Paxton’s mind and made a few adjustments there. So that when at last he’d scratched the telepathic itch, Paxton’s talent was no more. The Necroscope had erased it.
Trask knew how he would feel if he were suddenly robbed of his talent: he would want it back. And Paxton? Did he want his telepathy back? Or did he want more — a whole lot more — than that? As an esper with E-Branch he had read the Keogh files, of course. And he’d been right there at the finish, during Harry’s last days in this world.
So … Paxton had known the Necroscope’s capabilities; indeed, he’d experienced Harry’s talents first-hand. He knew about the Mobius Continuum (Harry had taken him there, to the most private place in or out of the world, where he had fixed his mind), and about Sunside/Starside, the vampire world. At the end, he’d known too that Harry was a vampire. One of the undead -but the only one who could talk to the truly dead. The only one in the world, yes …
… At that time.
But now there was another, Nathan. And Paxton knew about him, too. Thrown out of E-Branch, the ex-esper had wormed his way into CMI, which with the exception of the Branch was the last of the covert government intelligence agencies. And he’d done it specifically to keep a watch on the mindspies. For if there was a way — any way at all - for Paxton to get his telepathy back, it would have to be through Trask’s E-Branch. And if there was a chance to add to that talent or enhance it.. .? Then be sure he would take it.
Well, and now his time had come; opportunity had knocked at last. Perhaps this son of Harry Keogh could put right what his vampire father had put wrong. But that wasn’t the end of it by a long shot, for it was also Paxton’s chance to take his revenge! Right here and now, looking at the man face to face, Trask knew the truth of it: that that was exactly how it was. Paxton would use Nathan if he could, and if he couldn’t he’d kill him. Trask knew it, yes …
… And Paxton knew he knew.
To recognize and evaluate Paxton had taken only a second, and a lot less than that to forecast his reaction. Next to the Necroscope himself, Trask had been Paxton’s worst enemy. Obviously he still was. So that, as the ex-
79
78
telepath swung his weapon towards the airlock and squeezed the trigger, Trask was already closing the door on himself and yanking the handles to lock. He heard only the start of it as the cavern filled with the lunatic chatter of sudden death, but certainly he knew when the door itself was hit: the clamour was deafening as bullets flattened themselves on steel only a few inches from his face.
Trask pushed at the shut door and slid backwards down the smooth bore of the tube a few inches until eager hands grabbed his legs and pulled him through. The tube was about seven feet long, the thickness of the concrete wall, and fitted with handles at the sides to give purchase. Trask supposed that the airlock would be the weakest part of the system. The doors could be blown off. It wouldn’t take Paxton long to cut or blast his way through.
Nathan, Chung and Anna Marie were waiting with the three remaining cavers. In the white, artificial light of the inner cave, the faces of all six looked drawn, their features etched in fear. And looking at them, Trask thought: Only one way out now. But again Nathan had been listening.
‘I can still take you somewhere else,’ he said. ‘It would only take a moment to set you down in Edinburgh or Hartlepool. Or the Greek Islands, if you like!’
Trask shook his head. ‘Son, we all have our talents. Anna Marie, Chung, myself and you. Especially you. Well, lan Goodly is talented, too, and I trust him as well as I trust myself. If he says I have no immediate future here, then obviously I can’t stay here. And anyway, can’t you see what a strange thing that was for him to say? No “immediate” future? Does that mean there is a future for Chung and me, but a distant one? And does that mean we’re to make our way to Sunside/Starside, and then return at some later date?’
Nathan nodded. ‘I was faced with the same problem once. My future was foreseen, and I was told it would come about even if I tried to avoid it. The future is like the past: immutable. It can’t be avoided, therefore it’s better not to know it.’
Anna Marie had locked the inner door and was crouched with her ear to it. They�
��re doing something on the far side,’ she said. ‘Preparing more charges, maybe? But it will take longer. They have to be careful not to bring the whole place down.’
And one of the cavers asked nervously, ‘So who’s going?1
The three of us,’ Trask answered at once, but he glanced at Anna Marie, waiting for her to say:
‘Four,’ as she straightened up. ‘I witnessed that mayhem back there, that cold-blooded murder! Whoever was responsible, he won’t want witnesses.’
Trask gave it only a moment’s thought, then:
‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I was going to ask you to come anyway.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. You see, the leader of that ratpack back there is Geoffrey Paxton. Apparently he’s with CMI now.’
‘Hold on a second,’ another caver growled. ‘I mean, we’ve been pretty patient here, but don’t you think it’s. time someone told us what the hell’s going on? Nobody told us we were going to war! As for this bloke -‘ he stared at Nathan - ‘the way he comes and goes … shit, we’re completely in the dark! All we know is that we’re working for you, Mr Trask. But are you doing something wrong here, or what? Isn’t CMI a government outfit?’
‘Let’s get underway,’ Trask answered, ‘and I’ll tell you as we go.’
As the cavers made ready their equipment, so Anna Marie applied a field dressing to Nathan’s shoulder. His wound was a deep groove along the firm, rounded muscle of his upper arm. Almost a burn as opposed to a cut, the bullet had self-cauterized its own damage. Criss-crossing an earlier burn he’d come by only two days earlier in the Greek Islands, the result was a stiffening of the shoulder. Mercifully, that was all.
And in a little while the party set out up the course of the underground river …
81
80
Twenty-five minutes later, following the main watercourse deep into a subterranean cavern system, the seven were up to their thighs in ice-cold water and Trask had told a much-abbreviated story of an alien world and the vampire creatures who dwelled there. Where he might have erred, Nathan was there to correct him. Also, Trask had detailed the reasons why Nathan must get back there — not only to save his world, but possibly ours, too - and had even put forward his theory about Paxton: the ex-telepath’s reason for wanting to take Nathan alive … or dead, if only for revenge against Harry Keogh.
At first, the thoroughly down-to-earth trio of cavers had seemed sceptical, but Trask’s talent occasionally worked both ways: he not only read the truth but the truth was read in him. This was one such occasion. Gradually his demeanour and tone of voice got through to them, so that as the party sloshed its way upstream they heard him out without comment. In any case, they’d seen the cavern of the Gate - and what it contained - following which . .. Trask’s explanation seemed as good as any. And when finally he was finished:
‘But didn’t Miss English say that those CMI people wouldn’t want any witnesses?’ The caver spokesman’s voice echoed in the cathedral-like acoustics of the place, and in the light of powerful torches his face told of his fears. ‘Well, we’re not just witnesses, Mr Trask. Those were our colleagues, friends who died back there! And what about us? Do we get to enter this other world, too? Or will you leave us down here to face whatever’s coming?’
Trask looked at him, then at Nathan, and said, Things have moved too fast. I haven’t had time to think it out. I can’t say what will or won’t work.’
They can come through with us,’ Nathan answered. They’re sending me home, and carrying my weapons, after all. I wouldn’t want them to come to any harm. And anyway, Lardis will be able to put them to good use; he’ll be needing good weapon-training instructors.’
‘And when it comes to coming back home again?’ This from one of the other cavers.
But Nathan could only shake his head, shrug and say, ‘I can’t make any promises. If you knew the Wamphyri like I do, you wouldn’t make any either.’
‘But there’s a chance?’
‘Better than a chance. There is a way back for all of you, but for the moment it’s blocked. And anyway, we can’t be sure of the reception you’d get at this end. But later, if there’s to be a later, I can always take you back to the Starside Gate, yes.’
The cavers looked at each other. And in a moment: Then it looks like we’re coming with you,’ their spokesman said.
Which coincided with a muffled roar like distant thunder from far back along the way they’d come. And: There goes the airlock,’ Chung groaned.
By now they were waist-deep in blackly swirling water, heading for a dry ledge to one side of the watercourse. Behind them, they towed a pair of light-weight rubber dinghies with tiny but powerful outboard motors, and a long buoyant rubber sausage fitted with zipper pockets. At a push, the dinghies could take three passengers; the sausage was a floating transporter: Nathan’s weapons and other goods had been stowed in its pockets.
‘Seven of us,’ the caver spokesman said. ‘Six in the dinghies, and one hanging on behind the sausage. I’ll kit-up.’ And as they climbed on to the ledge: This is where we lose our pursuers, for now anyway. There are spare dinghies and air-tanks in the Refuge, but if they want to follow us beyond this point they’ll have to go back for them.’
There were six prop-assisted aqualungs on the ledge, and Trask found himself feeling a little claustrophobic just looking at them. But as the caver spokesman struggled into a wetsuit vest, again he reassured Trask: Tor the final leg of the trip. A sump some fifty feet end to end, but totally submerged. We’ll assist you through, of course. And believe me, we’re lucky. The water-table has never been this low. Any other time, we’d have been swimming long before this.’
82
83
From back along the course they’d followed, as they got carefully into the dinghies and started the motors, they could hear echoing sounds of splashing and hoarse voices; these were left far behind as they lowered their heads and entered a long lake of black water, where the ceiling came down to only a few feet.
And feeling the weight of the Carpathian foothills miraculously suspended overhead, as they followed a string of luminous bobbing corks into an apparently endless darkness, each and every one of the seven fell silent. And it was as much as they could do not to hold their breaths . ..
But the darkness wasn’t endless.
For a full half-hour they forged at low speed against the flow of the river, sometimes with the walls in sight and sometimes when even the ceiling receded out of view. But eventually the cavern narrowed down into something of a bottleneck, where a dark shingle beach rose inches out of the water. And to one side of the beach, where the wall was split with a massive crack, there the water had a glowing, milky sheen to it, as if lit by some strange submarine fire.
Nathan recognized that soft but somehow unwelcoming glow well enough. ‘Beyond that crack in the wall there,’ he said to Trask, ‘stands the Gate.’ And to prove it, if only to himself, he conjured a Mobius door - which at once warped and collapsed in upon itself. As it had been in Perchorsk, so it was here in the bowels of the earth: the close proximity of the Gate interfered with the space-time matrix, and with the Mobius Continuum, of course.
After beaching the dinghies, two of the cavers pulled on vests and fins and set off at once into the water. Swimming to the crack in the wall, they upended and disappeared into the glowing depths. Behind them, they trailed a luminous nylon line made fast to a knob of rock projecting from the wall of the cave. In only a minute or two they were back and signalling that Nathan, Trask and Chung should enter the water. In wetsuits and wearing aqualungs, the three
took up positions between their guides and hauled themselves hand over hand along the line. So they came to the cavern of the Gate. There, on a dry ledge, they stripped down, and one of the cavers took the smallest of the wetsuits and a lung back through the sump for Anna Marie. Assisted by the caver spokesman and his 2 I/C, she was the last to come through.
Before entering the water
with her, Anna Marie’s escorts partially deflated the sausage transporter and made it fast to the end of the line. As for the dinghies, they were simply cast off and left to drift downstream. And finally all seven of the party stood in the cavern of the Gate.
The cavers had been here before; however strange, this was nothing new to them. But while they hauled on the line and recovered the sausage, Nathan’s small arsenal and various items of dry clothing, the other four stood gazing all about, plainly in awe of the place. Mainly they looked at the Gate - or rather, they shielded their eyes from its glare.
The Gate. It looked nothing like a gate in the common meaning of the word. Instead, it was the very duplicate of that gigantic sphere of alien white light down in the core at Perchorsk. Except here, the bulk of its mass seemed lodged in the low ceiling, or grown there like a massive blister of cold fire.
The way home,’ Nathan said simply, but his words were a sigh, perhaps even a prayer.
Looking at him Trask thought, And this time there really is only one way out.
If Nathan heard him, he made no answer …
84
PART TWO
Sunside/Starside
I
Starside
Staring with squinting eyes all about the cavern of the Gate, Trask thought, We might already be in another world! And those (he shrank from the shapes of several dripstone anomalies) must be its inhabitants.
‘Once inhabitants,’ Nathan told him in a whisper that somehow managed to echo. ‘But not of this world, Ben. Starside. And, no, we’re not there yet.’
The cavern was roughly the shape of the interior of a rugby ball, half-full of water and big as a church. The black, inward-curving walls were ribbed like a gigantic throat, with cracks and crevices here and there where the water had eaten into the rock strata, shallow ledges at various levels, and black tunnels two to three feet in diameter, where the mouths of a great many magmass wormholes -alien energy channels - disappeared into the otherwise solid bedrock. And seated, crouched or crammed into several of the higher niches, where they had doubtless escaped from rising water in times of flooding, Trask’s ‘inhabitants’ leered out in stony silence.
