Out of This World

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Sir,” Valadrakul said, “I know nothing of this Hitler, nor any World War, but yes, an we could slay Shadow, we would need no war.”

  “Well, can we slay Shadow?”

  Valadrakul turned up a palm again. “Who knows?” he asked again.

  “Well, where does Shadow get its power?” Pel asked. “Is there some magic ring we can throw into a volcano or something?”

  Stoddard glanced at Raven, who glanced at Valadrakul, but most of those present simply stared at Pel.

  “You know, like in The Lord of the Rings or something,” Pel said.

  “Friend Pel,” Raven said, speaking gently, “what are you saying? Once before, you spoke of this; we know not what you mean.”

  “You aren’t making sense, Mr. Brown,” Cahn said.

  “It’s a book,” Pel explained. “Three books, I mean, by J.R.R. Tolkien. There’s this hobbit, see, who finds a magic ring that’s the key to the Dark Lord’s power, and he throws it into a volcano and melts it, and then the Dark Lord doesn’t have any power.”

  “Nonsense,” Valadrakul declared. “What fool of a sorcerer would put all his power in a single talisman? And Shadow uses no talismans at all; Shadow is at the heart of a great mystical matrix, a web of arcane potency built up over centuries. What would such as that need with wands and rings and baubles?”

  “I certainly never heard of any such tale as you describe,” Cahn added.

  “I’ve heard of it,” Susan interjected, “but I never read it.”

  “What’s a hobbit?” one of the crewmen—Cartwright, Pel thought it was—asked.

  “An imaginary little person,” Pel explained.

  “Like a spriggan?” Cartwright suggested.

  “I don’t know,” Pel replied. “What’s a spriggan?”

  “Like in the stories,” Cartwright said. “You know, like Plunkett’s stuff.”

  “Who’s Plunkett?” Ted asked.

  “Edward Plunkett, the writer,” Cartwright said, turning to look at Ted.

  “Never heard of him,” Ted said.

  “Neither did I,” Pel added.

  “Of course not,” Cahn said. “He’s from our universe, not yours. He wrote picture books, died a couple of years ago.”

  “Well, I guess we all know things the others don’t,” Pel agreed.

  “Like what that thing is,” said Peabody, emboldened by Cartwright’s comments. He pointed at the stereo.

  “It’s a stereo,” Pel said. “It plays music.”

  “Like a melodion?” Peabody asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Pel said. “Wasn’t that some Victorian thing?”

  “Boy, has this conversation degenerated!” Ted called out to no one in particular. “From saving three different universes to sound equipment!”

  “Indeed,” Raven said, with a sour glance at Ted, “I must agree. We were discussing whether a way might be found to slay Shadow, without first defeating it in battle.”

  “I don’t know of any,” Cahn replied.

  “I don’t know anything about it,” Pel said.

  “Ah,” Valadrakul said, “but you know much it does not.”

  Most eyes turned toward the wizard, Raven’s among them.

  “What mean you?” he asked.

  “I mean that these gentlemen know many things that we cannot imagine, my lord—these tales of Messieurs Tolkien and Plunkett, an example. Who knows but that they do have a way to slay Shadow, but know it not?”

  “But if we don’t know we know it, what good does it do?” Pel asked.

  “Perhaps,” Valadrakul suggested, holding up a finger, “if men of all three worlds were to gather in ours, and together study the situation, a solution might be found.”

  Captain Cahn looked around thoughtfully.

  “You may have a point, uh... wizard,” he said. “If we all studied Shadow in your world.”

  “Yeah, and he may not have a point,” Pel said. “Listen, I didn’t ask for all you people to come here; I didn’t ask anyone to put that thing in my basement. I’ve tried to be helpful, but I’m not going anywhere or studying anything. That’s up to you guys.”

  “Well, I think I’d be willing to chance a visit to wherever these people are based,” Cahn said. “I’ve already risked visiting one alien universe; I don’t mind passing through another on the way home, and seeing what we can do there.” He looked around at his crew. “This would be purely voluntary, men; if you’d rather stay here and wait until rescue comes, that’s fine. Or if you want to go back to the ship and see about getting her airborne...”

  “Oh, no,” Amy said, interrupting.

  Everyone turned to her, and Pel realized that she had hardly said a word throughout the entire meeting.

  “Nobody’s going near that ship,” she said. “It’s on my land, and nobody’s messing with it.”

  “But, madam...” Cahn began.

  “No, Captain!” she said, loudly. “I don’t know what’s going on, really I don’t—I’ve listened to all this, and I have no idea how much of it is for real, if any of it is, and if it’s not I don’t know which of you are in on the gag and which aren’t, but whatever the truth is, nobody here, not one of you, is going to set foot on my land or inside that ship until I do know exactly what’s going on! And maybe not then!”

  “My lady,” Valadrakul said, “everything said here today is purest truth, I swear by the Goddess.”

  “I don’t believe that,” Amy replied.

  “What part don’t you believe?” Cahn asked.

  Amy looked around uncertainly. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’m not sure I believe any of it!”

  “My lady,” Valadrakul said, “we can easily prove to you the reality of our native world; ‘tis but a few steps to take you there, along the passage, down the stairs, and across the cellars. A step through the wall, and you can see our world with your own eyes.”

  “Oh, no,” Amy said. “I didn’t ask for any ship to fall in my back yard any more than this person wanted a space warp in his basement.” She waved at Pel.

  Raven turned his attention to Ted, who held up his hands. “Oh, no,” he said. “I’m not like Ms. Jewell there; I do know what to believe, and I don’t believe a word of any of this. I’m enjoying the show, really I am—it’s a pretty good story—but I don’t for a minute think any of it is real. I suspect I’m asleep and dreaming the whole thing, I really do, but if that’s not it then all of you must be crazy. And I’m not letting any escaped lunatics take me anywhere, thank you!”

  Cahn turned to Nancy, who stood in the kitchen doorway.

  “Don’t look at me,” she said.

  Valadrakul addressed Susan and said, with a slight bow, “That leaves you, my lady.”

  “I’m not interested,” Susan said, shaking her head. “Not at all. I saw enough of war when I was a little girl.”

  “Well, then,” Raven said, “’twould seem we have none of Earth who would join us.”

  “What about those people you contacted telepathically?” Pel asked. “Would any of them want to help?”

  Cahn turned to Prossie, who leaned her head back and started counting them off on her fingers.

  “Well,” she said, “there was Carleton Miletti. Every time we tried to contact him he was doing something dangerous, like driving a groundcar at very high speed, so we didn’t force a contact for fear of distracting him and getting him killed, and he never responded to our presence.”

  “Doesn’t sound promising,” Pel commented.

  “There was Angela Thompson—she’s three years old. I don’t think she’d be much help. A very sweet little girl, though; she called us Mr. Nobody.”

  Nancy smiled.

  “There was a man named Ray Aldridge who claimed to be a... a psychic,” Prossie said. “He claimed to read minds and see the future, but we think he was lying. We never found any evidence of any real parapsychic abilities.”

  “Still,” Pel said, “he might do.”

  Prossie looked
up at Pel. “I suppose so,” she said. “He lives in a place called California; is that anywhere near here?”

  “No,” Pel admitted.

  “We could phone him, though, and ask him to fly out,” Amy suggested.

  “Phone?” Squire Donald looked about in polite puzzlement.

  “Fly?” Raven turned toward Amy.

  “You have aircraft?” Cahn asked, startled.

  “Of course we do,” Pel said. “Ms. Thorpe, did you get an address for him?”

  Prossie shook her head. “No,” she said, “but he lives in... in Oakville, maybe? Oakmont?”

  “Oakland?” Ted suggested.

  “That could be it,” Prossie agreed.

  “Big town,” Ted remarked.

  “Who else?” Pel asked.

  “Well, Oram Blaisdell,” Prossie said. “But he’s an old man, and his neighbors think he’s crazy.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Tessenti? Something like that.”

  “Tessenti?”

  “Tessenti, Tennessity, something—I don’t remember.”

  “Tennessee?” Amy suggested.

  “That’s it, yes,” Prossie said, thankfully.

  “Any others?”

  “One old woman who died,” Prossie said. “She was in a place called Alice Springs—I’m pretty sure that wasn’t anywhere near here.”

  “It’s in Australia, I think,” Pel said.

  “And that’s almost all that we even got names for,” Prossie said. “There was one more, I think—a girl in another country, who sometimes spoke another language instead of English. Her name was Gwyneth something, I think.”

  “Sounds Welsh,” Nancy remarked.

  “That was the other language, yes,” Prossie agreed. “She was about fifteen, I think.”

  “Not much help,” Pel said.

  “None of them are,” Susan agreed.

  “Where does this Carleton Miletti live?” Pel asked.

  “I don’t know,” Prossie said. “We never got a strong enough contact to read any place names.”

  “Damn. Well, this Aldridge—you said he’s out in Oakland, California? And he’s a psychic advisor?” Pel began walking toward the kitchen as he spoke.

  “Uh... something like that,” Prossie agreed.

  “Fine.” Pel reached around the kitchen door and picked up the phone receiver; he said, “Just a minute.” Then he stepped around the corner and pulled the phone book from the shelf.

  “Nancy,” he said, thumbing through the black-bordered pages at the front of the directory, “do you know the area code for Oakland?”

  “No,” she said, unhappily. “Area codes are page 29, though.”

  “Got it, I think.” He dialed (415) 555-1212.

  The motley collection in the other room waited silently while Pel spoke on the phone; a moment later he appeared in the kitchen doorway and announced, “Unlisted. Seems stupid for a psychic to have an unlisted number, but he does.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want you to phone him unless you’re psychic yourself, and can guess the number,” Ted remarked, grinning. Nobody laughed.

  “What about the one in Tennessee?” Amy suggested.

  “Oram Blaisdell,” Prossie said.

  “Yeah,” Pel said. “What about him?”

  Prossie shook her head. “He probably doesn’t even have one of those telephone things,” she said. “Besides, he’s a crazy old man. He thought we were angels talking to him.”

  “Mr. Brown,” Cahn said, “it was a good idea, but forget it. None of the original contactees are going to be any help. It’ll be up to my crew and myself to lend whatever aid we can, in exchange for transport home; we won’t drag you innocent civilians into it.”

  “Sir?” Soorn said, uneasily.

  Cahn turned.

  “Sir,” Soorn said, “speaking purely for myself, I would prefer... well, you said that this was voluntary?”

  “Yes, spaceman?”

  “Sir, I’m afraid I must decline to volunteer. I’d prefer to wait here and hope for rescue. This world doesn’t seem all that bad—I mean, dangerous. I’d rather stay here and wait than risk going into some fairyland where this Shadow thing is all-powerful.”

  Cahn stared at him, and Soorn, after a moment of awkward silence, added, “I saw some of what they found on Lambda Ceti IV, sir. I’m not going.”

  “All right,” Cahn said, “I said it was voluntary, and it is. You can stay here, and fend for yourself.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “You can’t stay here,” Nancy protested. “I’m sorry, but not in my house you don’t. I don’t know anything about you!”

  Soorn looked at her unhappily. “I can find someplace, then, can’t I?”

  “Maybe a hotel?” Susan said.

  “Do you have any money?” Pel asked.

  Soorn shook his head.

  “Lad,” Raven said, “Shadow is powerful, and nominal ruler of all the world, but it’s not all- powerful. Come with us, and see for yourself! Lend your arm to a worthy battle!”

  Soorn looked at him and said nothing.

  “Come and take a look,” Donald coaxed. “See for yourself! And should our land not please you, our wizards can see you safe home to your Empire, while those who would brave it may stay and fight.”

  Soorn glanced at Cahn, then at Nancy; neither of them gave any sign of yielding.

  “You, too, mistress,” Donald said, leaning forward and making a beckoning gesture to Amy. “And you,” adding Susan, “come and see our realm! See what it is we wish to save! Then perhaps you’ll think more kindly of us. All of you, come and take a look, and if you be not pleased, ‘tis but a moment’s work to step back through the gate to the cellars here—or should Elani wish it, to the Empire whence most of you came!”

  “I could do that?” Amy said. “Just step through and take a look around, and step right back?”

  “Why not?” Donald asked, with an expansive gesture.

  “Then I’d know whether it was real,” Amy said.

  Donald nodded.

  Pel glanced at Nancy. “Y’know, I think I’d like to take a quick look, too,” he said. “I’ve always loved fantasy stories, and ever since that gnome first turned up—I mean, it’s scary, but I’d like to take a look.”

  “You people are all crazy,” Nancy said. “Especially you, Pel.”

  “Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud, Nancy!” Ted said. “Let’s all go see just what sort of dream-world I’ve come up with!”

  “Nancy, think of it, seriously—a world where magic is real,” Pel said.

  “Black magic,” Nancy retorted.

  “Not all of it,” Pel replied. “That gnome—you’d like seeing him.”

  “Ha.”

  “Well, I’m going to go look,” Pel said, annoyed. “For one thing, as Amy said, how else will we ever be sure this is all real?”

  “Are you going to take a camera?” Nancy asked. “And take pictures or something?”

  “Sure, why not?” Pel said.

  She glared at him, and then turned to Raven and demanded, “Are you sure we can step right back?”

  “Oh, yes, my lady,” he said. “Have we not done so, my comrades and I?”

  “You’re coming?” Pel asked.

  “If you go, I’m going, too,” she said. “To keep an eye on you.”

  “What about Rachel?”

  Nancy hesitated. “She’s upstairs playing,” she said. “But we’ll bring her, too. Maybe she’ll like seeing those gnomes you talked about.”

  “She’ll want to tell everyone at school about it,” Pel said, smiling.

  “They’ll never believe a word,” Nancy retorted. “Not even Jenny would buy a story like that, even if it’s true. Which I’m still not entirely convinced of.”

  Pel shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said.

  “Then you’ll come?” Raven said. “Perchance even a quick glance will tell you somewhat, and some thought may strike you that woul
d serve our cause.”

  “Not likely,” Pel said.

  The doorbell rang, and Nancy’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “The pizza,” she said.

  Small feet pattered down the stairs as Rachel ran to answer the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Amy watched as the self-proclaimed spacemen sampled the pizza. If they were acting, they were doing a very convincing job of it; under other circumstances she wouldn’t have doubted for a moment that they had never before seen pizza, or tasted Pepsi. If they had claimed to be foreigners, or from some isolated little place somewhere, that would have been fine.

  But they claimed to be, not just from another planet, but from another universe.

  Believing that would mean changing her entire way of dealing with the world. She had long ago decided that she was never going to be rich or famous, never going to have any wild romances, never going to climb Mount Everest or fly to the Moon or do anything else exciting and dangerous. It was safer and more comfortable to just stay at home and read about all that. She didn’t need to do anything herself.

  And if the books weren’t enough, there were her decorating clients, with all their little stories about where this knicknack or that had come from, or why they had moved here, or what all the gadgets in the kitchen were for. She got customers who were in the foreign service, back stateside for a couple of years, and most of them were eager to tell stories about their time in places like Qatar or Tanzania. She got some buyers who were immigrants, who had grown up in places like Morocco or Taiwan or Syria. Listening to them was better than actually going to all those exotic, dangerous places.

  Meeting people like that was fine; she could find Syria and Taiwan on the maps, hear about them on the evening news. But she didn’t want to be one of them. She didn’t want anything exciting to happen to her.

  And she had her tidy little ideas of how the world worked, of how everyone was alike, really, the world over. All those people shared a single planet, and despite all the differences in language and culture, they were all part of the same reality, and that reality didn’t include purple and gold spaceships falling out of the sky, didn’t include swordsmen in black velvet or wizards wearing braids.

  If she believed these people, it meant losing control of what was real and what wasn’t. If magic could be real, if spaceships could appear out of nowhere, how could she ever be sure of anything?