To the Vanishing Point

by Alan Dean Foster

  "There they go!"

  "Shouldn’t we notify security or something?" Alicia’s reluctance hadn’t abated.

  "Not until we find out what this is all about. Security might make things worse for Burnfingers."

  They hurried across the lobby and into the hallway opposite — only to find themselves confronting a dead end. There were no doors lining the cul-de-sac, only inscriptions on the walls. Frank tentatively brushed a hand across the wall beneath one such label. The script above glowed briefly, but no entrance appeared.

  Alicia hung back. "I don’t know about this, Frank. Following’s one thing. Breaking and entering’s another."

  "I’m not going to break anything," he assured her impatiently.

  There couldn’t be more than three doors off the dead end, he suspected. It was too small for more than that. One on each side and another at the far end. He began feeling his way slowly around the hallway wall, paying particular attention to the spaces beneath the inscriptions. It made no difference. The walls remained inviolate.

  "They must’ve gone through here somewhere," he muttered under his breath. "We saw 'em come down here."

  "You tried your best, dear. I’m sure Mr. Begay can take care of himself, wherever he is." She didn’t entirely believe that, but what else could they do? They had their own troubles and children to worry about. Burnfingers had been a friend and good company, but she wouldn’t be wholly displeased to see him fall by the wayside. It was feeling crowded in the motor home.

  Frank didn’t like the idea of giving up, but there didn’t seem anything more he could do, unless he took Alicia’s suggestion and notified hotel security. As he stood there debating how to proceed, there was a rush of air and a door-sized opening materialized just to his left. A second later bodies filled the gap, arms and legs pinwheeling around the flailing form of Burnfingers Begay as he fought with his three abductors. Alicia gasped as the pinwheel sucked up Frank. Despite the beer belly he’d acquired over the years, he still knew how to fight. He began kicking and punching wildly, realizing he had a three-in-four chance of hitting someone beside Burnfingers.

  The combative quintet slammed into the far wall and came apart under the impact, which dazed two of Burnfingers’s attackers. Frank extricated himself, bruised but unbowed, while the Indian wrestled with his remaining assailant. The two trying to rise from the floor and rejoin the fight owned ugly faces, short sharp teeth, pointy ears, and a fringe of porcupinish spines that presently lay back flat atop their heads. Frank became aware that Burnfingers was shouting at him.

  "Go get Mouse and the children! Warm up the motor home. And do not forget my luggage!" His fist impacted on a blunt snout and his attacker fell limp. One of the two rising from the floor was trying to extract a steel whip from a pocket.

  Frank stood paralyzed, puffing hard, realizing he was ill-suited for this sort of activity but unwilling to flee. "You heard him, hon! Get the kids and our stuff into the Winnebago!"

  "But you — ?"

  "Go on, now!"

  With a last helpless glance in Burnfingers’s direction she whirled and raced for the elevators.

  The thing without the whip weighed at least three hundred pounds. It threw itself on Begay’s back. Burnfingers executed a deft little move and threw the monster into the far wall. As its companion raised the thin steel, Frank hopped forward and kicked it in the groin. That part of its anatomy was apparently analogous enough, because it promptly collapsed to the floor.

  Burnfingers put an arm around Frank’s shoulder and launched him down the short hallway. "Come on, my friend!"

  "Call — hotel security!" Frank managed to gasp.

  "Cannot. We can’t stay here any longer, not even to answer helpful questions. Still got that credit with you?"

  "The stuff the manager gave us?" He pulled out a spool of quarter-inch gold tape. "Yeah, right here, but — "

  Burnfingers yanked it away. Glancing back, Frank saw two of the massive abductors pounding hard after them. Abruptly he realized how out of shape he was, wheezing and struggling to maintain the pace.

  They charged into the casino, their pursuers closing the distance with every stride. Drawing startled looks and oaths in a dozen languages, Burnfingers leaped atop a gaming table. Before anyone could pull him down he unwound the secure end of the spool and threw it as far into the crowd as he was able. The gold tape trailed its spool like a berserk kite string, glinting in the lights.

  Shouts and squeals of excitement filled the air as the gamblers and tourists scrambled for pieces of the tape. The crowd packed in tightly, rendering the aisles between gaming tables impassable, a living wave that smashed up against the pair of thugs and carried them backward.

  Burnfingers was grinning as he jumped down from the table. "That ought to slow them down for a while. Let us leave now, before security does indeed put in an appearance. They would want to question us, and I don’t want to be questioned." Grabbing Frank, he half led, half dragged him through the mob.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To the motor home, which your fine woman will hopefully have warmed up and awaiting us outside."

  "What if she’s late?"

  "I think your woman is more resourceful than that. I don’t think we will have to wait for her."

  Whistles and sirens filled the room as the hotel’s security forces finally put in an appearance. The effort required to try to control a crowd battling for possession of pieces of a ten-thousand-credit tape left them no time for chasing fleeing tourists like Frank and Burnfingers Begay.

  "What’s the deal, anyway? What’d those guys want with you?" Frank found it hard to run and talk simultaneously. Fortunately, whenever he slowed down, his companion all but carried him along.

  "They wanted my gold, of course."

  Frank’s gaze rose to the backpack that bounced on the bigger man’s back. "They didn’t get it?"

  "Of course not. Do you think I would wander around a place like this with a load of gold in my backpack? I may be crazy, but I am not stupid."

  "Then where is it? The gold, I mean?"

  "I thought your luggage would be the safest place. I switched it when you were showing the children how to work the dimensional projector. I knew you would not mind."

  "Me, mind? Why should I mind? So the gold’s with Alicia and the kids?"

  Begay nodded. Frank wanted to tell the Indian what he thought of him for placing Alicia in such danger, but he couldn’t spare the wind and right now he was more interested in leaving Begay’s assailants far behind. He didn’t ease off until they’d left the auditorium-casino section.

  "Wait a minute. How could anybody here know about your gold?"

  "They sensed it, because it is special. It has the odor of history upon it. Other things besides wine can improve with age. There is a mystique to old gold that has been much handled. An aura, a sense of power; call it what you will." He nodded back the way they’d come. "They sensed it."

  Frank didn’t understand. "You mean they wanted your stash because it has antique value?"

  Burnfingers shook his head. "No. They wanted to prevent me from making something of it."

  Something still didn’t make sense. "Why should they or anyone else care if you want to make some bracelets or watchbands out of the stuff?"

  Burnfingers smiled at a private thought. "Perhaps they are afraid I may make something out of it besides a bracelet or watchband." He gestured. "We made it. There is an exit."

  As they plunged through the emergency door, Frank forgot to ask Burnfingers who they might be.

  He seemed to know exactly where they were going. As they ran around the side of the hotel and entered the main parking area, Frank bent over and rested his palms on his knees.

  "Gonna have to slow down. Fast walking’s about all the exercise I get anymore. Spent the last ten years behind a desk. Remember, I don’t use jogging shoes. I just sell 'em."

  "It’s all right, my friend. We are nearly there.
See?" Burnfingers pointed. The motor home stood out like an iceberg among the sea of leaner, sleeker vehicles in the parking lot. Lights blazed within and a slim figure stood silhouetted in the door.

  "Hello, Mousewoman," Burnfingers said in greeting as he helped Frank stagger the rest of the way.

  "Hello, Burnfingers Begay." She was eyeing him strangely. "Alicia told me you ran into some trouble."

  "All over now. Everyone here?"

  "Yes." Alicia pushed Mouse aside. "What happened? Why were those thugs beating up on you?"

  "Tell you all about it later. Are the children all right?" He tried to peer past her into the motor home as Frank pulled himself through the door.

  "They’re fine. Confused, like the rest of us, but fine. They weren’t happy about leaving in such a hurry."

  "I am not happy about it, either. You brought all the luggage?"

  "Naturally we brought all our luggage."

  He smiled, relieved. "That’s very good." He followed Frank inside.

  Alicia closed the door behind them. Frank stood fighting for breath, paused as Burnfingers strode past him and took up residence in the driver’s seat. He extended an open hand.

  "Give me the keys, Frank."

  "No. No way." He shook his head, exhausted by the long run. "I’ve gone along with you far enough. I risked my life to look for you."

  "I appreciate that. I will explain everything eventually, but we cannot hang around here. Those unpleasant people will find us. Give me the keys."

  Frank fumbled through his pockets, finally produced the handful of metal. He held them a foot from Burnfingers’s outstretched hand. "Why should I let you drive? A crazy man?"

  "I am a good driver, Frank. On the reservation, every day is demolition-derby day. We count coup in pickups now instead of on pony back. Compared to that, highway driving is a snap." He nodded toward the far window. "You better make up your mind quick."

  Frank joined his wife in staring through the glass. The three near-humans who’d been fighting with Begay were standing in the brightly lit main entrance of the hotel. Even at a distance Frank could tell they were searching intently.

  "In moments they will locate us," Burnfingers was saying. "Then they will shoot to disable our transportation. Hopefully they will not kill anyone in the process." Frank handed him the keys. "Thank you."

  Burnfingers started the engine, raced it once, then pulled slowly out of the parking lot, heading for the main drag. Frank shifted his attention to the side window. As they pulled out into the street he thought he saw the three figures vanish into the lot.

  Horns blared, whistles screeched, sirens wailed as the big motor home made room for itself amid the traffic. As they headed out of town and gained room to maneuver, Burnfingers accelerated, weaving around the remaining vehicles in front of them. Frank sat down next to him.

  "Better slow up or you’ll wreck us."

  "No way, my friend." He kept his eyes on the road ahead, grinning. "You’ve done most all the driving so far. Now it is my turn."

  Steven was whining because no one was listening to him. Wendy sat morosely off to one side, obviously frustrated by their precipitate departure. Alicia and Mouse were all the way in back, staring through the wide rear window.

  "I think someone’s following us!" Alicia shouted, raising her voice so she would be heard up at the front. "There’s a big van or something back there and it’s weaving in and out of traffic just like we are."

  Burnfingers glanced at his sideview mirrors. "I see them. Don’t worry. We’ll lose them."

  "In this tank?" said Frank worriedly. "This ain’t no Corvette, you know."

  "Don’t worry." Burnfingers winked at him. "I once had to lose two busloads of tourists in Monument Valley." He continued to accelerate, recklessly disregarding the presence of the other cars on the road ahead. Frank moaned and closed his eyes, but they didn’t hit anybody. Burnfingers handled the motor home like a Jeep, until they’d left the last of the city traffic far behind.

  "They’re still back there!" Alicia declared in a high voice. Her announcement was followed by a faint whooshing noise as something like a runaway skyrocket shot past overhead. It vanished into the night.

  "Shooting at us," Burnfingers announced imperturbably. "I thought they would hold off a while longer." He swung the motor home hard left.

  Frank stared forward. "Why’d you turn off?" The road ahead was two lanes, narrow but paved, like a snake’s tongue leading out into the desert. The main highway quickly fell behind. Dark mountains loomed against the night. "If they catch us out here they won’t have to worry about witnesses."

  "They won’t catch us." Burnfingers spoke with assurance, staring straight ahead and holding on to the wheel with both hands. Occasionally he stole a glance at the rearview.

  Another light flashed by, off to the right this time, fading into the darkness like fluorescent cola.

  "If they’ve got a full tank they can just run us down." Frank was peering at the mirror on the passenger’s side, barely able to make out the lights of the van pursuing them. "We’ll run out of gas out in the middle of nowhere!"

  "I thought this road angled right about here." Burnfingers was talking to himself, not Frank. "Ah." His face broke into a wide smile.

  Frank’s pupils became as big as grapes.

  Everything they’d encountered so far — the incredible creatures, the impossible places — paled to insignificance alongside what happened next. Burnfingers shoved the accelerator to the floor and the motor home leaped forward. Steven stopped whining and raced to the nearest window, staring out.

  "Oh, wow!"

  "Steven! Steven, you come away from there!" Alicia hurried forward to put her arms around the boy. When she saw what he was looking at, her hands dropped slowly to her sides. Wendy had moved over to stand close to her mother, while Mouse stood behind them, saying nothing.

  The road had become a pale, thin ribbon stretching across void. A soft pink light emanated from the pavement, a strip of cellophane trimmed with glowing fiber optics. Theirs was the only vehicle traveling the fairy road. Mountains, cacti, the barbed-wire fences that had lined both sides of the pavement: all had disappeared.

  All that remained was the pure perfect night, and the myriad of stars overhead. Also to left and right. Also below.

  They could clearly see radiant nebulae and supergiants, bright clusters and comets, through the semitransparent surface of the road.

  10

  A dividing line still ran down the center of the highway. Further proof that two lanes remained was provided moments later when something like a runaway meteor came exploding toward them, only to scream past in the oncoming lane and vanish aft. Steven turned to follow its passage.

  "Geez, what was that?"

  Burnfingers was whistling softly to himself as he drove. A paralyzed Frank finally moved, straightening in his seat, accepting what he saw outside while fighting to avoid staring at it. There was no shoulder, no solid border to the narrow roadway. If Burnfingers lost control, there was nothing to prevent them from driving right off the pavement, to fall endlessly, forever, through the abyss that enclosed them on all sides.

  The sign that came up fast on their right almost sent him over the edge inside his head.

  SALT LAKE CITY — 212 Miles

  The sheer sameness of the speckled wonderment outside finally brought Alicia forward, just in time to catch a glimpse of the sign before they rolled past.

  "Surely that can’t be right."

  "Why not?" said Burnfingers cheerfully. "Miles or light-years, what’s the difference? It’s all a matter of perspective."

  "I don’t know how much more of this I can take," said Frank in a low voice.

  "You can take as much of it as you have to, my friend, because you have no other choice."

  "Couldn’t we, maybe, pull over and rest for a while?" Alicia asked hopefully.

  "Pull over?" Frank gestured outside. "Pull over where? I mean, I like the
wide open spaces, but I like solid ground under them."

  "Nothing’s solid anymore," Alicia observed thoughtfully. "You can’t count on anything being real anymore." She turned to the diminutive figure on her left. "Isn’t that right?"

  Mouse nodded. "Reality flexes."

  Frank half turned in his seat. "That’s nuts."

  "In and out, in and out." Mouse moved her hands to illustrate. "Like a bellows. Here reality has been stretched thin enough to see through."

  "Wonderful." He slumped back down in his seat.

  After a while Burnfingers finally gave in to Frank’s repeated requests to let him drive. At first he was nervous, but a few minutes behind the wheel found him cruising easily. All you had to do was stay on the road, he told himself. Despite their success in escaping from Pass Regulus, he still had more confidence in his own driving than Begay’s.

  The last thing he expected to see was an off ramp.

  It was coming up fast on the right, and he slowed quickly. The sign nearby said CEDAR CITY. Alicia was sitting across from him now and he looked anxiously at her.

  "Seems okay." She glanced back. "Burnfingers?"

  Begay came forward, studied both the sign and ramp. "Might as well. If it’s half right, we’re a long ways from Vegas and longer still from Regulus."

  Licking his lips, Frank flipped his turn signal and slowly started down pavement no thicker than plastic wrap.

  There was a stop sign at the bottom of the off ramp. A normal-looking, battered red and yellow sign. As he hit the brakes the light changed, late afternoon replacing the awesome universal night around them. It was reality, snapping back like a rubber band.

  "We’ve fallen through a crack," said Burnfingers.

  "We’re back." Alicia let out a long sigh. "Thank God, we’re back!"

  "Maybe," said Burnfingers, but to himself.

  The sign by the dirty asphalt read WELCOME TO CEDAR CITY, UTAH. Ahead they could see structures of wood and stucco, clinging to the lower slopes of snow-capped peaks. On a telephone pole nearby, a hawk sat examining the motor home. As they approached, it took wing in search of vermin. The air was warm but not desert hot, refreshingly devoid of pollutants or other surprises. Frank lowered his window, sucked in mountain air.