The Dark Dimensions

by A Bertram Chandler

  But down in the Mannschenn Drive room the duty technician watched aghast as the great, gleaming rotors ran wild, precessing faster and faster yet, tumbling down and into the dark dimensions uncontrolled and uncontrollably. Beyond the control room viewports, the image of Adler glowed with impossible clarity against the blackness, then flickered out like a snuffed candle flame. Throughout the ship, men and women stared at familiar surroundings and fittings that sagged and fluoresced, that wavered on the very brink of the absolute nothingness. Belatedly, alarm bells started to ring, but their sound was a thin, high shrilling, felt rather than heard.

  Abruptly, shockingly, normalcy returned as the Drive shut itself off. Colors, forms and sounds were suddenly . . . drab. The irregular throbbing of the inertial drive was harsh and irritating.

  Grimes, still straining against von Donderberg, snapped, "Shut that bloody thing off!" Apart from the Waldegren Commander and his surviving officer—wherever he was—there were no spacemen among those who had hijacked the ship. Free fall would not worry Grimes and his boarding party overmuch, but it would be, at the very least, an inconvenience to the planet lubbers.

  The annoying vibration ceased. What next? Grimes asked himself. It was hard to think clearly. That blasted von Donderberg was still putting up a fight, and Sonya and Clarisse, who had come to the Commodore's aid, were more of a hindrance than a help. "Irene!" he called. "Check the indicator! Are all AT doors shut?" (The airtight doors should have automatically at the first signs of main drive malfunction.)

  "Yes," she replied at last. "There's a switch by itself in a glass-fronted box. . . . It's labeled LOCK. . . ."

  "Got it. . . ."

  "Then throw it!"

  Grimes heard the little crash of shattering glass, heard Irene say, "Locked."

  Sonya had a space suited arm across von Donderberg's throat. The man was starting to choke; his face was turning blue, his eyes were protruding. Suddenly he relinquished his hold on Grimes' wrists. The two women hustled him to an acceleration chair, forced him down into it. They held him there while Irene, using a length of flex that she had found somewhere, lashed him into the seat. Druthen had already been similarly dealt with by Irene and Flandry.

  "Mphm," grunted Grimes. The situation was, for the time being, under control. Slowly he removed his gloves, then took his pipe from one of the pouches at the belt of his space suit. He filled it and lit it, ignoring Sonya's "Not now!" He stared at Druthen, demanded, "Where are the prisoners?"

  "Find out!" came the snarled reply.

  From the intercom speakers came a growing uproar. "Doctor Druthen, what's happened?" "We're shut in, let us out of here!" "Doctor, there's no gravity!"

  "We can do without that," said Grimes. Sonya switched off the system. Then, "Where are the prisoners, Druthen?"

  Again the scientist snarled, "Find out!"

  "And that is just what we intend to do, Herr Doktor," remarked Flandry. He pulled that complicated looking weapon from a makeshift holster at his belt, looked at it thoughtfully, said regretfully, "Not quite subtle enough. . . ." From another pouch he took out a knife, drew it from its sheath. It was only small, but it gleamed evilly. "Perhaps a little judicious whittling . . ." He murmured. "Where shall I start?"

  Von Donderberg, who had recovered his voice, croaked, "Remember that you an officer and gentleman are. A civilized man."

  "Who says that I'm civilized, Commander? Come to that—who dares say that either you or the learned Herr Doktor are civilized? You, sir, are a pirate. He is either a mutineer or a hijacker or both—but this is no time to discuss legalities. H'm. Your hands are nicely secured to the arms of your chair. Doctor. Perhaps if I pry off your fingernails, one by one. . . ."

  "Flandry, you wouldn't!" expostulated Grimes.

  "Wouldn't I, Commodore? You may watch."

  "But I know where they are," said Clarisse. She added tartly, "What the hell's the good of having a professional telepath around if you don't make use of her?"

  "Why must you spoil everything?" asked Flandry plaintively.

  Von Donderberg laughed mirthlessly and Druthen fainted.

  25

  Yes, Clarisse knew where they were. It was an obvious enough place anyhow, the empty cargo compartment, right aft, in which Grimes had intended to stow whatever fantastic artifacts could be plundered from the Outsiders' Ship. Sonya, taking with her the electronic master key that would allow her passage through the locked airtight doors, went to release them. She was accompanied by Irene and would pick up Trafford and Metzenther on the way. She assured Grimes that if she encountered any of Druthen's people she would shoot if she had to. Irene growled that she would shoot, period. But there was not much risk. Metzenther would be able to give them ample warning of what hostile action, if any, awaited them in any compartment that they were about to enter.

  Grimes switched on the second Carlotti transceiver—luckily the ship was fitted with two of the sets—and raised Faraway Quest II without any difficulty. She was no longer ahead, relatively speaking. Adler had turned, and Quest II and Wanderer had turned with her, and all three ships were racing back toward The Outsider on a reciprocal of their original trajectory.

  "So you've got your ship back, Commodore," commented the other Grimes, looking out from the little screen. "Your Commander Mayhew, and Trialanne aboard Wanderer, have been keeping us informed."

  "There's a little mopping up yet, Commodore," said Grimes. "But it shouldn't take long. I suggest that you and Wanderer slow down to allow me to catch up."

  "Wanderer can if she likes, Commodore, but I'm not going to. Adler's going like a bat out of hell, and has the heels of us. Mayhew tells me that she's using some experimental accelerator, for the first time. Unluckily he's a mechanical and mathematical moron, so he can't get anything but absolute gibberish from the mind of Adler's engineer officer. But I know that it's Blumenfeld's intention to race us to The Outsider and then to seize and to hold it against all comers, waiting for reinforcements."

  "What about Vindictive? Captain Flandry's ship?"

  "What, indeed?" echoed Flandry.

  "We can't warn her," said Grimes II. "That stupid culture she comes from has never developed the Carlotti system, or used telepaths. . . ."

  "I resent that," snarled Flandry.

  Grimes II seemed to notice him for the first time. "Sorry, Captain. I didn't realize that you were listening. But can you warn your ship?"

  "No, I can't. But my men have very itchy trigger fingers."

  "They'll need 'em. But switch on your other set, Commodore. Mr. Smith in Wanderer would like a word with you."

  "I can't. Commodore. Will you tell Mr. Smith that his Mrs. Trafford switched off my other set rather permanently? The same applies to the remote control panel of my Mannschenn Drive."

  "Then switch over to Wanderer. I'll just stick beak."

  Grimes made the necessary adjustments, found himself looking at Smith. Tallentire was well in the background.

  "Commodore," said Smith, "you realize that neither we nor the other Commodore Grimes can afford to wait until you have effected repairs and adjusted trajectory. Adler must be stopped. I, as the charterer, have assumed effective command of Wanderer. I do not see either Captain Trafford or Mrs. Trafford in your control room. Could you ask them to speak with me?"

  "They're not available at the moment," said Grimes.

  "They bloody well are!" Irene contradicted him.

  Suddenly the control room had become crowded with people: Sonya, Irene, Trafford, Metzenther, Billy Williams, Carnaby, Hendrikson, Major Dalzell and Daniels. Williams reported to Grimes, "Commander Davis and his juniors have gone straight to the engine room, Skipper. They'll let you know as soon as they can get her started up." He went to where Druthen and von Donderberg were lashed in their chairs. "An' what shall we do with these drongos?"

  "Take 'em away and lock 'em up, as soon as we can get round to it."

  "Captain Trafford; Mrs. Trafford," came Smith's insistent voice from t
he Carlotti speaker.

  "Yes!" snapped Irene.

  "You and Captain Trafford should be aboard this ship. But you're not. So I had no option but to order Mr. Tallentire to press the chase."

  "You . . . ordered?"

  "Yes. I ordered."

  "He is the charterer," pointed out Trafford.

  "All right. He's the bloody charterer. And so what?"

  "Blumenfeld must be stopped," insisted the little captain. "Waldegren, in any continuum, cannot be allowed to get its hands on The Outsider's secrets."

  "You'll never stop us now!" bragged von Donderberg.

  "Shut up, you!" growled Billy Williams.

  Irene turned back to the Carlotti transceiver "All right, Smith. Press the chase. But, as owner, I appoint Mr. Tallentire master—until Captain Trafford's return. Mr. Tallentire will act as he sees fit. Get it?"

  "As you wish." Smith managed to convey the impression of being supremely unconcerned.

  "I will talk with Mr. Tallentire now."

  Tallentire's face replaced that of Smith in the screen. He looked far from happy. "Yes, ma'am?"

  "You are acting captain. Put the interests of the ship before those of Mr. Smith. Press the chase. Make use of your weaponry as requisite. You will revert to your normal rank as soon as we are back on board. That's all."

  Somehow a junior engineer had managed to insert himself into the crowded control room. He elbowed his way toward Grimes. "Sir, Commander Davis told me to tell you that you can start inertial and Mannschenn Drives as soon as you like. He's been trying to raise you on the intercom, but the line is dead."

  "It's switched off," Grimes admitted. "But we'll get it working again to the engine room. . . ." Daniels had anticipated him, handed Grimes a microphone. "Commodore here, Commander Davis. The remote control panel of the Mannschenn Drive is . . . out of order. You'll just have to get your instructions by telephone. Good." He turned to Carnaby. "Get ready to put the ship on the reciprocal heading—straight for The Outsider. We may be a little late for the start of the party, but we should be there before it's over . . ."

  Flandry, Irene and Trafford looked at him with some animosity. "It's all right for you," growled the ex-Empress. "You've got a ship now, and we haven't."

  "Can you get us back to where we belong?" Flandry asked Clarisse, a little desperately.

  "I . . . I don't know . . ." she admitted. "I've never tried sending anybody anywhere before."

  "You'd better try now," Grimes told her." Or as soon as we have things sorted out." He didn't want Sonya and Flandry in the same ship.

  26

  The Commodore's quarters still retained the distasteful traces of Druthen's occupancy, but the cleaning up could wait. Grimes forced himself to ignore the untidiness—no less than his own, but different—the scars left by smoldering cigarette ends on table tops; the sticky rings that showed where slopping over glasses had been set down. Sonya had wanted to do something about it at once, if not before, but Grimes had restrained her. "It is essential," he said firmly, "that Sir Dominic, Irene, Captain Trafford and Mr. Metzenther be returned to their own ships as soon as possible. . . ."

  "And it is equally essential—to me, anyhow—that Ken be brought back here as soon as possible," Clarisse told him.

  "Mphm. I see your point. But first of all both Captain Flandry's Vindictive and Captain Trafford's Wanderer must be put in a state of full fighting efficiency, so as to be able to cope with Adler. I would suggest that you deal with Sir Dominic first."

  "Thank you," said Flandry.

  "It will be a pleasure, Captain. Well, Clarisse?"

  "I don't know how it can be done . . ." muttered the girl. "I don't know if it can be done. . . ."

  "Rubbish!" snorted Irene. "If you can pull, you can push. It's as simple as that."

  "Then why don't you try it?"

  "It's just not my specialty, dearie. I'm just a rough and tough ex-mate out of the Dog Star Line."

  "To say nothing of being a rough and tough ex-empress," commented Sonya acidly. "Shut up, unless you have something constructive to contribute."

  "What I said was constructive."

  "Like hell it was."

  "Ladies, ladies . . ." murmured Flandry soothingly. Then, to Clarisse. "As I see it, your talent works this way. You're in the right, drug-induced frame of mind. You paint or draw a picture of whatever animal or person you wish to pull into the trap or ambush, concentrate—and the result is instant teleportation. . . ."

  "You've oversimplified a little, Dominic, but that's about it."

  "All right. Now suppose you sketched, to the best of your ability, the inside of my control room aboard Vindictive. . . ."

  "I've never been aboard your ship, Dominic."

  "But you've been inside my mind."

  Oh, thought Grimes. Have you, indeed? But I suppose that a telepath wants more than mere physical contact. . . .

  "Yes."

  "This is what I want you to do. You must order from the ship's doctor whatever hallucinogen it is you need. And then, when you are ready, I'll visualize the control room of my ship, in as exact detail as possible, and you put it down on paper. . . ."

  "And what," asked Grimes, "if Vindictive's control room is brought to Captain Flandry, instead of the other way round? I seem to recall a law of physics that I learned as a child: Two solid bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same time."

  "Let me finish, Commodore. After she has drawn the control room she will put me in it. . . ."

  "Yes, Dominic," whispered Clarisse. "I think it will work. I'm sure it will work."

  "As long as somebody's sure about something . . ." grumbled Grimes. "Now, I think that we have some neo-mescalin in our medical stores. It was you who insisted that we carry some. . . ."

  "That is correct. If you will have it sent up . . .?"

  Grimes called the doctor on the intercom, and then Billy Williams in Control. "Commander Williams," he said, "unless it is a matter of utmost urgency we are not, repeat not, to be disturbed."

  "You won't be, Skipper. We're the also-ran in this race—an' I'm afraid that Adler's the odds on favorite! Of course, Vindictive might pip her at the post."

  "We're trying to insure that she does," said Grimes, breaking off the conversation.

  * * *

  Slowly, without embarrassment, Clarisse removed her clothing, ignoring Irene's, "Is that necessary?" and Sonya's, "You're only jealous." She took the small glass of opalescent fluid that Grimes handed her, drained it. In her nudity she was more witch than mere woman. She was . . . untouchable. (But that bastard Flandry hadn't found her so, thought Grimes.) Her face was solemn, her eyes looking at something very far away. And yet it was Sir Dominic at whom she was looking. At whom? Through whom? Beyond whom?

  She was stooping slightly over the table upon which a sheet of paper had been spread, upon which the colored pens had been laid out. With her gaze still intent upon Flandry she commenced to draw with swift, sure strokes. The picture was taking shape: acceleration chairs, consoles, screens, the remote controls of machinery and weaponry, all subtly unlike anything that Quest's and Wanderer's people had ever seen before. Different ships, different long splices, thought Grimes, recalling an ancient Terran seafaring proverb. Different universes, different interstellar drives. . . .

  Tension was building up in the Commodore's day cabin as the naked Clarisse stared at Flandry in his glittering uniform; as Flandry stared at Clarisse. As far as he was concerned, as far as she was concerned they were alone. Under her weaving hands the sketch was becoming three dimensional, real. Were the lights dimming? Was the irregular beat of the inertial drive, the thin, high whining of the Mannschenn Drive becoming fainter? Was the deathly cold of interstellar space pervading the ship?

  There is one law of nature that is never broken—magic notwithstanding: You can't get something for nothing. A transfer of a solid body across a vast distance was about to take place. Such a transfer, whether by wheels, wings or witchcraft, involv
es the use of energy. There was energy in many usable forms available within the hull of Faraway Quest. It was being drawn upon.

  Grimes stared at the picture on the table. The lights—red, green, blue and amber—on the panels of the consoles were glowing, and some of them were blinking rapidly. The darkness beyond the viewports was the utter blackness of intergalactic space. Something swam slowly into sight beyond one of the big transparencies—the dome-shaped Shaara derelict.

  And then. . . .

  And then there was a man there, standing in the middle of the hitherto deserted control room, the details of his face and figure growing under the witch artist's flying fingers. It was unmistakably Flandry, and he was stark naked save for his belt and his holstered pistol.