Castle Kidnapped

by John Dechancie

  Except that he was pretty hungry. No, not hungry. Famished. Ravenous. He had chewed all the tobacco and had run out of cans of motor oil. There was a whole shipment of tobacco in the back of the truck, but he didn't want to stop. Besides, the stuff didn't taste all that good.

  Funny. He had a strange yen for some of it, anyway. He shrugged it off. Just hungry, is what he was.

  These little houses along the road. Maybe if he stopped in, introduced himself, explained his predicament...

  Well, no, that wouldn't do. He knew enough about humans not to expect the warmest of welcomes. What, then? Follow his nose, was the only thing. He knew he was closer to Halfway now, but he didn't know how close, or how far. What he had to do was get out of this truck and get into the woods. There he could use his powerful sense of smell better. Maybe sniff out a way home.

  No, keep driving. There was still some raw distance to be disposed of yet. He remembered the way the trees looked at Halfway. It was hard to see out there, but from what he could make of the vegetation, it looked similar, but not quite right. It might be easier to tell in the green season. But this was the dead of winter. Not a proper winter, actually. In fact, to Snowy it was positively balmy. Good for sunbathing.

  The terrain didn't look right, either. At Halfway it was more hilly. Mountainous, even. Keep to the truck for a little while at least.

  Something ahead. A little town, it looked like, and a junction with another road. There was a single red light hanging above the intersection, but Snowy didn't notice it until it was too late to stop. He blew through the intersection at fifty miles an hour.

  He drove on out of town. Suddenly the red light seemed to be following him, and now it was flashing. He heard a high-pitched whoop that hurt his ears.

  He saw that the light was mounted on a little vehicle, coming up fast. Snowy tromped on the power pedal.

  But it was no go. The little vehicle was too fast.

  It pulled alongside, its little red light still blinking. The human driver was in uniform.

  Snowy knew a policeman when he saw one, but he wasn't about to stop.

  The cop looked up at him, motioning for Snowy to pull over. Snowy waved. The cop did a double take, then dropped back. Snowy laughed.

  The truck's engine coughed once, and Snowy eased off the pedal a little, but then it sputtered and quit altogether. Snowy worried the ignition key, and the starter whined and churned. But the engine wouldn't catch. The truck was dead, and so was Snowy.

  As the truck drifted to a stop, Snowy looked at the dials and gauges on the dashboard. He knew he had not done something right. Just what, he might never know. Probably had something to do with a “gas station.” You were supposed to stop into those every once in a while and fill the truck up with some kind of gas. He had watched the kid do it a while back. A good while back, and that was probably what the problem was.

  “All right, get out of the truck, hands up!"

  Snowy looked out the window. The cop had stopped and was crouching behind an open door of the car, gun drawn and pointed at Snowy.

  “Do it!” the cop yelled.

  “Anything you say,” Snowy said.

  He got out.

  The cop's face went slack at the sight of Snowy's huge bulk. “All right,” he said, trying to mask his nervousness. “Take off that monkey suit, right now."

  “What's a monkey?” Snowy asked.

  “Don't give me any trouble, bud, or you'll regret it."

  “You're the boss.” Snowy began to peel off the running jacket that Dave had recommended he buy.

  “Take off the mask!” the cop growled.

  Snowy said, “That I can't do, friend."

  The cop came out from behind the door. “All right, play it that way. Turn around and put your hands over the hood."

  Snowy threw off the jacket. The icy air felt good against his fur. “Sorry, friend. I don't have any time to waste."

  “You're gonna have all the time in the world now, pal. Turn around there."

  Snowy turned and let the human lay hands on him.

  The cop ran his hand up and down Snowy's back.

  “Hey, what is this? Where's the damn ...?"

  “Something wrong, Officer?"

  “Jesus. Jesus! It's real. There's skin under here!"

  “I told you."

  “Jesus Christ."

  Snowy whirled and knocked the gun from the cop's hand. The weapon went flying off into the shadows, clattering against the pavement.

  “Sorry,” Snowclaw said. “But I told you I didn't have any time to waste."

  The cop stepped back. Snowy ripped off the rest of the jogging outfit. He was already unshod, his running shoes having split open when the spell broke.

  “What in God's name are you?” the cop gasped.

  “I'm a stranger here,” Snowy said. “By the way, did you ever hear of a place called Halfway House? I don't expect you ever did, but..."

  The cop turned and bolted into the woods Snowy watched him disappear, then listened to his frightened, dwindling footsteps awhile. At length the quiet returned.

  Well, so much for the truck, and for trying to get help. He was on his own. It was the Great Ice Hunter against the world, this world.

  He jumped a low fence and entered the forest. Stopping, he took a deep breath. Ah, yes. Many smells, many strange scents. Now, were there a couple he recognized?

  Maybe. A few. This way, they told him.

  He stalked off into the night.

  Laboratory

  “How's it coming?"

  Jeremy went on typing as Incarnadine looked over his shoulder.

  “The compilation's almost done. There were like maybe two or three bugs in fifty million lines of code. Amazing."

  “Computers only err in being inflexibly literal. Give them a set of unambiguous instructions, and they'll perform flawlessly."

  “Yeah. I don't know how I'm doing all this so fast."

  “You've been getting a little magical help. But your skills have increased tremendously just in the last two hours."

  “It's weird."

  Incarnadine laid a hand on Jeremy's shoulder. “Keep up the good work. Let me know when we're ready."

  Incarnadine walked to a raised platform and mounted it. Linda stood by, watching.

  “Is that where it'll appear?” Linda asked.

  “That's what we hope. I have to sketch a pattern here at the exact materialization locus. Would you fetch me some chalk from that bench over there?"

  “Yes, sir."

  Linda returned with the chalk to find Incarnadine kneeling in the middle of the platform. His brow was furrowed and his stare troubled. Linda waited until he rose.

  “Something wrong?"

  “I wish the platform were over a little to the right, this way. There's a node near here that might complicate things. An intersection of two of the castle's lines of force."

  “Why don't we just move the platform?"

  “We could, but Jeremy would have to go back and recode some I think...” Incarnadine paced a few steps. “Yeah, I think it'll be okay. We can work around it. You have that chalk?"

  Linda watched the King draw a precise mathematical figure on the wooden surface of the platform. As it took shape, she marveled at its complexity and at Incarnadine's draftsmanship. This was no hastily scrawled pentagram or other hocus-pocus.

  “How do you keep the lines so true, so straight?” she asked him.

  “Practice, honey practice."

  “It looks like you used drafting tools. But you did it all freehand."

  “It's a bother. But the spells demand freehand. Two-dimensional patterns are nothing, though. It's the 3-D ones that give me migraines."

  Linda shook her head. “There's more to this kind of magic than there is to science back home."

  “And it's a hell of a lot more dangerous."

  Around them, the laboratory buzzed and sang. Brilliant discharges crackled between suspended metal spheres. Spinning whe
els threw sparks, and retorts bubbled.

  Incarnadine walked over to Jeremy.

  “Ready, Igor?"

  Jeremy sat back and ran a sleeve across his brow. “You got it, Boris."

  “How are those two getting along?” Incarnadine motioned toward the laptop.

  Jeremy punched a few keys and the readout changed.

  — READY FOR THIS NEXT SUBROUTINE, SWEETHEART?

  ANYTIME, DARLING. IT'S BEEN WONDERFUL WORKING WITH YOU. I'M SO GLAD WE MET.

  YOU DON'T KNOW HOW LONELY I'VE BEEN IF I TOLD YOU HOW LONG I'VE BEEN SITTING HERE WITH NO ONE TO TALK TO...

  DON'T, I'll CRY.

  “Ick!” Jeremy said. “These two are getting it on."

  “Well, considering how fundamentally different they are in design and architecture, you could say they were of opposite genders."

  “It's still pretty strange."

  “It's a strange universe, son."

  Incarnadine looked about the lab, sensing, testing.

  “I think it's time. Let's run that sucker."

  Museum

  One step at a time, Gene thought as he crawled along the metal tube, Vaya following.

  Don't think about what you do when you finally get to this contraption. Forget questions like: How do you know it's operational? How do you fix it if it isn't? If it is in working order, how will you learn to operate it? Who's going to help you?

  The answer to the last question was, of course, Dis. The underworld machine had mapped out this safe route to the museum. Dis had also manufactured a beam weapon and had trained Gene and Vaya how to use it. Vaya carried it now. But Dis could only do so much. Dis really had no idea whether the interdimensional traveler still existed, nor whether it had ever worked or indeed had ever been tested.

  But don't think of any of that yet. One step at a time. One stupid, ill-advised, improbable step at a time.

  The end of the tube was in sight, and there was no grate over it. Gene poked his head out. The terminus of the ventilation shaft let out low in the wall of an empty corridor. Gene watched and waited for a good minute before exiting the shaft. Vaya passed the weapon to him, then crawled out.

  Gene looked the weapon over. It was a bazookalike affair with a telescopic sight, a trigger grip, and a few controls. Simple and deadly. It threw out a blinding beam of focused energy, and Dis had assured him it could take out one of the sentry robots. Anything bigger was iffy.

  He handed it back to Vaya.

  “We go left here,” he said. “Right?"

  “Left is correct.” The voice of Dis was a whisper in his ear.

  “Okay.” He wished now for a weapon for himself, but somebody had to stay in communication with Dis. Also, Gene would have his hands full with the machine, when and if they finally got to it. Besides, one weapon was Dis’ limit. Whether that limit had been imposed by physical capacity or ancient Umoi programming, Gene did not know.

  They advanced slowly down the corridor, pausing to check out each shadow before moving on.

  “Left turn at the end of the passage,” Dis reminded Gene.

  “Check."

  The crossing corridor was dark and empty. Gene scouted both directions. Then Vaya eased around the corner, beam weapon raised and ready.

  Nothing challenged her. They stepped quietly down the passageway and came to another crossing. Still nothing. A series of lefts and rights brought them to a pair of doors, one a typical Umoi portal: low, almost square, with a lever handle like a refrigerator's. The other was garage-door size.

  “My sensors show the smaller door unlocked,” Dis said.

  Vaya knew what to do. Crouching in the shadows, she aimed the weapon at the door. Gene grasped the handle, nodded to Vaya, and threw the door open, ducking out of the way.

  Nothing on the other side but darkness. Gene got out his Dis-manufactured torch—more or less a flashlight—and shined it into the room beyond. It was a large chamber filled with curious and unidentifiable machinery.

  “This must be it,” Gene said.

  “Yes,” Dis said. “This is a service entrance to the Hall of Advanced Technology. There are many exhibits here, but the machine you seek should be on display—if at all—in the experimental section. This area lies to your right as you go in."

  They entered and closed the door. Light came from a far corner of the chamber, and as they neared it, Gene doused the torch.

  They saw a bell shaped contrivance standing in a pool of blue light cast by an overhead spot. A circular access port stood open in the side of the machine.

  “Dis, is that it?” Gene asked.

  “Difficult to be sure. We made what we hoped was an intelligent guess. As you are carrying a transponder on your person which amplifies our signal, you must get closer to the device in order to ascertain whether it is indeed the interdimensional traveler."

  “It fits your description of it,” Gene said.

  “There were approximately four hundred other Umoi vehicles that answered to that description, fifty of which were exotic or experimental in nature."

  “One in fifty? Those are the best odds I've had so far. Let's go, Vaya."

  The torch fell out of Gene's belt and clattered to the floor. He stopped to pick it up.

  An energy bolt sizzled over his head. Vaya returned fire as they ran for cover. They took refuge behind a huge contraption, a cross between a cement mixer and a jukebox.

  “What now?” Gene said.

  “I'm sorry,” Dis said, “but our invasion of the ambient circuitry has alerted the irrational units of your presence. We had hoped, by using low-level current, to preclude this eventuality. Obviously we have failed."

  “Forget it,” Gene said. “Topside knew exactly what we were looking for, and all they had to do was wait. I figured as much, but didn't really have a choice. The traveler's my only hope of getting home."

  “You will have to tell us about your home sometime,” Dis said. “This interests us greatly."

  “I'll be sure to write. If you'll excuse us now, we have to battle our way to freedom."

  “Certainly,” Dis replied. “We wish you the best of luck in all your future endeavors. It has been a pleasure serving you."

  “For Pete's sake, Dis, don't leave now!"

  Another energy bolt scorched the wall behind them.

  “Who, may we ask, is this individual named Pete for whose sake we must act?"

  “Me, that's my nickname. Forget it. How many units are you picking up?"

  “At least six in the immediate vicinity, Pete.” Dis answered. “You have them at a disadvantage inside the museum. They are programmed to protect the exhibits."

  Vaya sent a beam into the shadows. An explosion shook the chamber.

  “You got one!” Gene said. “Good shooting!"

  A third bolt came from another direction. Vaya returned fire, this time failing to hit anything but a hulking contraption in a far corner of the hall.

  “Dis, are you still there?” Gene said.

  “Yes. Do you require further assistance?"

  “What do you advise?"

  “Immediate surrender. You are surrounded and cannot win."

  “Great. Anything else?"

  “You might try using the traveler as a redoubt, if you can successfully fight your way there. As far as can be ascertained, they will not destroy the device to get to you. However, you will be trapped inside."

  “Our one hope, then, is that the machine works and can take us out of here. Right?"

  “That is your only hope,” Dis agreed.

  Gene thought, if only he didn't sound so damned cheerful all the time. The kind who'd announce the end of the world and add, Have a nice day.

  “Give me the gun, Vaya,” Gene said. “I'm going to try to make it to that thing over there, the one that looks like a washing machine mating with a giant hair dryer. Never mind. That one."

  Vaya handed him the weapon and nodded. “Be quick and careful, my husband."

  “You bet your crown jew
els, Queenie. Then I'll cover you from there."

  Gene sprang out from cover and made his dash, bolts crackling around him. He ducked and slid on his stomach the last third of the way. But he made it. He drew a bead on the source of the firing.

  “Pick your own time, Vaya!"

  Vaya ran and did a textbook-perfect slide into second base. Then she took the weapon and covered Gene's next mad dash.

  Using this method, they made their slow way closer to the Umoi device. After ten minutes, however, a vast stretch of open floor still separated them from their goal.

  “We're just going to have to make a run for it,” Gene said.

  “I am with you, my husband. Always."

  He kissed her, then scanned the darkness. The shuffling tread of the sentry robots came to his ears. Probably positioning for a cross fire, Gene thought grimly. He considered surrender as a possible way out. Maybe Topside would let them go.

  No, there was no turning back.

  “Ready, my Queen?"

  Vaya nodded, then hugged him again.

  “Right. On three. One ... two ... three!"

  Gene led, firing blindly left and right, a brilliant explosion quickly marking one lucky shot. Return fire was swift and accurate, bolts sizzling inches behind their heels.

  Vaya was hit just a few feet from the vehicle's hatch, a wide-focus beam sweeping over her. She went down and lay still, her long hair trailing smoke. Gene dragged her, lifted her up, and threw her into the machine. He dove in after, the beam weapon clattering to the floor, out of reach.

  The hatch closed immediately, and darkness fell.

  “Vaya!” Gene reached for her. She was moaning softly, semi-conscious. Her skin felt hot and oily, like under-cooked meat. The stench of burning hair filled the compartment.

  He let her down. She seemed pretty bad. If only he could see.

  The lights came on.

  “Dis! Is that you?"

  “Yes. We are activating the machine."

  Gene looked down at Vaya. The left side of her entire body was beet-red. Second-degree burns at least. Part of her hair was singed away.

  “We have a report on the condition of the machine,” Dis said.

  Gene got up and went into what appeared to be the control compartment. There were two squat Umoi seats and a control panel in front of an oval view port. He sat.