Out of This World Page 10

  The other woman was of medium height, with thick honey-blonde hair cut fairly short but elaborately curled. Pel judged her to be in her late thirties, or at most a well-preserved forty-five; her skin was pale, and she hadn’t bothered to use make-up to disguise the fact. She wore a floral print dress, belted tightly. “This must be Amy Jewell, then,” he said.

  She nodded.

  Rachel had recruited crewmen to fetch chairs from the kitchen and dining room to the family room, resulting in a temporary traffic jam as everyone bumped into each other. This was further complicated by Raven’s return from the basement, accompanied by Stoddard, Squire Donald, and the wizard Valadrakul. As the chaos gradually subsided and everyone either found seats or places to stand, Nancy looked the entire array over with some dismay. She counted seventeen guests—and she hadn’t had a chance to shop.

  “Would anyone like coffee?” she asked, a little more loudly than she had intended.

  Chapter Nine

  Pel looked over the gathering with an odd feeling of unreality. His house was full of characters out of fiction—spacemen and swordsmen and wizards.

  Not actors, though; their clothes were all lived in, serious working clothes, not costumes made just for looks. He could smell sweat and perfume—the perfume, he thought, was coming from Squire Donald. He could see pimples and nose hairs.

  These people were just as real as he was.

  So if these people were all out of storybooks, did that make him a fictional character, too? Was he living out an adventure? If so, he hoped he was the hero, and that there would be a happy ending.

  Up until yesterday he had thought he was all through with any chance at adventures, and that he had already gotten safely to the living- happily-ever-after part. He had a wife he loved, a delightful daughter, a pleasant home, and his own reasonably-successful business.

  Maybe he was just background, then, just a spear-carrier, some bit player.

  Or maybe it wasn’t a story at all. After all, what sort of adventure story had both wizards and spacemen? And what were lawyers doing in it?

  No, this was no story; this was the real world taking an entirely new and bizarre turn, such as his life hadn’t done since college. And it had never before taken a turn this weird.

  “We’ll be sending out for pizza a little later,” he announced as Nancy carried in the second tray of coffee. “For supper, I mean. I’m afraid we’re not equipped to feed everybody anything more substantial than that.”

  “Will we be staying here, then?” one of the Imperials asked—Pel did not yet know them all by name, and this was not one he knew.

  “What’s pizza?” someone else asked, a little more quietly; Pel was not sure who had spoken.

  That, at least, was a question he could answer.

  “Pizza, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it, is a sort of tomato and cheese pie you can eat with your fingers,” Pel explained. “I think you’ll like it, and it’s something we can get delivered easily. As for whether any of you will be staying here for any length of time, I don’t know; that’s one of the things we need to discuss.”

  He looked around at the crowded room, and three dozen eyes looked back at him attentively. He was the host, the man in charge; it was his responsibility to get things moving.

  “To start at the beginning,” he said, “my name is Pellinore Brown, and this is my house; that’s my wife Nancy bringing you all tea and coffee, and my daughter Rachel over there in the doorway.” He pointed. “We have a cat somewhere, but he’s probably hiding under the bed upstairs.”

  No one laughed; a few polite smiles appeared briefly.

  Pel continued, pointing, “That’s Ted Deranian, our attorney; some of you owe him a vote of thanks for getting you out of jail.”

  Ted, who had managed to snag the recliner and who now sat comfortably enthroned, his feet up, smiled and waved without rising. A polite murmur was heard; when it had subsided, Pel continued.

  “Over there,” Pel said, pointing to the step down from the hallway, “is Amy Jewell, who owns the land where the Imperial spaceship crashed, and beside her is her attorney, Susan Nguyen.” The two women were seated side by side on the step; Amy did not react visibly, but Susan acknowledged the introduction with a nervous little nod.

  “And,” Pel said, looking around to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone, “according to what I’ve been told, the six of us are the only people here from this planet. We have people here from three different worlds. I’ll let Raven introduce the people from his world.”

  Raven rose from the white mesh patio chair he was using, one of three that had been brought in to augment the available seating. Pel noticed that at some point he had put his sword back on.

  The man in black nodded an acknowledgment and said, “My thanks, friend Pel Brown. From my world there are at present but four of us come. I am called Raven of Stormcrack Keep; my companions,” he pointed, “are the mage Valadrakul, Squire Donald a’ Benton, and Stoddard, man-at-arms. We came hither by magic, seeking aid in the struggle against the Shadow that has darkened our homeland.”

  Ted, still ensconced in the recliner, snorted derisively.

  “Thanks,” Pel said, quickly speaking up before Raven could go any further. Raven essayed a quick bow to the gathered company, then sat again as Pel said, “And the rest of you are from the Galactic Empire; Captain Cahn, if you could introduce your crew?”

  “I’m Captain Joshua Cahn, commanding I.S.S. Ruthless, detached service, Imperial Fleet,” Cahn said, rising from his place on the couch. “My second in command is First Lieutenant Alster Drummond, my second officer is Second Lieutenant Geoffrey Godwin.” With each name he pointed. “My men are Peabody, Smith, Lampert, Cartwright, Soorn, and Mervyn, and our Special is Registered Master Telepath Proserpine Thorpe.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Pel took a deep breath.

  “Mr. Brown,” Captain Cahn said, interrupting whatever Pel had been about to say, “why are we here? Are we your prisoners?”

  “Oh, no, Captain!” Pel said, startled.

  “No, you are mine,” Raven added, rising.

  Astonished, Pel turned to see that Raven had his hand on the hilt of his sword, Squire Donald’s hands were ready, and Stoddard was pulling his blade from its sheath. Valadrakul had made no move toward his knife, but had raised both hands in a very peculiar spread-fingered gesture that vaguely resembled a martial arts stance.

  “What?” Pel said, baffled. “Raven, what d’you think you’re doing?”

  “Why, claiming my prisoners, friend Pel,” Raven replied. “And my thanks to you and your comrade, and your lovely wife, for fetching them for me.” He grinned, and Pel remembered that his very first impression of Raven had been of a Mafioso in Renaissance dress.

  The Earth people all stared in confusion; the Imperials reacted with tension, anger, and befuddlement. Some stood, some started to and then froze, others never moved.

  Ted smiled an uneasy smile. Amy muttered, “This is insane,” and clutched her purse tightly. Susan watched, her face emotionless.

  Captain Cahn did not bother to say anything; he hauled a blaster from the holster on his belt, pointed it at Stoddard, and pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened.

  “Damn,” he said. “I was afraid of that.”

  Ted giggled.

  “Stoddard, put that thing away,” Pel said. “And you, too, Captain; even if it doesn’t work, I don’t like people pointing guns in my house.”

  Stoddard glanced at Raven.

  “Nobody is anybody’s prisoner here,” Pel insisted. “Raven, you three may have swords, but there are four of you and fifteen of us, and a drawerful of knives in the kitchen. If there’s a fight someone’s going to get hurt, and you might lose, and besides, it’s just stupid. Put the swords away and let’s talk about this, okay?”

  “We have more than swords, Pel Brown,” Raven said; he kept his right hand on the hilt of his own weapon and gestured at Valadrakul with his left
.

  “No, you don’t,” Pel said. “Magic doesn’t work any better here than the captain’s raygun.”

  Raven gave a Hollywood villain’s laugh and called, “Valadrakul!”

  The wizard’s fingers moved in odd, twitching patterns.

  For a moment, the room was silent; no one else moved. Then Rachel began crying.

  “Rachel!” Nancy cried; she hurried to her daughter’s side.

  The momentary distraction did not break the tension; after a quick glance, everyone returned to the frozen tableau of a moment before.

  Everyone, that is, except Pel, who was standing in the middle of the room grinning.

  “Come on, Raven,” he said. “Magic doesn’t work here.”

  “Ah... my lord,” Valadrakul said softly, lowering his hands, “I fear he speaks the truth.”

  Raven turned to glare at his wizard. “Canst do nothing?” he demanded.

  “Naught, my lord,” Valadrakul said. “Not the merest spell can I bring to fruit.”

  “As I was saying,” Pel said, “three swords against a dozen steak knives isn’t anything I’d care to see.”

  “I understood,” Raven said, “that this realm was different, and that magic was not the same here—but to find that a mage can do nothing ‘gainst armed men?”

  “Raven, we have no magic here,” Pel said. “It’s not that magic is different here, it’s that there isn’t any. None. It isn’t possible. People have been trying to work magic here for five thousand years, and it can’t. Be. Done.”

  “Aaah!” Raven flung his hand from the grip of his sword in disgust. “Stoddard, sheathe your blade.”

  Stoddard obeyed. Squire Donald dropped his hands. Ted giggled inanely again.

  “Now,” Pel said, exasperated, “can we get on with it?”

  No one objected.

  “Good,” Pel said. “Now, let me see if I have this straight. You people are not from other planets, in the usual sense of planets that orbit stars that you could fly to if you had a working spaceship. You’re from alternate realities—places that are in entirely different universes that occupy the same space as ours. Right?” He looked at Raven.

  “I cannot gainsay that,” Raven said. “Though I’d not swear it be true.”

  Pel looked at Cahn.

  “Sounds right to me, allowing for some minor variations in terminology,” the captain said.

  “Good,” Pel said. “Raven, you and your people came here through an opening in the wall of our basement, right?”

  Raven nodded.

  “Now, how’d you make that opening?”

  “’Twas conjured for us, by the sorceress Elani,” Raven said.

  “Fine. Now, Captain Cahn, how did you and your people get here?”

  Cahn blinked, took a second to consider, and replied, “We flew our ship through a spatial continuum discontuity—a space warp, we call it.”

  “And how’d that warp happen?”

  Cahn tightened his lips for a moment, glanced at Prossie and then at Drummond, and answered, “It was deliberately created by a process developed by the Empire’s Department of Science; I don’t know the details.”

  “But it was done by science, and not magic?”

  “Oh, yes; magic works no better in Imperial space than it appears to here,” Cahn agreed.

  “But it seems some of your science doesn’t work here either, right?”

  “That’s right,” Cahn admitted. “Though I’d be interested in knowing just how you learned that. It appears that certain physical laws are different here, including some that form the basis for much of our machinery.”

  “So your ship doesn’t fly.”

  “At the moment, that’s correct.”

  “But if it did,” Pel asked, “could you fly it back through the warp and go back where you came from?”

  Prossie coughed.

  “In theory,” Cahn said. “It hasn’t been done, however.”

  “Ah. And in any case, your ship doesn’t fly—so the ten of you are stranded here, right?”

  Cahn did not answer that; instead he stared calmly back at Pel.

  Pel waved the question aside. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m just trying to make sure everyone sees as much of the situation as possible.”

  “Keep it up, Mr. Brown,” Amy called from the hallway step. “You’re doing fine so far; it almost makes sense.”

  Several people, from all three worlds, smiled.

  “Thank you,” Pel replied. He paused, rubbed at a cheek with his forefinger, and considered, while everyone else waited expectantly.

  “All right,” he said. “Now let’s consider why all you people are here. Raven tells me that something he calls Shadow has... um... conquered?” Raven nodded. “Conquered. Something called Shadow has conquered most of his home world—I guess he just means his own planet, and not whatever others there are in his universe...”

  Valadrakul cleared his throat. Pel turned his gaze on the wizard. “Yes?”

  “Your pardon,” the wizard said, “but you misunderstand the nature of our reality. There is but one world; we have no planets in our cosmos, as you would use the term. I would take it that your own cosmos resembles that of the Empire, with a myriad of worldly globes circling many thousands of stars, but our realm is not like that; rather, we have but a single globe, and the sun and moons and stars, and the wanderers that we call by the name ‘planet,’ all travel about it.”

  “We used to think that, too...” Pel began.

  Valadrakul cut him off with a shake of his head. “Still you do not understand,” he said. “Wizards have been to the stars, long ago, and flown behind the sun. We have seen all our universe from afar, hanging alone in a black and empty cosmos. We know its nature.”

  “All right,” Pel said, “I won’t argue about it. At any rate, this Shadow thing has conquered most of the world, right?”

  “Aye,” said three of the four—Stoddard did not speak, but Raven, Donald, and Valadrakul all responded. “May Shadow be eternally damned,” Donald added.

  “It’s conquered all the World,” Raven said.

  Pel nodded. “Right,” he said. “And now it’s looking for somewhere new, right?”

  “Aye,” said Raven.

  “And that brings us to the Empire,” Pel said, turning to Captain Cahn. “Captain?”

  “Yes, Mr. Brown?” Cahn said, raising an eyebrow. The gesture was something Leonard Nimoy might have done playing Mr. Spock, but Cahn, with his close-cropped blond hair and square jaw, didn’t look anything at all like Spock. He looked more like someone’s idea of the all-American boy.

  “This Shadow thing discovered your universe, right?”

  “So it appears,” Cahn said. “I believe that Telepath Thorpe can probably tell you more about that than I can.”

  All eyes turned to Prossie. She shrank back against the cushions of the couch.

  “Report, Thorpe,” Cahn told her.

  “Yes, sir,” Prossie said, standing quickly and snapping to attention. “About seven years ago,” she began, “Imperial Intelligence started getting reports of oddities—strange creatures turning up in places they shouldn’t, most often. The creatures in question either vanished or died before any Intelligence personnel or any telepath reached them, and the dead ones didn’t explain much—the Department of Science couldn’t figure out where they came from, or any conditions under which they could have survived naturally. Some of them seemed to lack vital organs, for example. A few were miniature humans, but most were montrosities.”

  Cahn nodded; Pel blinked.

  “Hellbeasts and homunculi, most likely,” Raven said.

  “The Empire investigated,” Prossie continued, “and located certain people who were not what they pretended to be. Telepathic interrogation, carried out without the subject being aware of it, revealed that these people, and all of the anomalies, were the products of an extra-universal entity that they knew as ‘Shadow.’ This entity had sent its creatures to
scout out Imperial space, explore it, and to send back reports. Shadow’s reasons and long- term intentions were not known to any of its creations.”

  “Shadow is no fool,” Raven remarked. Pel gestured for him to be silent, and he obeyed.

  “Up until this point,” Prossie went on, “the possibility of inter-universal travel was unknown to the Empire. However, the existence of this extra-universal threat was sufficient reason to begin a crash program at the Department of Science, to find and access other universes. Using knowledge gleaned from Shadow’s creatures, telepaths assisted in this research, and in fact were central to it; it was discovered that under certain conditions telepaths could contact minds in other universes, that in fact such contacts had sometimes already occurred inadvertantly, but that heretofore their nature had been misunderstood. It was determined that the foremost requirement for inter-universal contact, the one that appears to have been most limiting, is that the minds in question must all think in the same language as the telepath attempting to reach them.”

  “English?” Ted asked.

  Prossie nodded. “It appears,” she said, “that a similar limitation must exist on the magic that Shadow used in opening a way between its universe and Imperial space—or perhaps Shadow only discovered the Empire when a telepath accidentally contacted it. In any case, Shadow and its creatures, and most of the other inhabitants of its universe, speak a recognizable dialect of Imperial English. Accordingly, our telepaths were able to contact some of them. Shadow itself, however, was another matter; attempts to read its thoughts were unsuccessful, and sometimes damaging. One telepath died upon contacting Shadow; the autopsy found severe brain damage. After that we were all more careful.”

  Pel nodded. Amy shuddered.

  “Although we could sometimes sense, around the fringes of our perception, beings that spoke other languages, we were unable to establish contact with anything other than English-speaking humans,” Prossie continued. “Until very recently this meant that we could only communicate reliably within the Empire, or with Shadow’s world. However, a few weeks back we achieved limited contacts with individuals in a third universe—the one we’re all in right now.”