Out of This World. Lawrence Watt-Evans
returned the salute briskly.
“Thorpe should have reported in hours ago, even if Cahn couldn’t,” the major said.
“Yes, ma’am,” the lieutenant agreed.
“You haven’t done anything about it?” she demanded sharply.
“No, ma’am,” the lieutenant answered. “There’s nothing in my orders that says I should, and after Major Copley took ill no one told me anything different.”
The major’s expression made clear what she thought of that argument. “You’ve dropped all the other contacts with that universe?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am—at least, the telepaths were instructed to do so, as soon as the ship went through the warp. I was told that we wanted to be sure Captain Cahn didn’t have any of our contacts interfering.”
“That’s right.” The major chewed her lower lip for a few seconds, then ordered, “Get another telepath down here—one who’s done those interdimensional contacts. I want to know what the hell Thorpe is doing.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The lieutenant started to reach for the telephone, then stopped.
Why bother? His post was supposed to be monitored at all times; the telepaths had already heard him.
Or if they hadn’t, they were in trouble, which would suit him just fine.
* * * *
“And this device of theirs, which they say will destroy an entire city and leave no stone upon another—believe you that it exists, and is not but some mad dream, or a tale to frighten strangers?”
Raven turned up his palms. “Who can say?” he replied. “They spoke of it as though ‘twere but simple fact, they named names to me that meant nothing but had the ring of truth, yet how am I to know whether they speak lies? I’m but a man, not a wizard who can read men’s souls.”
The other snorted. “Would that I could!” he said. “I can see a lie betimes, when ‘tis spoke, but beyond that I’ve no more insight into a man’s secrets than you, my lord. I’m not one of these the Empire has, who claim to hear the innermost thoughts of others as if they were spoken aloud.”
“Telepaths,” Raven said.
“Aye,” the other agreed. “That’s the word.”
For a moment the two were silent. Then Raven spoke.
“What of the Empire’s expedition to this new world?” he asked. “Have we word of their success, or perchance their failure? Have they made contacts, perhaps obtained these terrible weapons?”
“Word is not yet received,” the wizard replied.
“No?” Raven turned, startled, to look at the door of the chamber, as if he expected it to burst open on cue.
The door did not move.
“Did not Elani open the way for our messenger this hour past?” Raven asked.
The other nodded. “Aye,” he said. “That she did, yet there’s no word.”
Raven stared at him.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Because the messenger tells us that the Empire has had no word of their sky-ship’s fate, and our spies can hardly learn what is known to none,” the wizard explained.
“No word?” Raven’s brows drew together as he frowned. “Why would there be no word? They have their miracle-workers, their telepaths—why have they not heard?”
The wizard turned up his palms. “Who knows?” he asked.
* * * *
“I may have to start believing in UFOs and Bigfoot,” Nancy said, as she slumped on the couch and stared at the spot where Raven had sat.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Pel said.
“Why not?” she asked, turning to face him. “I mean, if we can have swordsmen and elves walking through our basement wall, why are space aliens bringing Elvis back from the dead any less likely?”
Pel opened his mouth, then closed it again and considered the statement. He looked at Raven’s unfinished beer, still sitting on the coffee table.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe they aren’t any less likely, but the evidence for them is pretty damn weak.”
“Yeah, well, what evidence do we have?” Nancy retorted. “We didn’t take any pictures or anything; all we’ve got is some memories and a can of beer. Is that any better than some of the saucer nuts?”
“No,” Pel admitted.
“So maybe it didn’t really happen at all,” Nancy said; Pel noticed a hopeful tone to her voice. “Maybe we imagined it, got ourselves hypnotized somehow into believing it.”
Pel took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.
That explanation was actually just about as believable as any other, he had to admit. He didn’t like the idea that his mind could play such tricks on him, and he couldn’t explain it, but really, a man from another universe wasn’t a much better explanation.
He remembered Raven so clearly, though—the embroidery on his tunic, the greasy smudge on one temple, the cat hairs on his cloak, his odd accent. It didn’t seem like something he and Nancy would have imagined, not with the weirdly confusing story about evil wizards and galactic empires.
That reminded him of something, and he sat up in the recliner.
“Hey,” he said. “There was something he told me before you got home—he said the Galactic Empire sent a spaceship to Earth. Through a whatchamacallit, a gate or a space-warp or whatever, somewhere near here.”
Nancy looked puzzled.
“So?” she said.
“So,” Pel said, “if it was all real, then don’t you think a spaceship might make the evening news?”
Nancy blinked.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Maybe.”
Pel was annoyed at her lack of enthusiasm, but tried not to show it. “Well, if it’s on the news, that would settle it, right? It would all be real, if it’s on the news.”
“And if it’s not?” Nancy asked.
Pel shrugged. “Well, then we still don’t know for sure,” he said. “But we wouldn’t be any worse off than we are.”
“That’s true,” she admitted.
“And if it is on the news,” Pel said with sudden enthusiasm, “this would really be big-time stuff! The first contact with another universe, my God!”
Nancy refused to share his excitement as he lifted the remote control and turned on CNN.
* * * *
Amy spoke quietly into the phone as she peered out her kitchen window. A man with what looked like a metal detector was walking across the back yard, swinging it slowly from side to side a few inches above the dewy grass. A team of men was taking photographs from every possible angle, with one of them holding a yellow measuring stick in various positions to provide a scale; about half of them wore Air Force uniforms, while the rest were in mufti.
They had started arriving right around dawn, and had apparently reached equilibrium now, with a few leaving whenever more arrived. And Amy’s call had finally gotten an answer.
“This is Amy Jewell,” she said. “I need to speak to Bob Hough right away.”
“I’m sorry,” replied the receptionist at Dutton, Powell, and Hough, “but Mr. Hough is on vacation in Cancun. I have the number of his hotel if this is an emergency, but Ms. Nguyen is handling everything