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.
Thirty-two
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 wheels 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.”
Thirty-three
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 portaclass="underline" 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.