"Sorry, but there's only one channel."
"What about using magic?"
Jeremy scowled. "Hey, sending data via modem without a phone line or a radio relay is magic. And getting the signal from one universe to another is big-time magic. Whaddya want, miracles?"
"Sorry."
"Don't worry, we'll be in constant communication. That's an improvement over the way we've done things in the past."
Linda was eating a sandwich at a table laden with luncheon food. She had switched outfits too, dressed now in a futuristic silver-lamé two-piece utility suit with matching boots. The costume evoked 1930's-40's movie serials.
Snowclaw was sitting beside her, dipping citronella candles in ranch dressing. He had decided to try something new.
"Aren't you guys hungry?" Linda called. "Come and get it before it turns into pumpkins."
Gene came over with Jeremy. "I guess I should eat," Gene said, sitting down. "No telling when we'll get the chance next."
Linda said, "Jeremy, what about the locator spell?"
"Osmirik sent one down, and I fed it into the Voyager's computer. Whether or not it's gonna work, I don't know. But it's like radar. You punch up the display on the screen, and when you see an echo, you know you're getting close to the target."
"The target being Melanie."
"Right. But of course, the problem is, what's the spell supposed to look for exactly? How is it supposed to identify the target?"
"Her old clothes aren't enough?"
"I don't know what I'm supposed to do with 'em. If this were just plain magic, I guess you'd just throw an old sock into the brew, or something ― like for a love potion or something corny like that. But we're using a little bit of magic and a lot of technology. That makes it tricky."
"We need a bloodhound," Gene said. "You'd just let it get a whiff of the stuff and off it'd go, sniffing away."
They all sat thinking. Then their gazes intersected.
"Why not get a bloodhound?" said Gene.
"Yeah," Jeremy said. "Could you whip one up, Linda?"
"A dog? Well, I can conjure almost anything. I've cloned Gene and Snowclaw, but that was working with a known model. I don't even know what a bloodhound looks like."
"That's never stopped you before," Gene said. "You can conjure stuff you've never laid eyes on."
"Okay, but wait a minute. Say I do produce a bloodhound. How's that going to help? We don't know what universe she's in."
"It'd have to be a bloodhound with very unusual talents," Gene said. "He'd have to be able to sniff out whole universes."
Linda shook her head. "That's a tall order. I don't know how I'd program an ability like that into anything I conjure. The best I could do would be a standard bloodhound ― whatever that is."
Gene ruminated. "I seem to remember something about the castle having a hunt aspect."
"A hunt aspect?"
"Yeah. Riding to hounds. Fox-hunting, for the gentry. If so, there has to be a kennel. Royal hounds. Now, they'd be your basic hunting hounds ― there are number of breeds ― but they could certainly follow a human scent."
"But they'd still be just ordinary dogs," Linda said.
"Yeah, I guess." Gene took a bite of the sandwich he'd made. "But there's a kernel of an idea here somewhere. We need a natural-born tracker. A hunter."
Jeremy said, "How about Snowy?"
"Yeah, I can do that," Snowy said. "But I don't even really know what the heck a universe is."
"Yeah, that's no good," Gene said.
"Besides, I have a cold."
Gene said, "You get colds?"
"Sure. My nose gets all stuffed up and I can't smell a thing."
"No kidding." Gene set down his prosciutto-and-green-pepper sandwich. "What we really need is a psychic critter."
"Why not just a psychic?"
"A human one? What, are we going to look for Elvis? You want the scoop on the next stage of Jackie O's love life?"
"It was only a suggestion."
"There are castle people who have psychic powers," Linda said. "What do you call what I do?"
"Real magic."
"What's the difference?"
"There's a lot of difference. Besides, you said you can't conjure a human being."
"But there might be someone in the castle who could help."
"We need real tracking talent, not some self-styled _psychic' who makes a hundred wild guesses, of which one might luckily pan out."
"Incarnadine could locate Melanie," Linda said.
"Probably, but he's not around. Want to wait for him to come back?"
"No, Melanie's in trouble. I can feel it."
"Talk about psychic vibes."
"No, I can't find her. My talent's not that way."
"Well, is there something you can remember about that wild aspect? What it looked like, anything to identify it?"
"It was just a dense forest, big trees. Looked like ordinary trees. It could have been Earth for all I know." Linda paused and thought. "There is one thing. The way Melanie moved when I saw her. She seemed to be in an old silent movie. Jerky, fast."
"Ah, a time-flow differential," Gene said.
"Time-flow?" Jeremy said.
"Yeah. Might be that the rate that time flows in that universe is faster than the one here. That's not so good. More time for her to get in trouble."
"Great," Linda said, sounding discouraged.
"But the differential doesn't appear to be too big," Gene said, wishing he hadn't brought it up. "Shouldn't be a problem."
"Anyway," Jeremy said, "the Voyager's a time machine."
"I guess it is," Gene said. "It travels through all the dimensions, of which time is one. We might be able to adjust for any temporal displacement." Gene himself wasn't sure exactly what he meant or what such a remedy would entail.
Linda stared at the table. "Boy, this is going to be fun."
"Linda, I think our best approach," Gene said, "is for you to conjure a psychic dog."
"You don't believe in human psychics, but ―"
"Hell, dogs are psychic. Everybody knows that. Besides, dogs I trust. Human con-artists, no."
Linda shrugged. "Okay. This is getting even crazier than what usually goes on in this place, but what the heck. Let's give it a shot."
Linda stood and walked out from the table a few feet and stopped. "Psychic dog. Right." She folded her arms and closed her eyes.
She stood motionless, her feet wide apart. The two men and Snowclaw watched. This went on for a longish minute. Nothing happened.
Linda relaxed and opened her eyes. "This is going to be harder than I thought." She shifted her feet, then resumed her stance. Folding her arms again, she shut her eyes.
"Dang it, anyway!" Luster griped from across the room, frustrated by some recalcitrant grommet.
Linda rocked slightly back and forth. Gene, Jeremy, and Snowclaw didn't move. Nothing happened for about thirty seconds.
Then, with no fanfare, a huge dog materialized on the floor in front of Linda. It was lying down. Startled, it lifted its head, looked around, and sprang to its feet.
The animal looked to have a lot of sheepdog in its ancestry, but something had gone wrong. Its fur was a dirty white, splotched with great patches of black and rust-red in a crazy-quilt pattern. Its head was enormous and the ears were long and floppy. The right eye was brown and the other looked different; it was a little larger, and had green in it. A black ring circled the smaller eye. All in all, it was a clumsy, confused mélange of a dog, oversized and shaggy. It was male.
Its ears went down, and it hunkered and growled. Then it barked.
"Easy, boy," Linda said.
"That's a psychic dog? That's the goofiest-looking mutt I've ever laid eyes on," Gene complained.
"Aw, it's cute. Sort of."
The dog's ears went up and its shaggy tail started wagging.
"See? It's friendly!" Linda knelt and petted it. "Good boy."
Gene shook his head. "That thing doesn't look like it could find its water dish."