“Who calls Ervoldt?” he bellowed, looking off-screen. He got no answer, cursed, looked forward again and brought the knife to his oiled chin. Then, startled, his eyes bulged and his head filled the screen.
“Who in the name of all the gods might you be?” he shouted with great annoyance. “And what devilment are ye about inside my shaving glass?”.
“I speak across the chasm of three thousand years,” came the answer.
“Do you? To glower at me as I crop my whiskers? Begone, spirit, and let me be about my business.”
“Hear me, Ancient One. I am human, and as alive as you, though I inhabit a time far removed from yours. I am your remote descendant.”
“Eh? The devil you say.”
“I speak truth.”
The man in the glass scowled and peered outward. “I see you.” He nodded, his expression softening. “You have the family look about you. Three thousand years, say you? The line breeds true.” He stepped back from the mirror. “And still in the family business, I see. What device do you use? Crystal sphere? Far-seeing glass? Necromantic rings?”
“A modification of the second device you mentioned. The refinements involved would be difficult to describe.”
“Doubtless so, after so long a time in which to make such advances.” Ervoldt threw down the razor. “Very well. What do you want?”
“Some advice.”
“Go on.”
Much later Ervoldt nodded gravely and said, “I have always thought that some day the Stone’s secret would be breached. In truth, I am surprised it lasted three millennia.”
“It will last three more with your help. The chief problem, of course, is recasting the spell as soon as possible after my adversaries undo it.”
Ervoldt frowned. “Aye, and you will have the devil’s own time of it. Since I do not know you, I cannot judge your abilities. I do know that the spell involved intricacies that have befuddled many a competent adept. I do not say this to tout my own proficiency. I succeeded only because I undertook the task when the stars were most favorable, a factor others before me failed to take into account.”
The other nodded, and looked away. “I am well aware of the sidereal mathematics you devised. I have your orrery, and have used it many times.”
“Indeed. It has lasted that long? I am honored. But to return to the matter at hand — I can but wish you well. You will need as much luck as I had.”
“Another factor has arisen, one which I am sure you never encountered.”
“Such as?”
“Watch the glass.” He hit a number of keys. The second disk drive hummed.
“What are you doing?”
“I am using the refinements of which I spoke earlier. The calculations should be visible to you.”
“What?” Ervoldt looked off to one side. “Ah! I see.” He studied what he saw. “Very interesting. Yes … yes. I see. You have more?”
A good while passed. At length Ervoldt looked out again at his descendant. “I understand. Yes, I would say you have an advantage here, be your ciphering correct and your surmises true.”
“Would you say that this advantage might offset any unfavorable sidereal conditions?”
“I think it would tend to ameliorate them. Beyond that, I cannot say.”
“It is enough. You have been of invaluable service to me, Ancestor.”
“I am glad. You seem an able young man and a worthy bearer of the family name.”
“Thank you … Grandfather.”
“Before you leave me, one question.”
“Anything.”
“Have you attempted this communication before?”
“No. Have others made contact?”
“Not contact,” Ervoldt said, “but I have had detected strange meddlings, perhaps attempts to observe me. I am not sure.”
“I see. Though I cannot be certain, I think I know who it was.”
“Tell them to bugger off. I value my privacy. To future generations I am the dead. Let me lie, let me rest.”
“My apologies.”
“They are unnecessary. This look into the far future has lightened my heart. Simply to know that there is a future is somehow reassuring. May the gods look upon you with favor. Fare ye well.”
“Farewell.”
A motion of the hand and the screen went dark.
He sighed. Rising from the computer station, he walked the length of the room and stood before a star chart. He examined it, doing a few mental calculations. He shook his head.
“The worst possible time.”
The walls shook again and took on a strange cast. These disturbances had been occurring regularly for the past half hour, but he had been able to ignore them because of certain protections that this particular room afforded. Soon those safeguards would not be enough.
The time had come. He would have to make his way to the lower levels with all due speed and put his plans, such as they were, into immediate effect.
Hall Of The Brain
Snowclaw looked out from the bars of his cage. They were doing curious things out there. Braziers burned, candles glowed, and the smell of incense hung heavy in the air.
Snowclaw didn’t like it one bit, but he had just about broken several bones trying to force his way out of the cage. It was no use. All he could do was observe the strange goings-on and comment now and again with a disapproving growl. At least he could let them know he didn’t like it.
Snowclaw wasn’t used to concentrated thinking, but now, with time on his hands, he was at leisure to put some thought into the process of deciding what to do next, if anything. He arranged the things he would do in sequential order. First he’d break out of his confinement. Then he’d tear the head off everybody in the room.
No, no good. The witch-female was too powerful for that. First, break out. Second, get away, so the magic-wielding hairless female couldn’t cage him again. Third, find his good buddy Gene and the other female, the one he liked a lot, Linda. Fourth? Well, if Gene and Linda and he were together again, everything would be okay, there wouldn’t be anything more to worry about, except getting back home …
Home. He never really thought about it much, but what was home? A shack, that’s all. A nice one, though, comfortably livable, and warm enough when the north wind blew and it got really cold at night, so cold the blowing snow felt like needles against your hide and the air was brittle enough to shatter like the glass in the windows of city-folks’ houses if you yelled or made a sudden move, just shatter into a million pieces, so cold that you’d give anything for spring to break early and to see the icebergs calving into the sea and moving out with the tide, great white floating islands, and to feel a mild breeze and see little green things appear among the wet rocks …
He was homesick. But all he had back there was a shack and a shaky living. Sometimes he got lonely — every once in a while, and he’d get the urge for companionship. Why, the last time he’d shacked with a mate was years ago. Yeah, it was a lonely existence out there in the ice fields. But it was the only way he knew how to make a living.
Now, this place — he kind of liked it here. It was lots of fun, sometimes, and the food was good. There were plenty of good fights, a little danger for spice. Yeah. He liked it. Thing was, on a permanent basis it would tend to wear a little thin. But on the whole, the prospect of staying here indefinitely didn’t upset him as much as he would have thought.
He missed Gene. For some reason he liked the little smooth-skinned fellow a whole lot. Why, he didn’t know. Didn’t really matter.
Great White Stuff! He wanted out of this cage so bad he could taste it. What in the name of the Ice Queen were they doing out there? Witchy stuff, most likely.