“A last drink,” he said, nodding at the Napoleon brandy on the table.
“I’m going,” she shouted, because for some reason she wanted to stay. Hurling herself past him she tore open the door on the far wall and slammed it behind her. A stairway stretched up and down and she ran down it, flight after flight, gasping for breath, until she could run no more. For a moment she rested against the wall, then straightened and touched her hair, opened the door and stepped through into the same room she had left high above.
“A last drink,” he said, lifting the bottle.
Speechless this time, she ran, closed the door, climbed upwards, higher, until her strength was gone and the stairs ended with a dusty fire door leading to the roof. Opening it she threw herself through into the same room she had left far below.
“A last drink,” he said, decanting the golden drops, then glancing up to notice how her eyes flew to the other doors around the room. “All doors, all halls, all stairs, lead back here,” he said, not unkindly. “You must have this drink. Sit. Rest. Drink. A toast. Here’s to love, my darling.”
Exhausted, she held the glass in both hands, warming it with the heat of her body, then drank. It was heavenly and his face was close beside hers and his lips were whistling in her ear.
“Would you believe,” the hushed sibilants sounded, “would you believe that this brandy contains a drug that destroys your will to say no? Resistance is useless, you are mine.”
“No, no …” her lips said, while her arms said yes, yes, and pulled her to him. No, no, never, never, and darkness descended.
“Drugs, mind-destroying drugs,” she said later, in the warm darkness, their fingertips just touching, cool sheets against her back, her voice a little smug and satisfied. “There was no other way, drugs against my will.”
“Do you believe,” his shocked voice answered, “that I would put anything at all in that brandy? Of course not, my darling. We have just found your excuse, that is all.”
IF
We are there; we are correct. The computations were perfect. That is our destination below.”
“You are a worm,” 17 said to her companion, 35, who resembled her every way other than in number. “Yes — that is the correct place. But we are nine years too early. Look at the meter.”
“I am a worm. I shall free you of the burden of my useless presence.” 35 removed her knife from the scabbard and tested the edge, which proved to be exceedingly sharp. She placed it against the white wattled width of her neck and prepared to cut her throat.
“Not now,” 17 hissed. “We are shorthanded already and your corpse would be valueless to this expedition. Get us to the correct time at once. Our power is limited, you may remember.”
“It shall be done as you command,” 35 said as she slithered to the bank of controls. 44 had ignored the talk, keeping her multi cellular eyes focused intently on the power control bank: constantly making adjustments with her spatulate fingers in response to the manifold dials.
“That is it,” 17 announced, rasping her hands together with pleasure. “The correct time, the correct place. We must descend and make our destiny. Give praise to the Saur of All, who rules the destinies of all.”
“Praise Saur,” her two companions muttered, all of their attention on the controls.
Straight down from the blue sky the globular vehicle fell. It was round and featureless, save for the large rectangular port on the bottom now, and made of some sort of green metal, perhaps anodized aluminium, though it looked harder. It had no visible means of flight or support, yet it fell at a steady and controlled rate. Slower and slower it moved until it dropped from sight behind the ridge at the northern end of Johnson’s Lake, just at the edge of the tall pine grove. There were fields nearby, with cows, who did not appear at all disturbed by the visitor. No human being was in sight to view the landing beside the path that cut in from the lake here: a scuffed dirt trail that led to the highway.
An oriole sat on a bush and warbled sweetly; a small rabbit hopped from the field to nibble a stem of grass. This bucolic and peaceful scene was interrupted by the scuff of feet down the trail and a high-pitched and singularly monotonous whistling. The bird flew away, a touch of soundless color, while the rabbit disappeared into the hedge. A boy came over the rise from the direction of the lake shore. He wore ordinary boy clothes and carried a schoolbag in one hand, a homemade cage of wire screen in the other. In the cage was a small lizard which clung to the screen, its eyes rolling in what presumably was fear. The boy, whistling shrilly, trudged along the path and into the shade of the pine grove.
“Boy,” a high-pitched and tremulous voice called out.
“Can you hear me, boy?”
“I certainly can,” the boy said, stopping and looking around for the unseen speaker. “Where are you?”
“I am by your side, but I am invisible. I am your fairy godmother ….”
The boy made a rude sound by sticking out his tongue and blowing across it while it vibrated. “I don’t believe in invisibility or fairy godmothers. Come out of those woods, whoever you are.”
“All boys believe in fairy godmothers,” the voice said, but a worried tone edged the words now. “I know all kinds of secrets. I know your name is Don and …”
“Everyone knows my name is Don and no one believes anymore in fairies. Boys now believe in rockets, submarines, and atomic energy.”
“Would you believe in space travel?”
“I would.”
Slightly relieved the voice came on stronger and deeper. “I did not wish to frighten you, but I am really from Mars and have just landed ….”
Don made the rude noise again. “Mars has no atmosphere and no observable forms of life. Now come out of there and stop playing games.”
After a long silence the voice said, “Would you consider time travel?”
“I could. Are you going to tell me that you are from the future?”
With relief: “Yes I am.”
“Then come out where I can see you.”
“There are some things that the human eye should not look upon ….
“Horseapples! The human eye is okay for looking at anything you want to name. You come out of there so I can see who you are — o r I’m leaving.”
“It is not advisable.”
The voice was exasperated. “I can prove I am a temporal traveler by telling you the answers to tomorrow’s mathematics test. Wouldn’t that be nice? Number one, 1.76. Number two….”
“I don’t like to cheat, and even if I did you can’t cheat on the new math. Either you know it or you fail it. I’m going to count to ten, then I’m leaving.”
“No, you cannot! I must ask you a favor. Release that common lizard you have trapped and I will give you three wishes — I mean, answer three questions.”
“Why should I let it go?”
“Is that the first of your questions?”
“No. I want to know what’s going on before I do anything. This lizard is special. I never saw another one like it around here.”
“You are right. It is an Old World acrodont lizard of the order Rhiptoglossa, commonly called a chameleon.”
“It is!” Don was really interested now. He squatted in the path and took a red-covered book from his schoolbag and laid it on the ground. He turned the cage until the lizard was on the bottom and placed it carefully on the book. “Will it really turn color?”