Gibson scowled. "He's not the only one with a fried brain."
"So we see."
"Do you wonder at it?"
"Get in the car."
"I told you, fuck off."
Without a word, the two perfect young men reached down, gripped him under the armpits, and started to lift. Gibson had enough common sense left not to resist. He didn't want to go to wherever the tontons had gone. They lifted him with no apparent effort, and all he could do was to mollify the old rebel in him by shaking himself free of them when they had him on his feet.
"Okay, okay, I can walk."
He ducked in to the backseat of the Cadillac without any help. The interior had that brand-new leather, fresh-from-the-factory smell, which was a little strange since, as far as Gibson could see, it was an old Caddy, maybe 1964 or 1965. A woman was already sitting in there on the far side of the car, the exact female counterpart of the young men. She was wearing the same coveralls with the same gold sun insignia. In fact, the three of them were so alike that they could have been siblings.
She smiled coldly at Gibson as he sat down beside her. "You really shouldn't be difficult."
"I think I've earned the right."
The woman shrugged. At least he was in the car. The two men got into the front. As the car pulled away, Gibson looked round belligerently. "So who are you? What's all this stream-heat stuff?"
The woman was even better at professional patience than the men were. "We're agents of the Time Stream Directorate."
Gibson looked at her bleakly. "Silly me. I should have known."
"We're part of a multidimensional task force formed in response to the Necrom crisis. I'm Smith-" She indicated the man driving, "-he's Klein-" She pointed to the remaining young man in the front passenger seat, "-and he's French."
Gibson nodded. "Smith, Klein, and French. Am I to understand that you are another three of the Nine?"
Smith laughed. "Us? Hell, no. We're just a set of out-of-town triggers."
"And which town are you out of?"
"You wouldn't know it."
"Try me. I'm widely traveled."
"We're not from this dimension."
Gibson sighed. "Something else I should have known?"
Smith regarded him as though he was a particularly tiresome, low-grade moron. "It's hard to grasp at first."
Gibson allowed himself a long time to digest this. Damn straight it was hard to grasp. He could feel himself slipping again. The interior of the Cadillac had provided a brief illusion of normality. He'd been in a lot of Cadillacs in his time. Now even that was melting away. Once again his cake was in the rain.
"So where are you taking me? To Ganymede? Alpha Cen-tauri?"
The woman may have had more patience but it was quickly ebbing. "You're going to a secure loft in SoHo. You wouldn't like Ganymede."
"And what happens to me when I get there?"
"That will be up to Casillas and his associates. We were only called in as backup."
"Suppose I don't want to go? Suppose I want to go back to my own home and forget all about this lunacy?"
Smith shook her head. "You wouldn't want to do that."
Gibson's eyes narrowed. "Why? Because you'll make me vanish with one of those weird fucking weapons of yours?"
Smith shook her head. "You wouldn't vanish, you'd just fry."
"What are those things anyway?"
Smith touched the weapon at her hip. "The DL20? If I explained, you wouldn't understand."
"Why don't you try me? There seems to be a real shortage of straight answers around here."
French turned in his seat. "Maybe that's the result of a real shortage of straight questions."
The chill silence that followed this shutout was only broken when Gibson finally pulled out his battered pack of cigarettes. "Is anyone going to object if I smoke?"
Smith shook her head. "We don't get cancer."
"Well, good for you." Gibson stuck a Camel Light in his mouth and lit it.
"Maybe you could tell me one thing. If us humans are so dumb and weak and cancer-prone and all-around inferior, how come you superior beings bother?"
French's lip curled. "Just following orders." Gibson noticed that his hands were shaking. He was in delayed shock. A certain detached part of him wondered how he was managing to adapt so fast to this multidimensional craziness. The weird part was that he wasn't only accepting all that was being thrown at him, but that he was now thinking very clearly. He was even becoming suspicious, and that had to be a good sign.
Gibson eyes swiveled sideways. "Or maybe you aren't really bothering with us. Maybe we're just the inconvenient natives on a prime piece of strategic real estate. Is that it?"
All three streamheat looked sharply at him. Even Klein took his eyes off the road. Gibson seemed to have struck a nerve. He knew it was going to take a lot for him to trust these individuals, even though they had rescued him from the tonton macoute. They were just too slick and certain. He loathed people who came on superior, even if they were. He wondered if Chilean peasants looked at the local CIA man in the same way. Smith seemed to sense the way his thoughts were riding and climbed down a couple of notches.
"Listen, Gibson, we know the last few hours must seem like a fever dream to you, but try and go with the program. We've got orders to look after you and that's exactly what we're going to do, whether you cooperate or not. If you have any questions about us, please ask them and I'll do my best to answer in terms that you can understand."
Her tone was still condescending, but at least she seemed to be trying for minimal common ground. The shreds of Gibson's rationality advised him to go along.
"Why me?"
"Why you, what?"
"Why is it me being rescued? Why is it me being chased by tontons in the first place?"
Smith's face blanked over. "I don't have any information about that. We just had orders to come and get you. You, Casillas, and the chauffeur. Maybe they'll tell you more when you get to SoHo."
"I thought you were going to answer rny questions?"
"I can't tell you what I don't know."
"So what do you know?"
"Try me."
Gibson took a long drag on his cigarette. "What happened to those guys back there? People don't vanish like that. It's against the laws of physics."
French's expression was pure John Wayne. Gibson almost expected the man to call him pilgrim. "We brought our own laws with us."
Smith shot French a hard warning look and then attempted to answer Gibson's question. "In simple terms, our weapons returned them instantly to their dimensions of origin. "
Gibson slowly rubbed his jaw.
"Are you telling me they were also from another dimension?"
"That's correct."
"Suppose they'd really been human?"
"We're all human, more or less."
"But suppose they'd been from this dimension."
"Like I said before, they would have fried. When the weapon's used on an individual who's in his or her dimension of origin, there's nowhere for the energy to vent to. A circle burn starts in the molecular structure. Fizzipp. High-speed sizzle."
Gibson was a little sickened by the idea. He eyed the weapon on Smith's hip.
"Nothing left?"
French laughed nastily.
"Maybe a grease spot."
Gibson was still having trouble with it all. The more he learned the greater the confusion. One thing he knew for sure, though- he really didn't like the streamheat.
"I don't get it. Why the hell should a bunch of cats from another dimension want to disguise themselves as a Haitian death squad?"
"Habit. And maybe because they enjoy it. Haiti has been a major entry portal to this dimension for more than a century."
"The voodoo lets them through?"
"Among other things."