"I'm keeping it," Lafayette told Zoriel. "It's mine, and I'm doing no harm; just trying to find Daphne and go home. So forget the tough stuff and be civilized. After all, this is Prime, not some barbarian HQ in the jungle."
"Not Prime, lad, but Supreme Headquarters itself! And you'll find SHQ is not lightly to be penetrated by nobodies such as yourself."
"I didn't penetrate your lousy HQ," Lafayette yelled. "I was yanked in here against my will by some quack named Clyde, with a Come Hither field!"
"Ah, doubtless you refer to Professor Doctor Anschluss," Zoriel said soothingly. "If the professor saw fit to bring you here, no doubt he had an excellent reason." Zoriel rose and came around the big desk. "In the meanwhile," he added, "you'll hand over that, er, item, which is producing a category-blue indication on my E-stress sensor." He showed Lafayette the compasslike instrument he was holding in his left hand, while pointing the gun with his right. Lafayette saw the needle was well into the blue range marked HIGHLY IMPROBABLE.
"I can't help that," he said between his teeth. "This whole crazy situation is improbable. Nobody just goes bouncing across the loci like the ball on a roulette wheel."
The door burst open behind Lafayette.
"There you are, you jailbird," Sheriff Tode's raucous voice yelled. "Ain't nobody ever broke from me, and it ain't gonna start now!" Lafayette turned in time to see Tode's large hand descending, clamplike, toward his shoulder. He ducked aside and Tode followed, planting himself between Lafayette and the door, barring his way, then advancing.
Still holding the flat-walker in working position, Lafayette stood his ground. Tode's bulk pressed against him—then the pressure was gone, and with it light and sound, except for a bewildering display of the highspeed particles, like those he had observed before while passing through solid matter. But they were whirling in dizzying patterns now, concentrated immediately in front of O'Leary's wide-open eyes. The nucleus of the speeding lights widened, engulfed him.
... Let this feller get past me again, Boss Jukes ain 't gonna like it none a-tall. Where'd he go to? I had him right here, and—hey, what's goin' on? Can't hardly think straight... dizzy. Better do like Boss said and call fer help ...
Carefully disentangling himself from Sheriff Tode's confused thoughts, Lafayette made a determined effort to orient himself; then took a precise step sideways, felt his foot slip, experienced a momentary vertigo, then opened his eyes to dimness. He had a view of Frump-kin's back as the latter stood before a large and complex instrument panel where colored lights blinked excitedly. Frumpkin spun around, then recoiled as he saw O'Leary.
"How?" he croaked. "Deaclass="underline" Just explain how you can broach a Type Nine force-bubble at will, and I'll... well, I'll go easy on you."
"It's how I'll go on you you'd better be worrying about," Lafayette countered grimly. "Get away from that board."
"But," Frumpkin protested, "this is unthinkable. I happen to know you were relegated to nonrealization some time ago! You can't be here!"
"Too bad," O'Leary replied, and started across toward the cowering Man in Black, who turned and scuttled away behind the big panel. Lafayette peered around the corner of the massive equipment cabinet, saw nothing except a tangle of rudely cut cables and a stretch of dusty floor. He turned back to the big room. Light glared, dazzling him. He tottered; hands caught his arms, not restraining him, but easing him down into a chair.
"Take it easy, Al," the familiar voice of Sprawnroyal urged gently. "You had a bad experience there, stuck in half-phase for six weeks and all, but we got you out OK. So just take a minute to get it together before we debrief you."
"Roy," Lafayette said urgently. "Where did it go? A big gray room full of fog. That's where he's keeping her. What do you mean 'six weeks'? It hasn't been more than twenty-four hours since this whole crazy thing started. And I've only got forty-eight more to get Daphne out of Aphasia II before it disappears!"
"Easy, boy," Roy soothed. "We'll take it one step at a time. First, we have to extricate your ego-gestalt from Mr. Tode's—that's a delicate procedure. You should never have merged with him, Slim. I know you were under pressure. Still, it was a lousy idea."
"It wasn't an idea," Lafayette returned in a silent yell which echoed in blackness. "It was an accident. I walked through a man once before with that infernal device of yours and nothing happened; how was I supposed to know it was dangerous? Anyway, he walked into me. I was standing still."
"... just another few days," Roy was saying in a tone of controlled patience. "I assure you I'm as uncomfortable as yourself."
"Who said anything about comfort?" O'Leary demanded. "Just get me out of this moron's skull!"
"Who you callin a moe-roan?" Tode's heavy thought pattern cut across O'Leary's demands. "Sure is a funny kinda dream to be havin' and I ain't touched a drop all the day."
Gradually, Lafayette was becoming more able to ignore the sheriff's elemental conceptualizations. A dim, sourceless light became visible, but it revealed nothing. So far as Lafayette could see, he was alone in a vast, empty space suffused with an eerie glow which emanated from the space itself. Abruptly, he was overwhelmed with a bleak loneliness.
"Hey, Roy, where are you?" he called; as before, no sound was to be heard. He tried to draw a deep breath to reassure himself that he was breathing—but nothing happened. Still, he reflected, suppressing panic, he was quite comfortable, physically. He assessed his bodily sensations, but was unable to decide whether he was standing, sitting, or reclining. He had no idea which way was up. He tried a swimming motion, and was rewarded with a sensation of darting swiftly ahead—but with no fixed point of reference, no actual motion was apparent.
"... Slim, I told you to stay put!" Roy's faint voice seemed to ring, echoing, all about him. "If I lose my fix—hey! Where are you at?"
"Over here," Lafayette called silently, feeling a sudden apprehension. "Don't go away, Roy," he added. "You're my only contact with ... whatever I was in contact with."
Chapter Eight
"Swell," O'Leary told himself half an hour —or half a lifetime—later. He had been resting quietly, waiting, making no furthur move; and still he hung suspended in the featureless glow which he knew was characteristic of half-phase, the anomalous pseudo-space between the loci of actualization. He was lost as he had never been lost before. Perhaps, if he sculled back the way he had come in his swift fish-dart... But Roy had said to stay put before he had faded out. Maybe he was still in the vicinity, but keeping quiet.
"Oh, Roy!" Lafayette shouted, and this time he heard an echo, faint and distant. Encouraged, he tried again. This time it was the hoarse voice of Sheriff Tode he heard:
"Whunder whut that feller meant about six weeks? Ain't got no six weeks to waste; got a 'lection comin' up."
The voice, O'Leary realized with relief, was no longer coming from within his own personal mind-volume. It was close, but external. Somehow he had unmerged himself from the irate peace officer.
"That's a start," he told himself. "Maybe Roy's working on it."
"Looky here, feller," Tode's voice spoke from what seemed to be a point approximately half an inch from Lafayette's left eye. "Let's make us a gentleman's agreement, like they say: You lay off the tricks and come on out whur I can see ye, and I'll put in a good word about your cooperation and all at the trial."