"Not really. Any relation to the Grodzynskis?"
"Not to my knowledge. And your name is…?"
"That's a good question. It might be—Einstein?" He looked hopeful, then stopped smiling when I shook my head no. "Wrong answer. Do Mitchelsen or Morley sound familiar? Epinard?"
"Yes, those names are familiar," Sybil said. "They were all physicists. They're all dead." "Physics!" He brightened up at that and pointed in the direction of the bloated sun. "Burning continues always. But the nucleus isn't stable, you see. The core, a Fermi sphere. Then the nucleus, lithium not stable..
"Professor…?" I called out.
"Yes? What? But those nuclei simply break up again."
He closed his eyes and swayed slowly back and forth muttering to himself softly all the time. "He's mad," Sybil said firmly. I nodded agreement.
"Like the others—only more so. But he's saying something about physics. And he did respond when I called him professor."
"There are a lot of professors around."
"Too true." I picked up the gun and turned it in my hands. "And where did he get this? It's in good condition, fires all too well." I tapped a dial on the butt, fully charged, then pointed to the spilled tubes on the ground. "You recognize the weapon?"
"Of course. Linear accelerator gun. The military calls them Gauss rifles."
"Exactly. No moving parts, lots of juice in the nuclear battery—with plenty more steel slugs in these tubes. How did it get here? Do you remember what happened to all that gear that I brought with me, mechanical and electronic? None of it would work. We've seen no other artifacts—until this."
Our demonic friend stopped muttering, saw the gun and jumped to grab it. Sybil put out a foot and he sprawled onto his face. I held the gun up so he could see it.
"Professor—where did you get this?"
"Mine. I gave me the He looked around bewilderedly. Lay down and closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.
"Not exactly a bubbling font of information," Sybil said.
"I think this madness is catching—or grows on you the longer you stay here."
"Agreed. So let's go back to the original plan. The cave." "The cave." I retrieved and shouldered the bag, seized up the gun and ammunition. We looked back as we walked but he never stirred.
"Do you get the feeling that the longer we are in Hell the more questions there are to ask—and the fewer answers?" Sybil nodded glum agreement. Then pointed.
"Isn't that it ahead? The—opening in the rocks?"
"Looks like it."
I felt more depressed than I had ever been before in my life. Which says a lot since I have been in some very depressing situations. This search for the cave was a token gesture born of desperation. If there had been any device, any machine—anything at all in the cave—we would have seen it before we left. This was a dead end.
As we approached the cave entrance there was a cracking explosion of sound inside, accompanied by a sudden burst of bright light. Sybil dived aside and I raised the gun, flipped on the power.
Scraping footsteps sounded from inside the cave, something horrible coming towards us. I sighted along the barrel, put steady pressure on the trigger as a man appeared in the entrance.
"Throw that away and come with me—quickly!" my son said.
"Coming, Bolivar!" Sybil shouted as she ran. "We're right behind you!"
Chapter 8
I dropped the gun and the bag of ammunition, the colimicon, and ran—with Sybil right behind me. Bolivar led the way, stumbled to a halt towards the rear of the cave. He looked around, shuffled his feet. "No, more to the left," he mumbled. "Back, back. Good."
"Fast!" he shouted, raising his arms. "Take my hands!"
We weren't arguing. He seized our hands and, with a powerful muscular contraction, pulled us tight against his chest. I opened my mouth to speak——
It was a completely indescribable sensation. It was like nothing I had ever experienced before, had no relation to heat or pain, cold, emotions, electrocution.
Then it ended; bright light flared and there was a thunderous sound.
"Get down!" someone shouted and Bolivar dragged us after him to the floor of the room. Rapid explosions sounded, gunfire. I had a quick glimpse of a man firing a hand weapon, clumsily, for when the gun recoiled he dropped it. From his left hand; his right arm was bandaged. He turned then and ran, followed by other running footsteps.
"James!" Bolivar cried out.
"Fine, fine," a muffled voice answered. He came out from behind the ruins of the burning machine. His face was smeared black and he was brushing glowing embers from his shirt. "Very close. Good thing he wasn't shooting at me. He did a good job on the electronics though."
"Thanks, boys, for getting us back," I said, then coughed raspingly. "My throat hurts like Hell."
There was a hiss of white fumes and the fires were blotted Out by the automatic quenchers. An alarm was ringing in the distance.
"Explain later," James said. "Let's get out before anyone else shows up."
I didn't argue. Still numb from the events of the past day. Day? We ran out of the church, it was night, the van was parked at the curb just where we had seen it last—how long ago?
"Into the back," James ordered. He started the engine as the rest of us struggled in through the open rear doors. Barely had time to close them before he kicked in the power. We sprawled and rolled and heard the sound of sirens getting louder—then dying away as the van broadsided around a corner. He slowed after that, drove at what must have been something like normal speed. Turned a few more times and stopped. James spun his driver's seat around to face us and smiled.
"Drinks, anyone?"
Through the windshield a large rotating sign was visible. RODNEY'S ROBOT DRINKING DEN with CHEAPEST AND MOST ALCOHOLIC DRINKS IN TOWN in smaller lettering below. A robotic face appeared at the window. "Welcome to this drunkards' paradise. Orders, please," it grated.
"Four large beers," I told it, then coughed uncontrollably.
"Tell us what happened," Sybil said when I had gasped into silence.
"Sure," Bolivar said. "But first—are you guys all right?" Looking at us intently, relaxing only when we had nodded our heads. "Good, great. You gave us a scare, Dad, when the alarm went off"
"I didn't think that I had time to actuate it."
"You didn't. We only knew something was wrong your heart stopped. We hit hard then."
"It never stopped!" I said defensively, grabbing at the pulse in my wrist. A nice solid thud—thud.
"That's good to hear. But we didn't know that at the time. We must have broken in just seconds after you went to Hell. Marablis wearing some kooky outfit, was still working the controls. Bolivar got him with the stunner as he was turning around."
"I dropped him—but you were both gone. That explained the stopped heartbeat. You had been moved, transported, sent—to Hell as we found out. James took care of that. Advanced hypnotism, he's very good."
"Been a bit of a hobby for some years. Marablis was an easy subject. Stress and shock. I eased him under and took control. He told us that he had sent you both to Hell. Bolivar said that he would go after you. I had Marablis work the machine and you know the rest. It was a long five minutes but it worked out fine in the end."
I should have been immune to surprises by this time. I wasn't. "Five minutes! We were in Hell for hours—most of a day at least."
"Different time scales?" Bolivar said. "And I'll tell you something else just as outrageous. When I was in Hell I was here at the same time, I mean I could see what Bolivar was seeing, hear him speaking."
"And vice versa—"
"Beer," a tinny voice said and Sybil and I leaped forward.
"Four more," Bolivar said as we drained our glasses. He handed us the two remaining full ones.
The cold liquid helped. Gasping with pleasure, my brain got back into gear and I remembered something else. "James! The shooting when we arrived—what happened?"
"Just that. As you were coming back through, this guy burst in waving a gun. I dived for cover while he shot up the machinery. Then he and Marablis ran for it."