There was a moment of dizziness and total darkness. When Raven opened his eyes, nothing made any sense.
Buildings were built top-first into the ground, widening as they grew taller. Shapes and colors were all wrong. Running water was alternately green and brown, but always opaque. Same with glass windows. And things that should have been opaque, like the walls around public bathrooms and jail cells, were totally transparent.
He heard a growl off to his left and turned to see the source of it. It was a carnivorous dinosaur—an allosaurus if he remembered his textbooks properly—with foot-long teeth. He stared at it, wondering if it meant to charge, and the moment their eyes met it turned and raced away, screeching in terror.
He was just about to relax when a pigeon leveled off and flew at him, clearly intent on plucking out one of his eyeballs. He slapped at it when it got within reach, and it flew away, shrieking in pain or terror or both.
“Lisa?” he said aloud.
There was no answer.
It’s a weird venue, he thought, but if all I have to do is stay alive for however long I’m stuck here, somehow I don’t think the universe is in as much trouble as you and Rofocale make it sound.
“Well, there’s no sense standing out here in the open as a target,” he muttered. “I think I’d better find someplace that’s a little harder to find and easier to defend.”
He began walking down the street. An opaque puddle rose up, took on the shape of a ravenously hungry and fang-filled mouth, and tried to take a bite out of him. He ducked and sidestepped, picked up a glowing rock from the street, and hurled it at the puddle, which screamed in agony and flew apart into a hundred pieces, each piece whimpering in terror.
“Watch it, fella,” said a stentorian voice behind him. “Even puddles have feelings.”
“Who said that?” demanded Raven, spinning around—and finding himself face-to-face with a huge purple-maned lion.
“Who do you think?” growled the lion.
“The damned thing was going to attack me.”
“Of course he was. It’s his nature.”
“Well, my nature is to defend myself,” said Raven.
“And mine is to kill and eat anything weaker than myself.”
Think, Eddie, Lisa’s voice seemed to say.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m stronger than you,” said Raven.
The lion swallowed hard. “You are?”
“Want a demonstration?” said Raven. “I can’t promise you’ll live through it, but that’s hardly my problem.”
Suddenly the lion began shrinking until it was the size of a housecat. “You wouldn’t hurt a little guy like me, would you?” he whined.
“Not if he gets out of my sight, and is quick about it,” replied Raven.
The cat raced off between two hideously misshapen buildings.
Is that the best the world’s got to offer? thought Raven. Cowardly cats and dinosaurs?
No, Eddie, answered Lisa. I wish it were, but you’re on the very outskirts. Believe me, you’re going to need all your courage and skills before you’re through.
I can’t tell you how encouraging that is, thought Raven wryly. Are you in this venue too?
No, not yet, she replied. Maybe not ever. It all depends.
On what?
On you, of course.
And suddenly he sensed that they were no longer in contact.
He decided that until he found a reliable form of transportation he’d better hunt up what they would call in spy novels and movies a safe house, a place where he could relax, consider his next move, and replenish his mental and physical energy.
He looked up and down the street and ruled out all one-story buildings. Sooner or later there had to be another dinosaur or something similar, but with a temper, and a creature like that could tear such a dwelling apart with almost no effort.
By the same token, he didn’t want anything too high. The way this world worked—or, rather, didn’t work—he could climb to the fifth or tenth or thirtieth floor, only to find that the stairs or elevator had vanished once he got there . . . or worse still, while he was getting there.
He began walking, passing one unacceptable building after another. After two blocks the street swerved and spent about fifty yards winding around the base of a mountain that, as far as Raven could tell, had no geologic reason for being there. As he began walking down the street, which became a twisty path through the mountain, he passed a small cave on his left.
He stopped, faced it, and called, “Anyone there?”
“Damned right there is!” growled a very strange-sounding voice, and a moment later a creature that had clearly never existed on Earth emerged and confronted him.
The being was perhaps seven feet tall, and at least that wide. Its flesh looked like it was formed of rock. It seemed to have one leg when it stood still, but when it stepped forward the one leg split into two, then rejoined when it stood still again.
“Friend or enemy?” asked Raven.
“Yes,” was the reply.
“You got a name?”
“Of course I have a name,” answered the creature. “Everyone has a name.”
“What is it?” asked Raven.
The creature frowned. “Damn!” it growled. “I hate questions like that.”
“Why don’t I just call you Stranger?” suggested Raven. “After all, you’re stranger than just about everything else I’ve encountered here.”
“Stranger . . . Stranger . . .” muttered the creature. Suddenly it shot him a toothy grin. “I like it!”
“Okay, Stranger,” said Raven. “How do I get out of here?”
“Which way did you come in?”
Raven shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Well, that does make it harder.” Stranger frowned. “I suppose we could walk to the horizon and see if we fall off.”
“Off a world, with gravity and the like?” said Raven, frowning.
“Do you know for a fact this is a world?” demanded Stranger. “Maybe it’s just a mildly flat piece of cosmic debris.”
“No, it’s a world,” said Raven. “It’s got gravity, and some kind of almost comprehensible ecosystem.”
“Okay, it’s a world. Why do you want to get off it?”
“It’s not my world.”
“It’s not mine either,” replied Stranger. “But I find lots to eat, and so far hardly anything has attacked me, and I like the gravity, and I can breathe what passes for the air, and—”
Raven shook his head. “I want my world.”
“Well then, we might as well go looking for it,” said Stranger. “Round, was it?”
“Pretty much so.”
“Blue?”
“The oceans, yeah.”
“The oceans, not the continents?” asked Stranger.
“Right.”
The creature shook its head in wonderment. “Very odd world.” He paused. “Got air?”
“Couldn’t breathe if it didn’t,” said Raven.
“You’d be surprised what people can breathe when they have to,” said Stranger.
Raven grimaced. “Yeah, I have a horrible feeling that I would be.”
“Okay,” said Stranger. “Let’s get started.”
“Which way?”
Stranger frowned. “Beats the hell out of me.” He looked around, then pointed off to his left. “I’ve never been that way before. Been most other directions, and I’m still here.”
“Let’s go,” said Raven, walking off.
Stranger joined him, and they walked across a rough, rocky landscape for close to a mile.
“Be careful,” warned Raven. “It’s so dark I can’t see the ground, and that means I can’t see any bumps or holes or even small carnivores.”
“Makes no difference,” replied Stranger. “After all, ground is”—there was a sudden surprised gasp—“grouuuund.”
Raven turned to his companion, only to find that he wasn’t there.
“Stranger?” he said.
“Down here!” came the answer from what seemed a quarter mile away.
Raven couldn’t see anything, but examined the ground with the toe of his shoe and found a large hole that hadn’t been there when he walked over it a few seconds ahead of Stranger.
“Are you all right?” he shouted down the hole. “Anything broken?”
“Of course something’s broken!” snapped Stranger. “The ground where I was walking.”
“Nothing broken on your body, though?”
“I don’t think so,” said Stranger. “But I’ve never broken anything before—well, except a tooth—so how would I know?”
Raven peered into the pit, but it was too dark to see his companion.
“How the hell are we going to get you out of there?” he said.
“I don’t know,” answered Stranger. “I suppose you need the longest rope in existence, or one hell of an impressive set or stairs, or—” The voice went still for a moment. “Well, how about that?” it continued in a happier tone.
“What happened?” asked Raven.
“A wall opened, and a dim light went on in an adjacent chamber, and there’s a table with a hell of a spread laid out on it: chimera liver, ogre eyes, and what looks like pickled unicorn horns.” Another brief pause. “You go ahead without me. This was my own fault, so I’ll stay behind and suffer.”
“You sure?”
“Go, goddammit!”
Raven shrugged and turned to once again face the dark, foreboding, not-quite-empty world.
Well, what the hell, I don’t suppose it really matters. Might as well keep going in the same direction.
He headed off, and after another mile the sound of laughter came to his ears.
Some final exam, he thought as he turned and headed toward the sound. The worst things I’ve encountered so far are a nonaggressive dinosaur, a lion, Stranger, and a hole in the ground.
He heard a loud hissing noise off to his left, turned to face it, and found that it was either a very large worm or a very small snake. He ignored it and kept walking.
He’d gone about two hundred yards when he heard a soft, delicate meow. Thinking a small cat or a kitten might make a nice traveling companion, especially if it could see in the dark, he paused and faced the gentle meowing.
“Join me,” he said softly. “I won’t hurt you.”
Another meow, just the slightest bit louder.
“Here, boy—or girl,” he said in gentle tones.
Then came a meow that was literally next to him, and he felt a huge expulsion of foul-smelling breath. He looked up, and found himself facing a feline creature about the size of a bull elephant, with fangs almost as long as his arms.
“Forget I mentioned it,” said Raven, backing away.
The creature approached him.
“Scram,” he said in his softest, least aggressive tone.
The creature reached out a tongue and licked his arm—and the sleeve came away on its tongue. It made a face, spit out the cloth, and emitted an ear-shattering roar.
Raven would have run, but he couldn’t see more than fifty feet in any direction, and besides he was certain there was no way he could outrun a pachyderm-size cat, so he stared at the creature for a minute and then yelled, “Get the hell out of my way!”
It jumped back a few feet, stared at him, and growled, which sounded to Raven not unlike a volcano about to explode.
“Beat it!” screamed Raven, and the creature jumped back again.
Raven reached down, picked up a rock, and hurled it at the creature’s nose as hard as he could.
The creature moved slightly, caught it in its mouth, chewed it with a loud crunching noise, made a sound that Raven couldn’t interpret, turned, and walked away.
Raven stared after it for a long moment, then shrugged, and recommenced walking. After half an hour he saw a very strange structure about half a mile ahead. As he got closer, he saw that it was a single manufactured creation, though unlike any he had ever seen. It was vaguely hexagonal in structure, but there were literally hundreds of departures from that design, and the building materials seemed to change every few feet—and in some cases every few inches.
From where he stood he couldn’t tell if the walls surrounded an empty space a hundred or more yards across, or if the walls contained a totally solid structure. He looked for a light, listened for a sound, remained alert for any sign that the structure was inhabited—and finally he heard the faintest strain of music from a harplike instrument.
He began walking along the building’s wall, certain there must be an entrance somewhere. He didn’t fully trust his eyes, so he reached an arm out and slid it along the wall as he walked—and indeed, after about one hundred yards he came to an indentation. He stopped, couldn’t see it even from two feet away, but used his hands to determine its outline, which was about three feet wide and somewhat higher than he could reach.
I could wander out here forever, he thought, and what would it prove? Where would it get me? I’m trying to get back to my world, and maybe there’s someone in there who can help. Of course, no one’s helped yet, but no one’s misled me or done me any harm, so what the hell.
He felt for a doorknob or handle but couldn’t find one. He was prepared to ram his shoulder against the portal and shove, but when he thought about it, realized that this world had constantly surprised him, and pushed gently against the door—and, of course, almost the second he made contact with it, it vanished.
He stepped through and found himself in what seemed to be a covered, dimly lit courtyard. Parts were lit by flaming torches, parts by laser beams.
“You there!” cried out a deep, stentorian voice. “Halt!”
“You speak English,” replied Raven, frowning. “Are we somehow on Earth? I mean, where the hell else would they speak it?”
“Earth?” said the voice, and Raven saw that it came from a mildly human figure with three eyes, a nose on each cheek, an ear where his nose should have been, and a robe that kept changing from primary to pastel colors and back again. A golden dagger resided in a sheath wrapped around its waist. “Where is Earth?”
Raven shrugged. “Beats the hell out of me. I’m trying to find it.”
“Must be an interesting place if you’re typical of it,” said the robed figure. “You’re physically as close to one of the People as anyone who’s yet made his way to the Holy Land here.” Suddenly he frowned. “Why are you here?”
“I’m lost,” answered Raven.
“You do know the penalty for invading the Holy Land?”
“Of course not,” said Raven irritably. “I just got here. Let me leave and we can part friends, a quantity I suspect you do not possess in abundance.”
“It’s a novel thought,” admitted the robed figure. “But once you’re beyond the wall you’re in Inferno, so why do I need a friend there?”
“Have none of you ever been outside the wall?” asked Raven.
“Certainly not.”
“You’ve been misinformed.”
“Blasphemy!” cried the robed figure, and suddenly he was joined by ten more similarly garbed figures.
“If it’s blasphemy, how come I’m standing here, safe and sound, having just walked in from your mistaken notion of Inferno?”
“You know,” said another of the beings, “he is the second one to claim to be from Inferno. Maybe there’s something to it.”
“They could all live there, waiting to overcome us,” said the robed figure. “After all, they are the same race.”
“You have someone else of my race here?” asked Raven.
“I just said so.”
“May I see him? If he knows how to get back to where we came from, the pair of us can take our leave of you and no one will be any the worse for it.”
“I shall have to think upon it,” said the robed figure.
Raven stared at him. “Try not to take too long,” he said. “If I get hungry, I may eat you . . . and if I get restless, I may tear apart your Holy Land.”
He stood absolutely still, studying their faces to see if he’d said it forcefully enough so that a few of them at least believed it.
Finally the leader spoke. “All right,” he said. “Bring the other one.”
Half a dozen of his warriors went off behind a structure, and Raven lost sight of them. They returned a few minutes later, half of them pulling a lovely silk-clad girl by her bonds, the other half prodding her from behind with their spears.
Raven watched the procession until she was close enough for him to make out her features.
“Lisa!” he exclaimed.
“Hello, Eddie,” she answered.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I told you it was possible that I’d wind up in part of your mission,” said Lisa. She frowned. “I just never guessed it would be this part.”
“You know each other,” stated the leader. It was not a question.
“Yes,” said Raven. “Now release her and we’ll be on our way.”
“Why should I take your word for it?” demanded the leader.
“Because you have nothing to gain by holding her,” replied Raven.
“How do you know?” scoffed the leader.
Raven reached the leader in three quick steps, pulled the creature’s gold-handled dagger out of its sheath, stood behind him, wrapped an arm around him, and held the blade to his throat.
“It’s up to you, of course,” said Raven, “but my guess is that what you have to gain by releasing her is your life.”
Half a dozen warriors withdrew their swords and began approaching the pair.
“No!” cried the leader. “Let him go!” The beings who were approaching suddenly stopped. “The creature has a point. I’ll live a lot longer if you all back away and I allow him to escape with the female unmolested.”
The creatures backed away, leaving a path for Raven and Lisa to a nearby wall, which became translucent, then transparent, and finally nonexistent as they approached it.
“How long were you there?” asked Raven when they were outside and the wall had solidified behind them.
Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know. It seems we were just talking in that bar an hour or two ago, but time doesn’t have much meaning in this universe.”
“Are you all right?”
“They didn’t torture or mistreat me, if that’s what you mean,” she replied. “But it feels as if I’ve been in that damned dungeon for weeks.” Suddenly she shrugged. “Hell, for all I know, I have been. Like I say, time is very subjective in this venue.”
“Well, we might as well start looking for a way home,” said Raven. “At least I managed to rescue you and escape from that crazy place. I assume that was my test.”
She shook her head. “No, Eddie.”
“No?”
“It was too easy,” said Lisa. “Just kind of a first step.”
Raven frowned. “You’re sure?”
She nodded her head. “I’m sure.”
“But you’ve never been here before—so how can you know?”
“Because, Eddie,” she said seriously, “you are not the first candidate. In point of fact, you are the fifth since the human race was established—and none of the first four ever returned. They were skilled, resourceful men, as you are. It has to be more difficult.”
“All four are dead?”
She shrugged. “We’ve no idea, though we assume so. All we know for sure is that they’re gone.”
Raven frowned. “Okay, I guess we’re stuck here a little longer.” He reached out and held her hand. “At least we’re together. We might as well find the equivalent of a safe house where we can get a little rest.”
She smiled bitterly. “On this world, in this universe?”
“Unless you plan to rest somewhere else,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”
She made no reply, and they began walking. Soon the wall vanished, though it was so dark they could only tell it was gone by the fact that they could no longer feel it. They continued, came to a small, misshapen building, couldn’t find a door or any other method of entering it, and proceeded again.
“Worse comes to worst, we’ll take turns napping and standing guard over each other,” said Raven. “But I can’t believe this entire world hasn’t got a few hundred shelters, maybe even more.”
They heard an inhuman shriek in the distance.
“It certainly seems to need them,” added Raven.
They walked around what seemed to be an open plain. As they neared the far edge of it, they could tell they were facing artificial structures, but they couldn’t make them out in the near-total darkness. Then, suddenly, a voice chimed out: “Hey, fella—you and the lady need a lift?”
Raven and Lisa froze, trying fruitlessly to spot the speaker.
“Well?” said the voice.
“I can’t see you,” said Raven.
“Damn, that’s right! You’re a human, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Stay where you are,” said the voice. “I’ll be right over.”
Raven thought he could see some movement ahead and to his right, but the more he concentrated the more difficult it became. Finally he relaxed and suddenly he was confronting a creature out of one of his childhood nightmares. It possessed a crocodile’s mouth and teeth, a neck as long as a brontosaur’s, a body covered with spikes (all pointing outward, of course), and six sturdy legs, each ending in fearsome-looking claws.
“So where are you heading?” asked the creature.
“Home,” said Raven.
The creature chuckled and blew thick blue vapor out of its huge nostrils. “Biped, two arms, one head, taller than a squirrel, shorter than a Denebian Sand Devil. I need more info, pal. Home could be any one of seventeen hundred and three worlds.”
“Class C star, eight major planets, an asteroid belt between the fourth and fifth planet, and possibly a runaway moon beyond the eighth planet.”
“Good,” said the creature. “That boils it down to only thirteen.” It paused. “By the way, my name’s—um, let me think—ah, got it, my name’s Jasper.”
“You forgot your name?” asked Raven.
“Certainly not. But for an instant there I forgot how to translate it into your primitive, dismal language. And you are?”
“She’s Lisa, I’m Eddie,” said Raven.
“Well, let’s get started,” said Jasper. “Name of planet you want to find?”
“Earth.”
“And the star?”
“We call it the sun, but officially it’s Sol.”
“Fine,” said Jasper. “Now, which direction is Sol?”
Raven shrugged. “I’ve no idea.”
“Take a guess.”
“Up?”
“I need a little more than that.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, you’d better remember fast,” said Jasper. “We’re being approached by a carnotaur, and he smells hungry.” A brief pause. “Of course, they all smell hungry, probably because they all are.”
“Can we climb aboard you and trust you to keep out of his way until we can come up with better directions for getting home?” asked Raven.
“It’s worth a try,” said Jasper, and they became aware of his huge body walking up and coming to a stop right next to them.
“I can outrun any carnotaur that was ever foaled.” He paused. “Or are they whelped, or maybe hatched?”
“How do we get onto you?” asked Raven.
“Try the stairs, of course,” answered Jasper, and suddenly Raven and Lisa saw a staircase descending from the creature’s back, which was about thirty feet above the ground.
“After you,” said Raven, standing aside.
“But you’re the vital one,” complained Lisa.
“Then the sooner you climb onto his back, the sooner I can follow you and the less chance that I’ll be eaten or whatever by the carnotaur.”
She seemed about to protest, then shrugged and began racing up the stairs. He followed instantly, and a moment later both were perched precariously along Jasper’s spine.
“Stop shifting your weight and moving your feet, or you’ll fall off,” said Jasper. “And the carnotaur is getting closer every second. Well, every second and two-fifths, anyway.”
“Your back keeps moving when you walk or run, even when you breathe,” replied Raven. “We can’t stay up here without shifting our weight.”
“Oh, my goodness!” said Jasper. “I hadn’t thought of that. Here!”
And as the last words were uttered, a pair of comfortable benches composed of Jasper’s bone and flesh rose and took shape right behind them.
“Better?” asked Jasper.
“Much,” said Lisa.
“Good, because I’m going to have to start a little evasive maneuvering,” said Jasper. “The damned carnotaur seems to have brought its whole ugly brood with it. There are five—no, six—of the little bastards. Just a sec!”
Suddenly their benches, and Jasper’s back, began bouncing wildly, and they heard a chorus of agonized high-pitched screeches.
“Make that three of the little bastards now,” said Jasper. “Mama, or maybe it’s Papa, never taught them the basics of hunting anything that could fight back.”
“So once we elude the carnotaur . . .” began Raven.
“Wrong tense,” said Jasper. “It just gave up the chase.”
“Okay,” said Raven. “Where do we go now?”
“Well, we’re not going to try all thirteen worlds without a plan,” said Jasper. “Hell, with my luck, your world will be the thirteenth, and two or three of the early ones will have critters that like nothing more than eating sweet, innocent, unassuming, not-quite-hideous beasts like myself.”
“I’m open to suggestions,” said Raven.
“So am I,” replied Jasper. “I’m not quite up there with Mephistopheles or even Houdini, but I intuit that you’re here to prove yourself, perhaps to this gorgeous damsel here, so probably I should turn the planning and thinking over to you and just act as transportation.”
“Even if due to my inexperience on this world I direct you to certain death?” asked Raven.
“Let me think about that,” said Jasper.
“Simple question,” said Raven. “What’s to think about?”
“I hate dying!” exclaimed Jasper. “It’s always too messy, and occasionally painful.” He paused. “Especially the third time.”
“You’ve died three times?” asked Raven, surprised.
“Five, actually,” answered Jasper. “But the third was the worst.”
“Strange world,” mused Raven softly. “I wonder how many times I can die?”
“Once and out,” said Lisa. “You’re a man. Jasper is a . . . well, something else.”
“Okay,” said Raven. “It makes a depressing kind of sense when you put it that way.” He was silent for a moment. “Jasper, take us to this world’s exit point. Maybe once we’re there I can dope out which planet is Earth.”
“That’s only part of it,” said Jasper.
“Why am I not surprised?” muttered Raven. “What’s the other part?”
“Parts,” said Jasper. “Plural.”
“Okay, shoot.”
“I don’t have a gun.”
“I mean, let me know what the parts are.”
“Well, first you want a date, or at least an era,” answered Jasper. “From what little I know of oxygen worlds, without that I could drop you off a couple of hundred million years before your own time, in the middle of carnotaur hatching season. Or I could dump you a few million years in your future, after the atmosphere has turned toxic and everyone has long since emigrated to more hospitable worlds.”
“Okay,” said Raven. “What else do you need to know?”
“A location,” said Jasper. “Most planets capable of sustaining oxygen-breathing life have polar ice caps. I could drop you off on one with no protection from the cold—or in the middle of an ocean, thousands of miles from shore but a lot closer than that to a school—hell, a whole university—of sharks.”
“You sure know how to cheer a guy up,” muttered Raven.
“You really think so?” replied Jasper enthusiastically. “Maybe I missed my calling. Maybe I should have been a nightclub comedian, once they invent nightclubs on this godforsaken world.”
“Best of luck to you,” said Raven unenthusiastically.
“Oh, by the way, hold tight!” said Jasper suddenly.
Raven and Lisa had a sudden sensation of falling, then settled back in their seats as Jasper seemed to be rising again.
“What the hell was that all about?” demanded Raven.
“Canyon,” explained Jasper. “Only saw it after I’d started dropping down into it.”
“How long until we reach whatever the hell it is you call our destination?”
“I thought it was Earth,” said Jasper, puzzled.
“I mean, our point of departure.”
“Oh, anywhere from three minutes to a week, always assuming your week has four days like mine does.”
“Why the difference?”
“Depends on whether the Slaughter Machine is patrolling the area when we get there,” answered Jasper.
“The Slaughter Machine?” repeated Raven. “That sounds ominous.”
“Only when it’s on duty.”
“What the hell is it?”
“An entity—”
“Entity?” interrupted Raven.
“I don’t know if it’s a machine or a living being,” explained Jasper. “But it does tend to kill anyone who tries to leave without a ticket or a passport, though in truth I have no idea whether it eats them or simply defenestrates them.”
“The Slaughter Machine patrols a lot of such areas, does it?” asked Raven.
“No, just the one we’re headed to.”
“Then why might it be anywhere else?”
“It probably isn’t,” answered Jasper.
Raven frowned. “Then let’s assume it’s here.”
“I ran the figures in my head, and there’s a point zero zero zero three percent chance that it will be elsewhere. I am a logical entity. I have to take every possibility into account.”
“Let’s go with the odds,” said Raven. “Assume the Slaughter Machine is waiting for us.”
Jasper considered it for a moment. “Seems logical,” it said at last. “Besides, I hate dying.”
“You and us both,” said Raven.
“The alternative is to stay here for eternity and whatever comes after,” said Jasper. “You choose.”
“Go to the exit point,” said Raven.
Jasper flapped his wings, and Raven and Lisa felt the compression as he rose higher and began attaining more speed.
“Somehow this isn’t what I had in mind when I went through that portal,” said Raven.
“I’m sure it’s different every time,” replied Lisa.
“I’ve been trying to imagine what a Slaughter Machine must be like,” remarked Raven. He turned to her. “Whatever the hell it is, just stay clear of it. This isn’t your final exam.”
She stared at him, looked like she wanted to disagree, but made no comment.
They flew in silence for fifteen minutes. Then Raven spoke up. “Are we getting any closer?”
“Of course we are,” answered Jasper.
“Any traffic, or are we the only ones?”
“We’re the only one on this route to what you call the exit point,” said Jasper. “I have no idea if it’s being approached from other directions, or if any ships are on the ground there.”
“How much longer?” asked Raven.
“About three hundred balumbas,” said Jasper.
Raven signed. “And how long is a balumba?”
“You weren’t the brightest one in your class, were you?” replied Jasper.
“Just answer the question.”
“Maybe forty pirellas.”
Raven sighed deeply. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“Don’t be,” said Jasper. “At least you’ll die a better-educated corpse when you finally come face-to-whatever with the Slaughter Machine.”
“Thanks for the encouragement.”
“Freely given,” answered Jasper. Then: “Brace yourselves. Coming in for a landing.”
“Can’t you just hover over the spot you want to land at and then lower yourself to the ground?” asked Raven.
“Son of a grunch!” exclaimed Jasper happily. “I never thought of that!”
Jasper came to a halt in midair, and then very slowly, very gently, lowered himself to a solid surface.
“How was that?” he asked.
“Very comfortable,” answered Raven. “Add it to your repertoire.”
“I definitely will,” said Jasper. “Always assuming we survive the next few minutes.”
“Okay,” said Raven, getting to his feet. Lisa stood up as well. He knew ordering her to sit back down would be fruitless, and he couldn’t bring himself to push her back onto her seat. “Where is it?”
“The Slaughter Machine?” said Jasper. “On the ground, just beyond this door.”
The door vanished.
Raven stood in the open doorway and surveyed the area. It was dark, as the rest of the planet had been, but not so dark that he couldn’t see a sleek, alien-looking building with a large open doorway some fifty yards away.
Then a movement off to his left caught his attention, and he turned to face the strangest thing he had ever seen. It had sixteen mechanical arms and legs, all of different lengths, all armed, some with blades, some with what seemed like explosive weapons, some that were beyond Raven’s ability to identify. It possessed six glowing eyes circling its massive head, and three legs that seemed almost too light and agile to carry that massive armed and armored body.
“Who approaches?” it demanded.
“You speak English,” noted Raven.
“I speak directly to your brain,” replied the Slaughter Machine, “so language and translation aren’t necessary. Now state your purpose for being here.”
“This lady”—he indicated Lisa, who was now standing beside him—“and I wish to go home.”
“And where is home?”
“Earth, the third planet circling Sol.”
“Words!” growled the machine contemptuously. “Think!”
Raven tried to picture a celestial map of the solar system, then dwelt on the conversation he’d had with Jasper about Earth’s location.
“Ah!” said the Slaughter Machine. “Earth.”
“Yes.”
“And how do you expect to get there?”
“I’m told we can reach it through the local exit point, which is to say the building behind you.”
“Have you the password?”
Raven frowned. “No.”
“Have you purchased passage with the necessary combination of the one hundred twentieth through the one hundred twenty-seventh elements?”
“No.”
“Then you may not leave.”
“Have you a superior I can speak to?” asked Raven.
“Nothing is superior to the Slaughter Machine,” was its answer. “Not only may you not leave, but for your impertinence you may not live.”
Raven studied the machine. When it spoke he could see some lights flashing inside it; otherwise it remained as dark and foreboding as when he’d first seen it.
“How do you know I won’t let you live?” said Raven.
“I am not alive, and therefore cannot be killed,” said the Slaughter Machine.
“You can’t be killed in the sense that I can be,” agreed Raven, “but you can be terminated.”
“How?” demanded the machine.
“Let’s put that powerful brain of yours to work and see,” said Raven. He paused for a few seconds. “Ready?”
“I am ready,” said the machine.
“Are you never wrong?”
“It is impossible for me to err.”
“Okay,” said Raven. “I’ve got an easy one for you to start with. How much are five plus four?”
“Nine, of course.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely,” said the machine.
“No exceptions under any circumstances?”
“None.”
“And if we find an exception you’ve made a mistake?”
“Yes.”
“Okay,” said Raven. “Compute in Base Seven.”
The machine was silent for a moment, then uttered a truly ear-splitting scream. What passed for its head slumped forward, the lighting and whirring of gears it had possessed stopped, and it remained totally motionless.
“I don’t understand what just happened, Eddie,” said Lisa.
“Simple math. Any high schooler can do it—though I don’t think they do these days—and even some grade school kids. We compute almost everything in Base One. When you use different bases, you sometimes—not always, but often—come up with different answers to the same problems.”
“That’s remarkable!” she said.
He shot her a self-deprecating smile. “That’s the benefit of a high school education.”
She looked around. “So what do we do now?”
“Enter the station here and book passage home.”
“We didn’t exactly fly here,” she said.
“I’m sure they know that,” he replied, taking her arm and leading her into the building.
They found themselves in a large, empty room. A moment later an incredibly ancient humanoid alien, his skin discolored and wrinkled, approached them.
“Mr. Raven and companion,” he said, coming to a stop and staring at them. “The betting was that we’d never see you at this location.”
“Then you know what we want,” said Raven.
“Of course.”
“And?”
“It’s quite ready for you.” The old man began hobbling off to his right. “Follow me, please.”
Raven and Lisa fell into step behind him. They soon reached a totally smooth, featureless wall. The old man ran his hand across a small section of it, and suddenly a door appeared.
“Have a safe trip,” he said.
Raven took hold of Lisa’s hand, and together they walked through the doorway—