Murray Leinster - Gateway to Elsewhere

“And—and if she would not marry you?” asked the Queen.

Tony looked at Ghail. Her face was crimson, and though there was no perceptible softening in her expression, her eyes showed distinct satisfaction.

“If she wouldn’t marry me,” said Tony shrewdly, “then—I guess I’d have to take an interest in music. After all, I understand that Esir and Esim have pretty good voices.”

The satisfaction vanished from Ghail’s expression. Fury came back.

“I thought,” she observed in detached scorn, “that you would not care for purchased kisses.”

“But I didn’t buy Esir and Esim,” said Tony. “They were gifts. That’s different!”

Then he ducked. A dark shadow flashed past overhead, so close that it seemed almost to touch the sun deck. It was the monstrous body of a roc, soaring swiftly downward from the sky. It touched ground almost directly before the leading elephant, shivered, and became a twelve-foot djinn in what was probably the djinnian air-force uniform. He raced toward the elephant litter.

“Majesty!” he bellowed. “Enemy djinns sighted twelve o’clock overhead! Closing fast!”

Tony reacted swiftly. He bellowed for Abdul and roared for a ladder. Instead, the gigantic trunk of the rear elephant swung around and held itself invitingly ready. Tony scrambled on board. Abdul bounced out of his litter in a wild leap, turned into something unusual on the way to the earth, and landed with a splashing of sand. He arose, himself again.

“Majesty!” he said, beaming. “The chimaera form for this conflict?”

“And make it snappy!” Tony rasped. “I don’t think anything drastic can happen, but—”

Abdul puffed out into the snaky creation of his nightmare, with its face of mist. There was the saddle as before. Tony climbed into it and buckled the safety belt.

“Go ahead!” he commanded.

There was a sensation of almost unbearable acceleration and he rode upward into the blue.

At five thousand feet they passed the first flight of rocs. The great birds wheeled aside to make room for them and then craned their necks to watch. At ten thousand feet Abdul and Tony passed the second line of air defense. From this height Tony could distinctly see the oasis and the gleaming white walls of Barkut. Still the chimaera hurtled skyward. At fifteen thousand feet the ceiling squadron of rocs was left behind.

Abdul turned his temporarily snaky neck about and said triumphantly:

“Majesty! They flee! From us!”

Now Tony saw the djinn king and his few faithful councilors. They were not recognizable as such, of course. With the chimaera climbing vengefully toward them, they had adopted the emergency measures Es-Souk’s lasf frenzies had led to: They were now mere shapeless objects which flew straight up with lightning-like amoeboid movements. They expanded as the air grew thinner and they needed to act upon greater surfaces for support. But they went up and up and up.

Tony was relieved. He had only one full phial of lasf, and he was highly doubtful that he could duplicate his trick of the fight with Es-Souk. Certainly he couldn’t handle half a dozen djinns with one improvised bomb, and if they attacked with any resolution at all…

The air grew thin as the chimaera climbed. Tony found himself panting for breath.

“Easy, Abdul!” he gasped. “No higher! This is enough!”

The chimaera leveled off. Tony’s heart pounded horribly because of the lack of oxygen at this height. He felt dizzy. He sucked in great gulps of the unsatisfying thin stuff. Then he heard Abdul saying appreciatively:

“Pardon, Majesty! I had forgotten that even you will not wish to be too close to your enemies when they explode!”

Tony could not answer. The way to live at great heights is not to exert yourself and to breathe fast and deep. He busied himself with getting his breath. Presently he felt a little better. A little, not much. The horizon had broadened for hundreds of miles, it seemed. He saw the halted djinn caravan far below. It looked like a short length of string on a sand-colored blanket. But overhead, the climbing, writhing djinns —the ex-king and those who still obeyed him—were such tiny motes that, strain his eyes as he would, he lost them.

He understood. Not only was his own weapon mysterious to the djinn , so that even Abdul expected him to strike down the fugitives from afar, but there was an even more rational reason for this long climb. Es-Souk, exploding at a fifty-mile altitude, had dimmed the sun and given off a momentarily intolerable heat. If the former king believed that the human-made apparatus Tony had seen would detonate his rebellious subjects at a distance, he must expect a much more terrible cataclysm below. He would get as far away as possible, though he had still to remain in atmosphere for support.

The chimaera soared in huge, easy circles. Abdul said inquiringly:

“Majesty? They have not exploded.”

“I—can’t see them,” said Tony absurdly.

He clung to his saddle, panting. Staying up here was a bluff, while he clung to two possible hopes. Perhaps the djinn king could not make the ancient weapon work—that was Tony’s first hope. If nothing happened at all, he would go on down and explain that he had made the former king powerless, and now spared his life. The second hope was fainter. The instrument had bewildered its possessor. The king actually hadn’t known which end was which. And Tony had told him quite truthfully, as far as television was concerned, that one looked in the large end of such tubes as the conical glass object he saw. Now, gasping for breath, he hoped very fervently that his advice would be taken, and that it would be bad. He recalled very vaguely that a television tube works because it shoots a beam of electrons from the small end against the large end. If the antique instrument worked in anything like the same fashion, whatever detonated djinns would come out of the large end, too. And if the djinn king happened to be looking into that end when he turned on the instrument…

Very high and far away, it seemed that the heavens burst. One splash of awful flame flashed into being, not directly overhead but near the horizon. The fugitives had not only put themselves as high as possible—a hundred miles perhaps—but had gone other hundreds of miles to one side so that as much sheer distance as they could manage would lie between them and the inferno they expected to create.

The first flash only dwindled when there was a second, and then two more, and then three. They went off soundlessly, but like firecrackers set off by the same fuse. And very high up indeed, in the icy chill of the heights, Tony found himself unbearably hot. Six or seven djinns breaking down in atomic explosions, even at two or three hundred miles distance, make for high-temperature effects. And Tony knew, then, that the apparatus which would destroy djinns had been blown to atoms along with the atoms it had blown up. The djinn king had, after all, been looking into the muzzle of an atomic gun when he pulled its trigger to destroy his subjects.

Abdul said happily:

“You found them, Majesty! Now none will question your right to reign!”

Without orders, he began a swift, slanting descent. In the thicker air, Tony’s feelings of weakness ceased. But something else occurred to him. He reflected gloomily that nothing ever happens just right. No achievement is completely satisfying. Each one creates new worries and new troubles.

At five thousand feet, Abdul said:

“Majesty!”

“What?” asked Tony.

“You will marry the Queen of Barkut?” asked Abdul. “It seems the logical thing to do. May I begin to make plans for the wedding, Majesty?”