Lawrence Watt-Evans - Out of This World

Or if they hadn’t, they were in trouble, which would suit him just fine.

* * * *

“And this device of theirs, which they say will destroy an entire city and leave no stone upon another-believe you that it exists, and is not but some mad dream, or a tale to frighten strangers?”

Raven turned up his palms. “Who can say?” he replied. “They spoke of it as though ‘twere but simple fact, they named names to me that meant nothing but had the ring of truth, yet how am I to know whether they speak lies? I’m but a man, not a wizard who can read men’s souls.”

The other snorted. “Would that I could!” he said. “I can see a lie betimes, when ‘tis spoke, but beyond that I’ve no more insight into a man’s secrets than you, my lord. I’m not one of these the Empire has, who claim to hear the innermost thoughts of others as if they were spoken aloud.”

“Telepaths,” Raven said.

“Aye,” the other agreed. “That’s the word.”

For a moment the two were silent. Then Raven spoke.

“What of the Empire’s expedition to this new world?” he asked. “Have we word of their success, or perchance their failure? Have they made contacts, perhaps obtained these terrible weapons?”

“Word is not yet received,” the wizard replied.

“No?” Raven turned, startled, to look at the door of the chamber, as if he expected it to burst open on cue.

The door did not move.

“Did not Elani open the way for our messenger this hour past?” Raven asked.

The other nodded. “Aye,” he said. “That she did, yet there’s no word.”

Raven stared at him.

“ Why? ” he demanded.

“Because the messenger tells us that the Empire has had no word of their sky-ship’s fate, and our spies can hardly learn what is known to none,” the wizard explained.

“No word?” Raven’s brows drew together as he frowned. “Why would there be no word? They have their miracle-workers, their telepaths-why have they not heard?”

The wizard turned up his palms. “Who knows?” he asked.

* * * *

“I may have to start believing in UFOs and Bigfoot,” Nancy said, as she slumped on the couch and stared at the spot where Raven had sat.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Pel said.

“Why not?” she asked, turning to face him. “I mean, if we can have swordsmen and elves walking through our basement wall, why are space aliens bringing Elvis back from the dead any less likely?”

Pel opened his mouth, then closed it again and considered the statement. He looked at Raven’s unfinished beer, still sitting on the coffee table.

“I don’t know,” he said at last. “Maybe they aren’t any less likely, but the evidence for them is pretty damn weak.”

“Yeah, well, what evidence do we have?” Nancy retorted. “We didn’t take any pictures or anything; all we’ve got is some memories and a can of beer. Is that any better than some of the saucer nuts?”

“No,” Pel admitted.

“So maybe it didn’t really happen at all,” Nancy said; Pel noticed a hopeful tone to her voice. “Maybe we imagined it, got ourselves hypnotized somehow into believing it.”

Pel took a deep breath, then let it out slowly.

That explanation was actually just about as believable as any other, he had to admit. He didn’t like the idea that his mind could play such tricks on him, and he couldn’t explain it, but really, a man from another universe wasn’t a much better explanation.

He remembered Raven so clearly, though-the embroidery on his tunic, the greasy smudge on one temple, the cat hairs on his cloak, his odd accent. It didn’t seem like something he and Nancy would have imagined, not with the weirdly confusing story about evil wizards and galactic empires.

That reminded him of something, and he sat up in the recliner.

“Hey,” he said. “There was something he told me before you got home-he said the Galactic Empire sent a spaceship to Earth. Through a whatchamacallit, a gate or a space-warp or whatever, somewhere near here.”

Nancy looked puzzled.

“So?” she said.

“ So ,” Pel said, “if it was all real , then don’t you think a spaceship might make the evening news?”

Nancy blinked.

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Maybe.”

Pel was annoyed at her lack of enthusiasm, but tried not to show it. “Well, if it’s on the news, that would settle it, right? It would all be real, if it’s on the news.”

“And if it’s not?” Nancy asked.

Pel shrugged. “Well, then we still don’t know for sure,” he said. “But we wouldn’t be any worse off than we are.”

“That’s true,” she admitted.

“And if it is on the news,” Pel said with sudden enthusiasm, “this would really be big-time stuff! The first contact with another universe, my God !”

Nancy refused to share his excitement as he lifted the remote control and turned on CNN.

* * * *

Amy spoke quietly into the phone as she peered out her kitchen window. A man with what looked like a metal detector was walking across the back yard, swinging it slowly from side to side a few inches above the dewy grass. A team of men was taking photographs from every possible angle, with one of them holding a yellow measuring stick in various positions to provide a scale; about half of them wore Air Force uniforms, while the rest were in mufti.

They had started arriving right around dawn, and had apparently reached equilibrium now, with a few leaving whenever more arrived. And Amy’s call had finally gotten an answer.

“This is Amy Jewell,” she said. “I need to speak to Bob Hough right away.”

“I’m sorry,” replied the receptionist at Dutton, Powell, and Hough, “but Mr. Hough is on vacation in Cancun. I have the number of his hotel if this is an emergency, but Ms. Nguyen is handling everything for him while he’s away.”

Amy paused to think who Ms. Nguyen was. There was Susan, the Vietnamese woman who had helped out with the divorce-that must be her.

Susan had probably done most of the work anyway. The women with no titles or authority generally did everything except get the credit. “All right, then I’ll talk to Ms… to her,” Amy said.

“She’s only just gotten in, but I’ll see. Just a moment,” There was a click, and insipid music began playing softly. Amy watched as the man with the metal detector thing wandered out of sight around the corner, and the photography crew paused to reload.

“Susan Nguyen,” said a voice on the phone.

“Susan,” Amy said, relieved; the voice was familiar. This was definitely the Susan she remembered. “This is Amy Jewell; I think you helped Bob Hough handle my divorce last year?”

“Oh, yes, Ms. Jewell; how are you?”

“I’m fine, but listen, something really weird happened yesterday. This… this thing landed in my back yard yesterday. It’s like a… well, it’s like a spaceship out of a comic book or something.”

“A spaceship?” Susan replied dubiously.

“Not a real one,” Amy said hastily, “I think it’s some kind of gag-maybe a publicity stunt of some kind.”

“Oh,” Susan said. “It still seems strange. How big is… no, never mind that. What is it you want us to do?”

“I want it out of my yard, that’s what I want!” Amy’s temper, carefully held in check until now, finally gave out. “I don’t want anything to do with it! I want it out of here, and I want all these people who are out here looking at it off my land and away from here! And I want damages-it smashed my hedge and scared the hell out of me!”

“Have you called the police?”

Amy said, almost screaming, “They’re the ones who started it!” Then she stopped herself, took a deep breath, and forced herself to calm down.