Lawrence Watt-Evans - Out of This World

Pel nodded. The thing certainly traveled like the one in the movie.

It didn’t much resemble it otherwise, though. It wasn’t pink and battered. The cockpit wasn’t open, and the lines were more bulbous than sleek. It was glossy black, with elaborate brass trim and numerous running lights in various colors, and it reminded Pel more of a 1953 Buick Roadmaster his father had once had than it did of anything else-though of course, the Buick had been festooned with chrome, rather than brass.

By this time the entire assorted party was awake, and everyone had noticed the approaching vehicle. They were all watching it, with varying intensity. Susan was frankly staring, her mouth open; Amy was a bit more restrained, while Ted was grinning like an idiot, as if the thing’s appearance were something he had contrived himself that had turned out better than expected. Stoddard was watching other people as much as the aircar itself, judging their reactions to it; Squire Donald’s expression was unreadable; Valadrakul’s gaze seemed coolly appraising.

Most of the crew of the Ruthless seemed mildly relieved and completely unsurprised.

The aircar glided to a standstill and hovered over a slab of white rock, a few yards away. A window whirred open and a white-haired head thrust out.

“Proserpine Thorpe?” the man in the aircar called.

“Here!” Prossie replied, waving cheerfully.

The head swiveled around to peer at the telepath, then turned back to the main party and called, “Captain Cahn?”

“Yes,” Cahn answered.

The man nodded, and pulled his head back inside the vehicle. An instant later, with a high-pitched whine, the aircar settled slowly to the ground.

Pel glanced at Nancy, making sure she and Rachel were all right, and then jogged toward it.

As he drew nearer, he saw that the resemblance to an old Buick was less than he had initially thought. The thing was bigger and far more complex, with exposed tubing in several places, running lights in yellow and green and red, and protuberances that Pel couldn’t identify at all.

It also bore an elaborate gold seal on its side, showing a lion and unicorn rampant against a sunburst. That was not something Pel had expected-a ringed planet or a spaceship would have struck him as more appropriate. The gold-leaf beasts looked positively medieval, and made a curious contrast with the multicolored lights and all the other signs of a fairly high technology.

By the time Pel reached the aircar’s side Captain Cahn had strode the three paces necessary to reach the vehicle and was already bent down, talking quietly with the driver through the open window.

Pel frowned; the vehicle had a pair of bucket seats in front, and two rows of three behind, rather than the two bench seats his father’s car had had, but even so, there was no way the entire party could fit into it at once.

“It’ll take three trips,” the driver said, looking past Cahn, seeing Pel’s expression and guessing the reason.

“Couldn’t you have sent something larger?” Pel asked, struggling not to shout.

The driver grimaced. “Nope,” he said. “This is it. Psi Cass the Deuce isn’t exactly London; this bucket’s about it for official transport. They were trying to scrounge up more, but for the first run, I’m all you get.”

“We’ll take the wounded first,” Captain Cahn said, in a tone that implied argument was flatly impossible.

The driver nodded. “And I take the telepath, of course, right?”

“Of course,” Captain Cahn agreed.

“What about my wife?” Pel asked. “And our daughter?”

“Second trip, probably,” the driver replied, reaching for a lever.

Captain Cahn stepped back and turned, looking the group over and choosing who would go.

“Peabody, you go and get that arm looked at,” he called. “Drummond, you’re in charge, and get the leg taken care of. Wizard…” Elani and Valadrakul both looked up. Valadrakul’s face was bloody, but he was basically intact; Elani was unmarked, but clearly suffering from exhaustion.

Pel was distracted by the driver clearing his throat. He turned, startled.

The driver’s hand was on the polished wood knob atop a black lever, and he was glaring at Pel. Pel blinked.

“Step away, please,” the driver said.

“Oh,” Pel replied. He took a step back.

The driver pulled the lever, and the aircar made a noise like a vacuum cleaner warming up. It stirred, and then hovered, a few inches off the ground.

As the machine rose Pel felt suddenly off-balance, as if he were about to fall toward the aircar; he backed away another step, and the feeling vanished.

Peabody stepped up, apparently untroubled by any falling sensation; he opened a door and climbed in, then turned and held it open. Valadrakul handed in first Grummetty, and then Alella-they were far too small to board without assistance.

The two little people both rode in a single seat, the center one of the back row, with Peabody to one side. Elani went in next, taking the other side.

“Nobody else’s hurt that bad, sir,” Peabody said, leaning forward. “Why not take Mrs. Brown and the girl?”

Cahn frowned. “All right,” he said. “If they want, but there isn’t room for all three of them. If the mother and daughter go, the father waits here. You want to do that, Mr. Brown, or would you rather wait and all go together?”

Pel turned to Nancy.

Nancy looked down at Rachel, who was huddled, sound asleep, in her arms. She looked around at the empty sand, the descending sun, and the gleaming aircar.

“We’ll wait,” she said.

Cahn looked around.

“You two, then,” he said, pointing to Susan and Amy. “I want somebody from your world in this group.”

The two women glanced at each other, then stepped forward together and boarded.

A moment later the aircar was loaded-Prossie Thorpe rode shotgun in the front, Susan, Amy, and Lieutenant Drummond were in the second row, and Peabody, Elani, and the little people rode in back. Doors slammed, the engine sound rose to an ear- piercing shriek and then upward in pitch, into inaudibility, and the vehicle lifted from the ground, swung around, and began to pick up speed, back the direction it had come.

Pel had been standing too close; the backwash of the anti-gravity drive left him dizzy.

“Next load,” Cahn said, “Lieutenant Godwin, you’ll be in charge. You’ll take the Browns, the other wizard, that Squire Donald, and Ben Lampert. The rest of us should all fit in the third.”

There were answering nods, but Pel paid no attention. He was too busy watching the aircar as it disappeared over the horizon.

Despite the hot, dry air, he shivered.

A thought struck him, and he snatched out his camera; it appeared to have survived undamaged, thus far. He pointed it after the aircar, but it was too late; the vehicle was out of sight.

He sighed, and contented himself with snapping a quick shot of the remaining group, scattered on the sands.

Amy found herself seated in the exact center of the aircar, between Susan Nguyen and Lieutenant Drummond. The sound of the engines was not the same as any car or plane she had ridden before; it was a steady whine, and it took a few moments before she could adjust to it and block it out.

Drummond was obviously back on familiar ground-so to speak, since they were cruising about eight feet up. He was leaning back, relaxed and smiling. His injured leg was stretched out, the foot under the seat in front of him, while the other leg was bent, knee out to the side. His blond hair was matted with blood, and Amy wondered what had happened to his helmet. He had had a helmet before, she was certain.

Then she realized where she had seen him with his helmet on-stepping out of the Ruthless in her back yard. He had been the first to emerge from the ship.