Lawrence Watt-Evans - Out of This World

“Welcome to town, folks!” the driver called back over his shoulder.

“What do you call this place?” Pel called back.

“Town,” the driver replied, a bit embarrassed. “It’s the only one on the planet, so we haven’t bothered to give it a real name.”

“The only one on the planet ?” Nancy asked, as she roused Rachel.

“’Fraid so.” With a bump, the aircar was down, and the engine’s whine died away suddenly.

Hesitantly, Pel pulled at the door-handle.

The door opened and he stepped out, then turned to take Rachel from her mother. When the three of them were out, he took a look around.

They were in a bare, featureless enclosure perhaps fifty feet by eighty, standing on coarse gravel near one corner, surrounded by blank gray walls. The two doors at one end were the only way in or out; the only colors anywhere were the blue aircar, resting in the opposite corner, and the various running lights. The dark hues were in sharp contrast to the bright, pale sky overhead.

The third aircar was in a third corner, but even as Pel first spotted it its engines came on, and it rose upward, into the brightness above.

A car door slammed; Pel started, and turned to see that Lampert was standing nearby, one hand on the door as he looked around.

“Doesn’t look like much, does it?” he said.

“No,” Pel agreed.

The driver slammed his own door, on the other side of the aircar, and called, “Okay, folks, right on in, through the door on the left, please!”

The passengers obeyed, shuffling across the gravel and through the door; a man in a purple uniform, not quite the same as those worn by the crew of the Ruthless , held it open for them. He said nothing as they trudged past.

Inside they found themselves in a large, windowless and mostly-bare room, concrete walls painted a dull peach color, the floor grey tile, the ceiling off-white. The only furnishings were two rows of white stone benches, and some red-print-on-white posters on the walls. There were four doors, counting the one they had just entered through, one centered in each wall. Light came from white glass globes that hung from the ceiling, looking very much like ordinary electric lights.

Pel would have expected fluorescent fixtures instead, but there were none, only the globes.

People were sitting on the benches-Stoddard, Ted, Smith, Soorn, and Mervyn. They had obviously not yet had a chance to clean themselves up; scabbed-over scratches were still in evidence, sand in their hair, uniforms wrinkled and frayed. Ted’s suit would probably never recover.

Stoddard looked up and smiled as the others trailed in; Soorn waved, and Smith called, “Hello! What kept you?”

Ted grinned foolishly and said nothing.

Mervyn ignored them all; he was leaning back against a wall with his eyes closed, and did not stir. Pel was unsure whether he was asleep or awake.

“Slow old bus,” Lampert replied. “How long have you guys been here?”

Smith shrugged. “Maybe ten minutes. They called in the captain and the nut in the velvet just before you people came in. The two of them, and that one-“ He pointed to Ted, who waved in reply. “-were here before we were. Don’t know how long.”

“The nut in the velvet” was obviously Raven. Pel hadn’t thought of him in those terms.

If that was how they saw Raven, Pel wondered how the crewmen saw him-the nut with the kid? It was probably something just that impersonal and unflattering.

The man in the purple uniform closed the door and stood silently against the wall. Nancy and Rachel settled cautiously onto an empty bench.

“Oh, I guess I got here about ten minutes before you,” Ted said to Smith. “I must say, this is the longest and most complicated dream I can ever remember having. I wonder if I have a lot of dreams like this, and I just don’t remember them when I’m awake?”

Smith grimaced, and turned slightly away from Ted. Pel felt his own stomach shift uneasily.

That sandwich had been some time ago, and he never had gotten enough to drink, but still, Pel knew that his discomfort wasn’t merely physical. It was Ted making him nervous. Ted was acting crazy-literally insane.

Well, Pel told himself, if they could just get him safely back home to Germantown, Maryland, it wouldn’t matter if he thought he had dreamed the whole thing.

Pel wished he could think of it as when instead of if .

Raven listened with approval as Captain Cahn conversed with the local lordling, the so-called Governor. This Cahn had the makings of a good commander, and such was recognized even in so dismal a place as this. Put him in armor and a sword in his hand, and he’d be fit for the service of Stormcrack, fit even to lead a hundred men.

Ah, but to get him there…

Best to say nothing and leave it all to Cahn. These misbegotten fools doubtless thought Raven mad; were he to speak it would serve no good. Leave it, then, in terms of the Empire’s good, the Empire’s authority, and say nothing of the need to fight Shadow.

* * * *

Prossie watched in admiration as Captain Cahn told the Governor what to do. It was really quite educational; he didn’t shout, didn’t argue, didn’t ask anything. He used a sort of tight, determined anger to drive his thoughts and words, but Prossie doubted a non-telepath would sense any of that-the Captain was calm and efficient, simply taking his authority as a given.

And of course, it was quite real. The Empire had given its emissary pretty much a free hand, and the legal power to go with it.

The Governor couldn’t really know that, though. He had no telepath to verify anything-Prossie worked for Cahn, and the Governor didn’t know enough about telepaths to realize that that meant Cahn had the Empire’s full blessing. His orders had always come by ship, prior to this.

For all he could prove, Cahn could be a rebel, a mutineer, a lunatic-but when Cahn spoke the Governor never doubted for a moment that he was just what he claimed to be.

Prossie could see the theory of how to do it, of course, but she couldn’t possibly have done it herself; quite aside from the near-universal antipathy to telepaths, and aside from her sex, she just didn’t have the knack. Watching Cahn was like listening to a first-rate musician. Prossie might read the same notes, might pick them out, but she didn’t have the talent to make the same music.

Cahn was magnificent. Prossie had been relaying messages to the Governor, had been telling him much the same thing that Cahn was now saying, and had been virtually ignored, because she simply didn’t have Cahn’s presence and aura of authority; the Governor had made a few tentative gestures, but no more than that. Now that the Captain was here in person, though, he was getting instant compliance.

It took less than fifteen minutes to establish martial law, with Cahn himself in charge, and to commandeer much of what they needed.

* * * *

The stay in the waiting room hadn’t been long-twelve minutes, according to Godwin, whose analog watch seemed to have survived better than Pel’s digital one. Half a dozen of the purple-uniformed men had then appeared and escorted the party out.

The next stop was a crowded men’s room-at least, for everyone except Nancy and Rachel, who had a ladies’ room to themselves. Soap, towels, and various brushes were provided, and Pel emerged feeling much better than he had entered. Clothes were still torn and wrinkled, faces unshaven, but at least the worst of the dirt had been cleared away.

The facilities were indistinguishable from what Pel would have expected in a men’s room back on Earth, in, say, a bus station or a rest station on an interstate-white tile, bare bulbs in wire cages overhead, green-painted steel partitions, white porcelain fixtures.