Lawrence Watt-Evans: Out of This World

Rachel lifted her head from her father’s chest and peeked behind her. When she saw Raven’s posture she pressed against Pel’s shoulders, and he lowered her to the ground.

She turned to face Raven, but didn’t say anything.

The man in black raised his head and looked at her. “Grant me your pardon, Mistress Rachel, please. Say you forgive me,” he begged.

“It’s okay,” Rachel said. “I think. Isn’t it, Daddy?”

“I think so,” Pel agreed.

“Thank you,” Raven said, rising to his feet and brushing the dust from the knee of his hose. He stood, waiting.

Nancy still didn’t say anything.

“Shall we go back upstairs?” Pel suggested.

Nancy didn’t say anything, but she turned and marched back up.

A moment later all four of them were back in the family room, and Nancy finally spoke.

“Pel,” she said, “come in the kitchen for a moment.”

Pel came.

When they were out of sight of Raven and Rachel, Nancy whispered loudly, “Do you really believe him?”

Pel shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I don’t have any better explanation.”

“It could be some kind of trick,” Nancy suggested. “Some kind of illusion.”

“Sure, I guess it could be,” Pel agreed. “But why?”

“ I don’t know,” Nancy said, fretting, “but I don’t like it.”

Pel sighed again. “Nancy,” he said, “the guy is not selling me anything. I’m just talking to him. He turned up in the basement, with this whole story about some kind of cosmic war, and I’m just listening to it. That’s all. And frankly, I want to hear some more. If you want to go upstairs or something, go ahead.”

“All right,” she said. “You can talk.” She turned and led the way back into the family room, then stopped suddenly.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked Raven.

He glanced at Pel, then back at Nancy. “Thank you, aye,” he said, “I judge I could put a drink to use.”

“Um… beer?”

“Yes, that would suit me well, thank you.”

Nancy spun on her heel and marched back toward the refrigerator while Pel resumed his seat on the recliner. Rachel was sitting on the couch, not touching Raven, Pel noticed, but staring at him intently. His performance in the basement had obviously impressed her.

“Now,” Pel said, “you were telling me that you came here to talk to us about maybe joining forces with your people against something you call a Shadow?”

“Yes,” Raven said, with a nod. “That’s exactly right.”

“Shadow is magical, right?”

“Aye,” Raven said. “’Tis magical in nature. We know little enough of its true origins, but we know that much. It has gathered to itself all the magic that its evil allowed it, the greater part of all the world’s magical might, leaving only crumbs for our wizards to pick at. Because the good magicians were not united against it, it has triumphed.”

“But magic doesn’t work here. No one in our world has any magic.”

Nancy appeared from the kitchen, carrying two cans of Miller.

“You have nothing you call magic, perhaps, and nothing like our magicks, it would seem,” Raven agreed, “but you have magicks of your own, I am sure, though perhaps you call them by another name. The Galactic Empire calls its magic ‘science’; do you use that, perhaps?”

“Science isn’t magic,” Rachel said scornfully.

Raven turned to her, startled.

“She’s right,” Pel said. “Science isn’t magic. It does some pretty amazing things, though.”

Nancy put the two cans of beer on the table, then seated herself on the arm of the couch behind Rachel, at the far end from Raven. Pel leaned forward, picked one can up, and popped the top.

Raven blinked, then picked up the other.

“Cold!” he exclaimed, startled, as he quickly put it back down. He stared at it.

Rachel giggled. Pel and Nancy exchanged a glance.

“Maybe he’s British,” Nancy said, sotto voce .

“’Course it’s cold!” Rachel said. “It just came out of the fridge!”

Raven glanced at her, then reached down and cautiously picked up the beer can. He held it up with one hand while the other explored it carefully, stroking beads of condensation from the side, feeling the smooth, thin metal. He studied it intently.

“I’d wondered,” he said, “why you had no bottles or barrels in your cellar. It seems you have other ways of keeping things cool.”

“The refrigerator,” Pel agreed. “I guess that’s some of the scientific magic you were asking about.” He remembered his own beer and took a pull on the can.

Raven watched him, then looked at the top of the can he held. “How… there are letters here, stamped in the metal, or etched, perhaps. I cannot read them.”

“Oh,” Pel said. He put down his own beer and leaned over. “Let me show you,” he said.

He took the can and popped the top, while Raven watched, fascinated. Beer foamed up, and Pel handed it back.

Raven tasted it.

“Good,” he said, though his expression contradicted his words.

“It’s American beer,” Pel remarked. “I like the European stuff better.”

“This is a trifle thin, perhaps,” Raven agreed.

“So I guess we have technology you don’t, like refrigerators,” Pel said, leaning back with his beer in hand. “Is that what you came looking for?”

“I’d nothing specific in mind,” Raven said, “but if you have this science, or… technology, did you call it? If you have this, and use it for weapons, perhaps we could use it against Shadow.”

“I suppose you could,” Pel agreed. “If it works in your world.”

“Why shouldn’t it?” Nancy demanded, addressing her husband rather than their guest.

“Magic doesn’t work here,” Pel pointed out.

Raven sipped beer. “There is that,” he agreed. “So you do have technology weapons? Rayguns, perhaps, like the Galactic Empire’s? Or mayhap you call them blasters? The Imperials use both terms.”

“Not exactly,” Pel said, amused. “The closest we have to rayguns would be lasers, I guess, and they only work as weapons in the movies.”

“In the…?” Raven began.

“Never mind,” Pel said, cutting him off. “In stories, I should have said.”

“What works in reality, then?”

“Bombs,” Pel said. “Guns. Tanks, airplanes, nuclear warheads. Poison gas.”

“I know bombs,” Raven said, a little hesitantly. “And I think I know what you mean by guns, but these others-what sort of tank is a weapon? What is a nuclear war head?”

“A nuclear warhead,” Pel explained, “is a bomb that can destroy an entire city.”

Raven sat silently for a moment, staring at Pel. Rachel got up her nerve to stroke the fine black velvet of his cloak, and Nancy got up to go to the kitchen again.

“How big be these warheads?” Raven asked at last. “Be they real, not just another fancy found in stories?”

“Oh, yes,” Pel said. “They’re real. But they’re very big and heavy, and besides, only a few governments have access to them.”

“You don’t want them,” Nancy said, startling both Pel and Raven. “Besides destroying cities they poison the air and soil, and kill or deform unborn children.”

“In truth?” Raven asked, looking at Pel.

“Truly,” Pel said, nodding. “They use atomic energy-the same thing that keeps the sun burning-and that produces radiation.”

“Our sun burns with magic-I know nothing of yours. But your people fight with these bombs?”

“No,” Pel said. “We keep from fighting because we’re scared of them.”

“Don’t forget Hiroshima,” Nancy interjected.

Raven looked a question.

“We used them once,” Pel admitted.