Bob Shaw - The Fugitive Worlds

Toller stumbled to a halt at the edge of the green-lit circle, his gaze fixed on the white box. “How could that move an entire planet?” he said in tones of wonder. “It is much too small.”

Even in a moment of crushing urgency there was a note of ironic amusement in Greturk’s reply. How large must a fulcrum be, Toller Maraquine?

Before Toller could speak further there came a vast humming sound from directly above and curved rows of lights appeared far up in the gaudy darkness. The lights were in fixed positions with regard to each other, giving the impression they belonged to a huge skyship which was taking up its station overhead. The oppressive humming rose and fell at an increasing tempo, creating a sonic bludgeoning effect which numbed mind and body.

Run to the center of the plate! Greturk fussed and fluttered like a protective bird around the group of humans, goading them into motion. We have no more time!

Still holding Vantara’s hand, Toller moved on to a circular area of coppery metal some ten paces in diameter. Steenameert and the three rankers crowded on to the disk with him, and the group coalesced with the knot of aliens who were gathered around the white box…

And suddenly—without any physical sensation—the interplanetary leap took place.

The sights of the garish, light-fractured night of the Dussarran home planet vanished on the instant, and a mellow darkness closed in around the travelers. This is impossible, Toller thought, momentarily paralyzed with wonder, only then realizing that, although he had been forced to accept the idea of teleportation intellectually, in his heart there had lurked a conviction that it could not be done. There had not been so much as a twinge or a tingle anywhere in his body to inform him that he was being transported across millions of miles of space, and yet … A single glance at the richly emblazoned age-old sky of the sister planets told Toller that he was standing in the peaceful grasslands of his home world.

Having grown up on Overland and spent his adult life navigating across its surface, Toller had the almost instinctive ability to use the companion world as a clock and compass. His brief look at Land, which was almost perfectly centered in the dome of the sky, established that he was on Overland’s equator and possibly as little as fifty miles east of the capital city of Prad. The fact that the great disk of Land was divided just about evenly into night and day sides showed that dawn would soon break—which confirmed what Greturk had said about the timing of the Dussarran relocation.

When he returned his attention to earthly matters he saw by the half-light that several of the aliens were kneeling by the white box. They had opened a small door in its side and one of them was making rapid adjustments to something in the interior. A moment later that alien slammed the door shut and sprang to his feet.

The impeller is now alive and will activate itself in four minutes! He spread his arms and made violent scooping movements with his hands, a signal which—even without telepathic aid—the humans readily understood. Withdraw to the safety line!

There was a general movement away from the machine. Toller felt slim hands urging him to hurry, and it came to him that these Dussarrans—in spite of their nightmarish appearance—were altruists of the highest order. They had gone to great lengths and exposed themselves to unguessable dangers with no motivation other than the desire to preserve the existence of a totally unknown culture. Toller was reasonably certain that he would not have behaved as well in parallel circumstances, and all at once he felt a rush of mingled emotions—respect and affection—towards the Dussarrans. He ran with the others, losing contact with Vantara on the way, and slowed to a halt when they did, some sixty yards away from the enigmatic white rectangle.

“Is this far enough?” he said to Greturk, trying to visualize the unleashing of forces of sufficient magnitude to disturb a world lumbering through space and time, massively complacent in its shadowy orbit.

This is a safe distance, Greturk replied. Had the impeller not been built illegally, and in great haste, it could have been shielded in such a way that there would have been no need to move away from it. Ideally, it would also have been constructed with widespread anchor points, in such a way that it could not be overturned. Director Zunnunun, by advancing the time of relocation, has forced us to fall back on exigency plans.

Toller frowned, his mind still overwhelmed by partially absorbed ideas and concepts. “What would happen to a man who was too close to the impeller when it… when it did what is required of it?”

There would be a conflict of geometries. Greturk’s eyes swam like twin moons in the grey twilight. The constituent atoms of the man’s body would be sliced into a billion times a billion layers… ”

“I was told my grandfather died in such a manner,” Toller said in a low voice. “It must have been instantaneous… and painless… but I don’t think I want to emulate him to that extent.”

We are safe while we stay at this distance from the machine, Greturk replied, looking all about him. Safe from the effects of the machine, anyway.

“How much time remains until the Xa is triggered?”

Greturk did not consult any kind of chronometer, but his response was immediate. Almost seven minutes.

“And only about three minutes remain until that thing… the impeller… does its work.” Toller took a deep breath of satisfaction and glanced at the other humans. “It seems to me that we are quite safe. What do you say, my fellow Kolcorronians? Shall we prepare to celebrate our deliverance?”

“I’m ready for a few beakers of good Kailian black when you are,” Steenameert cried out heartily, and the other humans—watched by silent aliens—cheered and waved their arms in agreement.

Toller was gratified beyond measure when Vantara moved through the gloaming to his side and put her hand in his. Seen in the nascent light of pre-dawn, her face was impossibly beautiful, and suddenly he felt that his entire life had been nothing more than a prelude to this moment of supreme justification. He had been faced with a challenge worthy of the real Toller Maraquine, he had met every demand made of him without flinching, and now a time of reward lay ahead.…

“I have been so busy congratulating myself on my good fortune that I have given little thought to you and all your companions, to whom we owe so much,” he said to Greturk. “Can you return safely to Dussarra?”

Returning home poses some problems for the present, but I have more serious worries at this time. Greturk continued to scan his surroundings as though every dimly-seen tuft of grass might conceal a deadly enemy. My principal fear is that Director Zunnunun will have set the Vadavaks upon us. We have, of course, done what we could to make pursuit difficult, but Zunnunun’s resources are far greater than ours…

“What are these Vadavaks?” Toller said. “Are they ferocious hunting beasts which cannot be eluded?”

No. Greturk’s thoughts were shaded with something akin to embarrassment. They are Dussarrans who were born with a major defect in the areas of their brains which are concerned with perception and communication. They are incapable of direct communication with other Dussarrans. We regard the condition in much the same way as you regard deafness.

“But why should they be feared?”

They do not experience the reflux. They are capable of killing.

“You mean,” Toller said, suddenly understanding Greturk’s embarrassment, “they are something like me?”