"And what about you two?" Elspeth inquired.
Juana laughed. "We're your entourage," she explained. "I'm your personal attendant—take care of all the mundane details your poetic soul can't abide to handle, as for Mack—" she sent a sidelong glance at the photographer—"he's going to be your personal secretary. It seems you can't abide to work with women. Incidentally we travel with you everywhere."
"Just a moment," said Mack, his face red beneath its tan. "Do you mean I have to traipse around as Elly's personal stooge? Why, not only am I nobody's secretary but I don't know the—"
"Mack," Juana interrupted him calmly, "Elly is our one direct contact with President Roosevelt. She's the star of this act—and can you think of a better excuse for lugging that briefcase with you everywhere than to be a poet's secretary?"
Mack muttered volcanically, then subsided. Finally he said, "But when this President Roosevelt of yours gets this space-flight data, what's he going to do with it?"
"It will make America the real hope of the world," Juana replied. "It will make my people the only ones who can offer humanity salvation."
"Why don't the idiots try birth control?" said Mack.
"Emotionally and religiously they simply aren't geared to it," said the dark girl. "That's their greatest tragedy."
They continued to discuss the assignment as the rocket train sped across the plains of Missouri. Finally they played cards, had cocktails and dinner. They had barely finished their meal when they passed through Kansas City and over into Kansas.
"This thing makes time," Mack remarked.
"She can do almost two hundred over a flat stretch like this one," Soames informed them as he placed inviting looking fruit compotes before them. "She's only slow up the river."
After dinner, at Juana's suggestion, Elspeth read some of Christine Roosevelt's poems. They were, as she had expected, neither good nor bad—typical verses by an intelligent, well-bred, reasonably well-educated girl with a slight flair for rhyme.
If the President's daughter had ever felt an unorthodox emotion there was no evidence of it in her neatly-scanned iambic, trochaic or anapestic lines. This, Elspeth sensed, was a well disciplined young lady—and both discipline and lady-ism were, to her, the sworn enemies of the true poet.
She wondered how on Earth—whatever Earth she was on—she was going to find anything kind to say about such uplifted doggerel. She would have to concentrate upon being nice about a turn of phrase here and there. In toto, Christine Roosevelt's verse was extremely inconsequential. It wasn't even bad—or anything else.
"I thought you'd find you had a job on your hands," said Juana, reading Elspeth's thoughts from an armchair on the other side of the deeply carpeted lounge." Incidentally, Elly, I read your verse, too—and was impressed. You don't write crud."
"What a ghastly word—and thought!" said the poet, laughing in spite of herself. She tapped the book of verses by the president's daughter. "But as for this—I'll manage something."
"You can always call on your secretary to help you out," said Juana, her expression faultlessly grave.
"Quiet please," snapped Mack, "for the benefit of those who have expired." He lapsed into a somewhat dazed surliness that had been with him since Juana had told him what part he was to play in their forthcoming incursion into the dark redhead's world.
AS THE evening wore on Elspeth found herself puzzled by the relationship between Mack and Juana. Whatever it had been—and she knew it had been at least physically deep—it was strictly business now. She had an idea, from the way they were acting, that it was Juana who had slammed the door. Mack seemed pretty unhappy about it, too.
Serves the big tomcat right, she thought but, being woman and intrigued with the photographer despite herself, she could not restrain a faint sense of resentment at Juana for having so casually won and discarded him.
It was approaching midnight when the train once more went into the series of lurches that announced it was coming to a stop. Soames, the steward, appeared from somewhere, wearing an overcoat and carrying a small bag.
"I'm to leave you alone in the car when it's sidetracked and stay with the rest of the train?" he asked Juana.
She nodded. "Right, Soames, and thanks for taking such good care of us. You'll find the car all right when the train comes back to pick it up in"—she glanced at her wrist watch—"seventeen minutes. Good-by."
She handed the steward a bill of large denomination, and he bowed to all of them and moved forward through the corridor beside the staterooms. Juana's lips tightened and she shook herself as the train finally halted. "Transfer time," she said.
"What do we do?" Elspeth asked her.
"Relax," said Juana, managing it herself. "Don't ask me how it works. You've been through it once and you should know. Better make sure all your gear is there." She nodded toward their luggage, which Soames had piled at the front of the lounge. "The new car might be of different design forward and things might get lost."
Elspeth discovered her bag was missing and went to her stateroom to get it. As she opened the door she could look ahead to the front of the car, could see the receding rocket flares of what had been their train moving rapidly out of sight ahead. It gave her an odd lonely sensation.
She found her bag stuck in the washroom where she had left it, slung it over her shoulder. Then she noticed the silver tureen of zabaglione Soames had left for her. A taste of it, she thought, might help to settle the queasiness that had filled her stomach since the train began to slow down.
Elspeth lifted the silver lid and reached for the silver ladle within the bowl. Then she stood frozen, staring down at it. The bowl was empty.
It had not been scoured. There were traces of yellow foam clinging to its curved sides and to the spoon. There were similar traces on one of the three small dessert cups on the table beside it. Someone had eaten every bit of it.
Soames! she thought but it couldn't have been Soames. He'd have made more for himself had he wanted it. Mack might have done it but he professed an ardent dislike of all Italian cooking, from antipasto to cafe espresso. And somehow she knew Juana wouldn't.
"Like Goldilocks," she thought, "and the three bears." For the first time she wondered if Goldilocks had felt a fear that matched her own. Of course it was the bears who had been robbed and should have felt the fear but there were three of them.
With the thought she hurried from the stateroom and back along the corridor to the lounge. She wanted to tell them about it, to find if anyone of them knew more than herself. She had just passed the pile of luggage when the darkness came.
XII
IT COULD scarcely have lasted more than three or four minutes but Elspeth, out of physical contact with either Mack or Juana, and already shaken by her discovery in the stateroom, had to fight to keep her teeth from chattering. She stood perfectly still in the black void, wondering what cosmic changes were occurring about her, feeling cold sweat bead her forehead.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, the darkness was gone. Mack was there, looking with a worried frown in her direction, as was Juana. In her relief at being able to see them once more and her excitement in her changed surroundings, she forgot completely the fears that had shaken heaf so severely moments before.
Gone were the gingerbread and gilt surroundings of Finance Minister Alston's private car. Instead they were in a severe modern lounge section of glass and steel and blond woods and severely "modern" but extremely comfortable furniture. Lighting was soft and indirect, and at the partition which divided observation lounge from stateroom section stood a curved satinwood bar, backed by a glittering array of glassware and bottles and a striking mural in sophisticated imitation of Navajo primitive.
"It's like a carrier landing," Juana said, exhaling in relief and lighting a cigarette with fingers that trembled slightly. "No matter how many times you make it safely you're always glad to get through it okay."
There were sounds of a train approaching, a jar as coupling was co
mpleted. Then, slowly, they began to move once more. In less than thirty seconds a white-coated ebony steward was coming toward them down the corridor, smiling and asking if they had any preferences as to which staterooms they wished him to make up for them.
"Wonder whose car this is?" Mack asked, looking about him with a speculative squint. "It certainly is a change."
"I believe it belongs to one of the members of a family named Vanderbilt," said Juana. "They're quite big stuff in this world—finance, sports, politics, the works."
"Ditto in ours," said Mack. "I never dreamed I'd be roughing it in a Vanderbilt private car."
They took rooms which corresponded to those they had had in Minister Alston's car. Elspeth found hers even more compact and comfortable and well arranged. She looked for and noted the absence of the omnipresent dental powder of the Columbian, world. Alone in her room she thought with a quick pang of recurrent panic of the empty tureen of zabaglione.
Even the thought of that ornate sterling tureen, she decided, was anachronistic. It belonged, along with Reed Weston and John Henry and, yes— Everard van Hooten, in the world they had so recently left. As she went back to the lounge to rejoin Mack and Juana she wondered with a frown why she should have thought of the orchidaceous and deadly Everard at such a time.
The new steward, whose name was Marcus, proved as courteous an attendant and at least as able a drink mixer as Soames had been. Elspeth sipped a tall frosted rum drink and felt her tensions drain out of her. The transfer made to Juana's world, there was nothing to do but relax until they reached San Francisco. She and Mack questioned Juana about the world they were now in until the dark redhead smilingly begged off on the grounds of fatigue and departed for her stateroom and bed.
"She's an amazing little person," said Elspeth, looking after her and shaking her fair head.
"You can say that again," said Mack smugly. Elspeth felt a sudden desire to grab his hair with both hands and pull it out in clumps but she restrained the impulse.
Instead she said, "You don't seem to be doing so well yourself, sugar plum," and, picking up the two volumes of poetry, departed with what she hoped was haughty disdain for her stateroom.
She planned to study the work of Christine Roosevelt more deeply but the motion of the train was lulling and the rum drink had been more potent than its bland flavor had suggested. It was not long before she fell asleep, barely remembering to switch out the convenient little wall light at the head of her bunk.
As their train pulled into San Francisco late the following afternoon, Elspeth felt fed, rested and ready to face the new problems of a new world with excitement rather than fear. A glance at Mack showed her that he, too, was keyed for whatever lay ahead.
Despite his impassive countenance it was evident in the aggressive set of his shoulders, in the careful reserve of his motions as he studied the cut of the clothes he was wearing—they were not a perfect fit but they had a smart cold-weather look that would have been alien in the hot Columbian world.
Juana looked incredibly poised for a young woman returning to her own world after long absence, but unspoken emotion glowed in her large off-hazel eyes and she had been given to long periods of silence that increased during the final stages of the trip.
Elspeth was contemplating her appearance in a smartly cut dress of gray flannel with a diagonal white stripe and a soft-brimmed felt hat that put unexpected but rather attractive shadows around her eyes—furnished, like Mack's new garments and Juana's, by the generous owner of the car—when sudden sounds of violence forward brought her quickly to attention.
The train was just, coming to a stop in the terminal and Marcus was ahead in the compartments, tending to their gear. There were unmistakable thuddings of hard blows, then an unpleasant noise that was half gurgle, half scream—quickly cut off.
"Hi-yi!" cried Mack, springing into motion and moving rapidly along the corridor in the direction of the fight. He reached the door of his stateroom, from which the sounds of struggle were coming, turned in to enter on the run.
ELSPETH did not clearly see what happened then. A fist emerged from the door, catching the onrushing photographer with impeccable precision right on the point of his chin. His head flew back so violently that Elspeth gasped, afraid his neck had been broken. Arms flailing, Mack reeled back across the corridor, filling it with his bulk.
As he did so a slimmer male figure darted out of the stateroom and raced away from them along the corridor. In view of the confusion he left in his wake it was impossible for either of the girls to get a clear view of even his back. And before they could reach Mack, who was leaning against the corridor wall, his eyes glassy, the interloper had already slammed the car door behind him.
By some miracle Mack was still holding his heavy briefcase, which he had carried with him in a sort of reflex action. He gave them an unrecognizing look, then began to fall forward. Elspeth pushed him back against the wall, holding him upright and trying absurdly to fan him with her handbag.
Juana, who was carrying an unexpected but efficient looking little automatic pistol, darted into the compartment. Elspeth was about to yell for help when Mack began to regain consciousness and took an awkward half swing at her, knocking her hat out of line.
For some reason this made her furious. "You big baboon!" she shouted. "Can't you even stay out of the way of a fist."
"Hit me—when I wasn't lookin'," Mack mumbled. He tried to swing again at her but Elspeth brought her handbag hard against the side of his head. For some reason this seemed to clear it and he looked at her and blinked.
"What happened?" he asked stupidly. Elspeth stepped back, as he seemed steady on his feet, and Juana called from the stateroom. Marcus, it seemed was in worse trouble.
"It's too late to try a pursuit," she said calmly, holding the steward's head steady. Mack meekly helped to stretch him out on the bunk. "Whoever it was certainly laid it on."
Marcus was considerably messed up. Blood was welling from a two-inch cut under his right eye and his dark skin revealed other signs of battering. Using the towels and water in the stateroom, they managed to clean him up before his eyes opened.
"Dunno who it was," he said of his assailant when he was sufficiently recovered to answer questions. "I jes' come in here to see that Mister Mack's bags is ready when—powie—the lights go out."
"Did you get a look at him, Marcus ?" Mack asked eagerly.
"All I know is he sure could hit," said the steward. "He like to have pulverized me." His face clouded. "I sure am sorry to have let it happen. I guess I wasn't doin' my job right."
"You were fine, Marcus," said Elspeth soothingly. "I'm sure whatever happened wasn't your fault. Now, if you're feeling better, let's forget all about it."
"I'll be all right," said Marcus. Juana, who was looking increasingly unhappy gave him a large bill—this time of a new type of money—and they went on about their business. Mack was nursing a knot on his chin but was otherwise intact physically. His pride had suffered more than his jaw.
Juana handled their affairs brusquely, telling a trio of reporters who were on hand to meet the celebrated poetess that they were late and would see the press later at the hotel. She did not speak until they were safely installed in a wide-windowed suite high on a hill that overlooked the incredible nature-and-man-made magnificence of San Francisco Bay.
Then, leaning back in an armchair and lighting a cigarette she interrupted Elspeth's rhapsodic delight in the view from the window with a curt back-to-business statement.
"I neither like nor understand what happened on that train," she said coldly. "One of the great advantages of the interworld service—and one of its basic reasons for absolute secrecy—is that we can move into whatever world needs us without warning elements who might be able to oppose us if they were prepared."
"In other words, you're afraid your Asiatic friends may be ready to play rough," said Mack quietly. "Funny—I thought of that when you briefed us on the situation here yesterday."
"But how could they know?" protested Juana. "There can't have been a leak. If there were, no supposedly sane person would believe it. No one except the initiate ever has."
"There has to be a first time, honey," said Mack softly.
"Oh!" Elspeth sat up straight from the window seat, a hand flying to her mouth. She had just remembered the zabaglione. She told them about it.
"It's possible—though it would be the first interworld stowaway in our history as far as I know," said Juana, frowning. "If it is, it makes things even worse."
"You mean it will open up the tangency points?" Mack asked.
"Hardly." Juana dismissed this with a gesture. "They are not that simple. But any so-and-so smart enough to jump worlds without training is smart enough to have overheard my briefing in the train. Which means he'll be smart enough to follow through to our enemies here and tell them our story."
"I wonder who it is—and why," mused Elspeth.
"We'll probably find out soon enough," Juana said drily. She rose, shook down her skirt, looking absurdly little girl. "All right, kids, let's get ready for our act with the press."
UNDER the conditions it was an ordeal but when at last it was over Juana informed Elspeth that she had played her role of visiting celebrity well. The poet pushed back her blond hair and felt a grin come from deep within her.
"I never knew I was such a ham," she said. "I love it."
"You use the word ham that way in your world, too?" said Juana unexpectedly. "Funny—I never thought of it before but some of us may carry the slang of one world to another."
"Speaking of ham—I'm hungry," said Mack, looking sullen but relieved after getting away with playing the poetical secretary—a part which had taxed his histrionic ability to the bone.
They ate in an amazing restaurant at the top of the hotel, with a panoramic view of the city and bay that surpassed that from the big window of their drawing room a half dozen floors below. Elspeth felt wide-eyed and young at the attention they drew.
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