To the Vanishing Point

by Alan Dean Foster

  The long miles tired him, but he became wide-awake when the glow from the lights of an approaching city lit the underside of lingering clouds not far ahead. Alicia sat up straighter in her seat.

  "There it is. There it is." The reality of it put paid to the last lingering memories of nightmare.

  Sleeping soundly, the children didn’t react. Burnfingers Begay didn’t look up from the book he was reading as he sat cross-legged on the floor near the kitchen. Mouse might have nodded as she stared out a side window at the night. Big as her eyes were, Frank mused, maybe she could see in the dark.

  A big green highway sign loomed up out of the darkness. Frank leaned slightly forward, grumbling, "Now what?"

  The detour was clearly marked. Uneasy at the thought of leaving the main highway, he thought of running the barricade, but there were ample signs of heavy equipment at work not far ahead. Arc lamps illuminated a distant section of road. It made perfect sense. Naturally the highway department would try to do all its repair work at night, when it was cooler and there was less traffic.

  A vehicle had paused just ahead of him. Now he followed it, as it turned right to travel the detour. It was a sleek, expensive-looking sports car. Ferrari or Lamborghini or something like that. In seconds it had accelerated into the night and was gone, though he could still see its lights moving long after the car itself was no longer visible. Ahead, the narrow road was so bright it might have been lit from within. Brand-new paving, he told himself.

  "Must be a new way into town, or they’ve upgraded an older road to take some of the traffic off the highway," he surmised aloud. "Not even oil-stained yet."

  There was a distinct absence of traffic. Of course, it was well after midnight. And what did he know of traffic patterns in and out of Las Vegas? They were used to flying in, not driving. Probably most drivers were already busy pumping their hard-earned quarters into hungry slots, or groaning over craps tables.

  They could see the city now, coming into view off to the left. Alicia stared and sounded mildly disappointed.

  "Won’t we drive in down the Strip?"

  "If it’s lights you want to see we can take a cab and do it tomorrow night. Right now I just wanna get rid of this tank and find us a hotel."

  Mouse had come forward to join them in gazing at the distant, glowing towers. "Is something the matter? I heard you talking."

  Funny, he thought. Your ears don’t look as big as your eyes. "Main road into town’s all torn up. We’re on a detour." As they began curving toward the city, the lights of the Strip receded, their place taken by the silhouettes of dark, squat structures from which few lights gleamed.

  "Looks like we’re coming in the back way. Vegas isn’t all gambling."

  "Industrial park, maybe," said Alicia thoughtfully.

  They were alone on the road. As they moved among the buildings, Frank found himself wishing they’d spent more time driving around the city on previous visits. He had no idea where he was. In this dark, dingy part of town it would be easy to miss a road sign. Detours didn’t always provide adequate directions, especially for strangers.

  Fortunately they couldn’t get completely lost. The lights from the distant Strip were a constant glow against the sky. All they had to do was keep going in that direction.

  As he was consoling himself with that thought, the road abruptly came to a dead end. He braked, angry at himself for obviously having missed the right turn. Ahead, the roadway became a driveway leading into a large factory lot.

  Not quite a dead end, he told himself. Narrower but perfectly passable roads split off to right and left, paralleling the factory. But which way? The lights of the city illuminated the air directly ahead, and that way was denied them.

  "Damn! Don’t know how I missed the turnoff. If they’re going to detour you off the highway, you’d think they’d put up more signs."

  "What’s going on?" A glance in the center rearview mirror showed Steven sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. After hours of steady highway cruising, their coming to a halt had awakened both children.

  "We’re here," said his sister tiredly. "Isn’t that obvious?"

  "That’s right." Alicia tried to see past the dark bulk of the factory. "But your father seems to have missed a turn somewhere."

  In his frustration he spoke more sharply than he intended. "I did not miss a turn!" Then, more gently, "All right. So maybe I did. Any suggestions?"

  "Go left, I think. The lights look brighter over that way."

  He shrugged. "Good enough." He backed up slightly to make sure the motor home would have enough space to clear the curb, then tugged the wheel to port.

  Several blocks on, they found themselves driving slowly past a dark park. Strangely thin trees sprouted from among blades of thick blue-green grass.

  Walking on the edge of the grass was an elderly gentleman clad in a thin coat of some shiny, silvery material. It would have to be thin, Frank knew. This time of year Vegas was warm even late at night. His shoes matched his coat and he carried a cane, which he was giving a jaunty twirl. Golden tassels trailed from the back and one side of a gray beret.

  The outfit would have drawn laughs in south Los Angeles, but this was Las Vegas. He might be a visitor out for an evening’s stroll, or a casino employee enjoying his midmorning break. Many of the bigger hotels required the wearing of special uniforms by their employees, the flashier the better.

  "Let’s ask him," Alicia said.

  The same thought had already occurred to Frank. He slowed and pulled toward the curb. Alicia lowered her window.

  The old man stopped to look up at them. There was no concern in his expression, only curiosity. If he lived or worked in this neighborhood he was probably used to encountering lost tourists.

  Alicia leaned out. "Excuse us, but is this the right way to downtown?"

  He nodded. With his full mustache and beard he resembled a slightly anorexic version of that old character actor, Monty Woolley.

  "Sure is." Funny accent, Frank thought. European of some kind. The man was pointing up the street with his cane. "Just keep on the way you’re headed. The road will curve to the right, then fork. Take the left-hand fork. That’ll put you right back on the main road." Now he turned his attention to the motor home.

  "Interesting contraption you got there. Internal combustion, is it?"

  Frank could take a joke as well as any man. "Naw. Nuclear-powered."

  The riposte didn’t faze the nightwalker. He sniffed. "Don’t smell nuclear. Can’t tell much anymore." He touched the side of his nose. "Sinuses. You know what desert pollen can do to you when it’s in season."

  "Tell me about it," Frank replied. "We’ve been to Vegas every year about this time for the past five years."

  The oldster’s eyebrows drew together and the mustache twitched. "Vegas?"

  "Las Vegas," said Alicia encouragingly.

  Suddenly Frank saw the light. No wonder the old guy was out walking by himself in the middle of the night. He was slightly off.

  "We had to take a detour," his wife was saying.

  "Must’ve been some detour." The oldster scratched at his nose, sniffed again. "Never heard of this Las Vegas." He gestured with his cane once more. "This is Pass Regulus."

  "Maybe in your language," Frank told him, positive now of the man’s foreign origins, "but it’ll always be Vegas to us."

  The old man thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. "Like you say, it’s that kind of town. Guess there are lots of names for it, depending on where you hail from."

  "Exactly," said Frank with satisfaction. "Depending on where you’re from. That was straight on, curve right, take the left-hand fork?"

  Their guide nodded. "You got it."

  "Can we give you a lift?" asked Alicia. Frank growled and she pretended not to hear him. It didn’t matter.

  "No, thanks. I’m on duty."

  That at least explained what he was doing out here all by himself in the middle of the night. "What kind of duty?" F
rank inquired.

  "Night watchman. You folks have a nice time, now. Try not to lose too much money."

  "We’ll do our best. We’re not big gamblers anyway. I’d rather sit by the pool and people-watch."

  "That’s the way to do it." The old man nodded approvingly. "Take care now, and remember: left-hand fork."

  "Thank you." Alicia sent the window up as Frank pulled back out into the middle of the street. "Didn’t you think he was kind of old to be working as a night watchman, dear?"

  "Naw. Some of those old guys might not be able to run down purse snatchers, but that doesn’t mean they still can’t shoot straight."

  She nodded, then said thoughtfully, "I wonder what language Pass Regulus means Las Vegas in?"

  "Beats me, sweets. Hungarian or something." He glanced at the rearview. "Mouse?"

  "The name is unfamiliar to me, Mr. Sonderberg."

  "What about Italian, Pops?" Wendy suggested.

  He shook his head. "I don’t think so."

  "How would you know?" His daughter’s voice had regained its normal, healthy smart-ass tone.

  "Because your mother and I have eaten at Mama Genovese’s over in Long Beach ever since we were dating, and this guy didn’t sound anything like Mama Genovese."

  The argument over accents continued as Frank followed the curving road until they came to the fork, just as the old man had predicted. The city lights were brighter than ever. Frank turned left. A few minutes later they found themselves out of the industrial area and cruising down a main street.

  Alicia stared in puzzlement at the casinos and hotel towers. "I don’t recognize any of this."

  Frank didn’t reply immediately. They were surrounded by slowly moving traffic and he was trying to concentrate on his driving. "I don’t, either, but remember we usually come straight from the airport to the hotel. We’ve never been in this end of town."

  "Maybe that’s why everything looks so different. But you’d think we’d have seen at least one familiar place by now. The Golden Nugget or Silver Dollar or someplace."

  "Any minute, now. You’ll see. Maybe there’s been a lot of redevelopment in the past year."

  Alicia looked dubious.

  "Oh, wow, look at that, look at that!" Wendy was gesturing excitedly to the sidewalk on their right. "There must be a science-fiction convention in town!"

  Frank managed a brief glimpse of the crowded sidewalk beneath the neon. Scattered among the mass of people were a few visions lifted from a fever dream. Two figures a good head taller than the rest of the crowd boasted eyes on the tips of wobbling stalks and orange-hued skin beneath loose green vests. Behind them strolled a dozen tall bluish shapes. White stripes ran down their backs and they wore robes of saffron satin. No heads were visible.

  Hari Krishna asparagus, Frank thought, laughing to himself.

  Other figures wore thick fur despite the warmth of the night. Dog-faced dwarfs that must have been children in costume wore incongruously bright kilts. He tried to penetrate the exquisitely designed masks, but it was difficult, what with having to concentrate on driving. Whoever had fashioned the masks and costumes had done a superb job. They looked loose and natural.

  Only then did he let his gaze shift to the humans in the crowd. That was at once more reassuring and more disturbing. They were undeniably people, but not one wore anything familiar. If this were New Orleans at Mardi Gras it might have made sense, but this was Vegas, where visitors tended to the outre in their habits, not their attire. The street people’s clothing was as outrageous as the alien costumes.

  For that matter, the hotels and casinos didn’t look quite normal. Alicia was right about that. Oh, they were every bit as flashy and glitter-plated. But at the same time they were somehow different. Some of the neon signs appeared to float in midair, attached to nothing, like holograms, only brighter. Instead of mere concrete the sidewalks were paved in spots with bright tiles that flashed different colors and filled the air with music when they were trod upon.

  As they cruised slowly down the road, hemmed in by smaller vehicles on all sides, he searched in vain for the Tropicana, the Flamingo, the Dunes. There was no sign of the older hotels, Vegas landmarks since the fifties. As for the newer ones, they were remarkable and elaborate. Only the names were missing. Most had signs in languages other than English. Those that did identified themselves as the Gloryhole and Eruption and Coraka. At that moment he would have given a hundred bucks to see a sign reading Hilton.

  As if in response to his unvoiced wish they came up on still another grandiose structure. The huge glowing sign seemed to drift unstably twenty feet above the sidewalk. It read HULTON, but for Frank that was close enough. As he pulled out of the street into the parking lot he saw that the bottom floor was perfectly transparent. Beyond he could make out strange fish and other sea creatures, along with more swimmers in costume. They wore no scuba tanks.

  The knot that was growing in the pit of his stomach doubled in size.

  Forty stories of hotel were mounted on water enclosed by glass. As they drove farther into the lot they could see people traveling between floors in glass elevators. Fish scattered to avoid the moving lifts.

  "It’s like Vegas." Alicia’s tone was soft, hushed. "But it’s not. It’s someplace else. Where’s Circus Circus?" She leaned forward. "It should be near here, near the end of the strip."

  "It better be." He pulled back out into the street, continued westward.

  Circus Circus wasn’t where it ought to be. In its place was an equally outlandish casino-hotel complex. Instead of the long pool intended to imitate an ancient Roman bath, they found a stream filled with pure blue light. Yellow steam rose from the liquid like dry ice from a tropical drink. The stream was flanked on both sides by tall statues of beetles and reptilian things in formal suits.

  A long line of vehicles was waiting to unload passengers at the main entrance, beyond the spring, which fed the stream of blue light. Some cars had wheels, others did not. A long low bus sported a pair of humming wings. No wonder the old watchman they’d encountered had been curious about the motor home.

  "Gee, Dad. Do you see that?" Steven had his face pressed up against one window as he stared. He was gazing not at the hotel or the strange vehicles but at the night sky.

  Trying to control his trembling, Frank leaned forward and twisted his head to peer up and out. What he saw were four moons, each a different size, all hanging in an impossible sky. He wondered what the sun would look like when day finally broke over this place. Would it be yellow or some other alien color? And would it have cousins, like the moon? His hands clung tightly to the wheel lest it metamorphose beneath his fingers.

  "Let me guess," he said quietly. "Another thread twisted?"

  Mouse nodded, though he couldn’t see her. "Another thread."

  "Right." He sat up straight, so sharply Alicia was startled. He began turning the wheel. "I’ve had enough! I don’t give a damn where the real Las Vegas is or what this place is, but we’re going home. Now, tonight."

  "Aw, Dad!" Steven whined. "This place looks neat!"

  "We’re going home, like your father says." Somehow Alicia held on to her composure, not to mention her sanity.

  While Steven folded his arms and pouted, his father accelerated away from the taunting lights of the city. "Airport. Gotta be an airport. Every city has an airport. We’ll fly home, right now."

  Half a mile past the last casino they found the sign. It proclaimed, in perfect English: AIRPORT. An arrow pointed down a road leading out into the desert.

  Frank sent them skidding wildly around the corner. The lights of the city continued to shrink behind them. That’s when he saw the thing that made him slow down, then pull over to the side of the road and park. He ignored the profusion of remarkable vehicles that alternately whizzed, whistled, squeaked, and roared past the idling motor home.

  Rising in the distance was a tower of cool purple flame atop which sat an elaborate flattened dirigible. Bright lights glist
ened along its side like the running illumination of some deep-sea fish. It was at least as big as the Empire State Building. As they stared, it tilted to its right. When it was climbing at a forty-five-degree angle, a loud boom echoed across the desert and it vanished into the night.

  A moment later two smaller ships took its place in the sky. They were only as big as 747s. Ovoid-shaped, their lights were concentrated along the top. They were descending instead of rising, on puffs of bright red light.

  "I cannot be certain," said Burnfingers Begay quietly, "but I do not think you will be able to get a plane to Los Angeles from here."

  Frank let out a long slow breath, slumped over the wheel. Alicia was instantly concerned.

  "Hon, are you all right?"

  He looked over at her without straightening. "No, I’m not all right. I’m sick and tired. Aren’t you?"

  She hesitated. "I guess, I guess I am. I guess none of us is all right."

  Wendy’s voice was a mixture of awe and fear. "Daddy, where are we?" Her father finally sat up, staring blankly through the windshield at the distant spaceport.

  "Pass Regulus. Wherever the hell that is."

  "I know a star called Regulus," said Steven.

  "Star. That’s a big help." Steven looked hurt and Frank was instantly contrite. The kid had little enough self-confidence as it was. "Sorry, kiddo. I’m just a little upset right now, understand?"

  Steven spoke reluctantly. "Yeah, sure. I understand. Gee, Dad, don’t you think since we’re here we oughta look around a little?"

  "Doesn’t look like we have any choice. But I’m still going to concentrate on getting us home."

  A metallic squeak indicated the side door was being opened. He glanced around sharply, but it was only Burnfingers Begay leaning out for a look. Satisfied, he shut the door behind him.

  "Constellations are all mixed up. I don’t recognize a one my grandfather taught me. Maybe one of them up there is our sun. Or maybe this is our world and it is all changed around."