by Keith Laumer
* * * *
Tremaine dropped the locket in his pocket and stood up. Gaskin hitched up his pants, glanced around the room. Half a dozen early drinkers stared, wide-eyed. Gaskin squinted at Tremaine. He smelled of unwashed flannel.
“Sicked the cops onto him. The boy was out with his friends, havin a little fun. Now there he sets in jail.”
Tremaine moved aside from the stool, started past the man. Soup Gaskin grabbed his arm.
“Not so fast! I figger you owe me damages. I—”
“Damage is what you’ll get,” said Tremaine. He slammed a stiff left to Gaskin’s ribs, drove a hard right to the jaw. Gaskin jack-knifed backwards, tripped over a bar stool, fell on his back. He rolled over, got to hands and knees, shook his head.
“Git up, Soup!” someone called. “Hot dog!” offered another.
“I’m calling the police!” the bartender yelled.
“Never mind,” a voice said from the door. A blue-jacketed State Trooper strolled into the room, fingers hooked into his pistol belt, the steel caps on his boot heels clicking with each step. He faced Tremaine, feet apart.
“Looks like you’re disturbin the peace, Mr. Tremaine,” he said.
“You wouldn’t know who put him up to it, would you?” Tremaine said.
“That’s a dirty allegation,” the cop grinned. “I’ll have to get off a hot letter to my congressman.”
Gaskin got to his feet, wiped a smear of blood across his cheek, then lunged past the cop and swung a wild right. Tremaine stepped aside, landed a solid punch on Gaskin’s ear. The cop stepped back against the bar. Soup whirled, slammed out with lefts and rights. Tremaine lashed back with a straight left; Gaskin slammed against the bar, rebounded, threw a knockout right…aand Tremaine ducked, landed a right upper-cut that sent Gaskin reeling back, bowled over a table, sent glasses flying. Tremaine stood over him.
“On your feet, jailbird,” he said. “A workout is exactly what I needed.”
“Okay, you’ve had your fun,” the State cop said. “I’m taking you in, Tremaine.”
Tremaine looked at him. “Sorry, copper,” he said. “I don’t have time right now.” The cop looked startled, reached for his revolver.
“What’s going on here, Jimmy?” Jess stood in the door, a huge .44 in his hand. He turned his eyes on the trooper.
“You’re a little out of your jurisdiction,” he said. “I think you better move on ’fore somebody steals your bicycle.”
The cop eyed Jess for a long moment, then holstered his pistol and stalked out of the bar. Jess tucked his revolver into his belt, looked at Gaskin sitting on the floor, dabbing at his bleeding mouth. “What got into you, Soup?”
“I think the State boys put him up to it,” Tremaine said. “They’re looking for an excuse to take me out of the picture.”
Jess motioned to Gaskin. “Get up, Soup. I’m lockin you up alongside that boy of yours.”
Outside, Jess said, “You got some bad enemies there, Jimmy. That’s a tough break. You ought to hold onto your temper with those boys. I think maybe you ought to think about getting over the state line. I can run you to the bus station, and send your car along….”
“I can’t leave now, Jess. I haven’t even started.”
IV
In his room, Tremaine doctored the cut on his jaw, then opened his trunk, checked over the detector gear. The telephone rang.
“Tremaine? I’ve been on the telephone with Grammond. Are you out of your mind? I’m—”
“Fred,” Tremaine cut in, “I thought you were going to get those state cops off my neck.”
“Listen to me, Tremaine. You’re called off this job as of now. Don’t touch anything! You’d better stay right there in that room. In fact, that’s an order!”
“Don’t pick now to come apart at the seams, Fred,” Tremaine snapped.
“I’ve ordered you off! That’s all!” The phone clicked and the dial tone sounded. Tremaine dropped the receiver in its cradle, then walked to the window absently, his hand in his pocket.
He felt broken pieces and pulled out Miss Carroll’s locket. It was smashed, split down the center. It must have gotten it in the tussle with Soup, Tremaine thought. It looked—
He squinted at the shattered ornament. A maze of fine wires was exposed, tiny condensers, bits of glass.
In the street below, tires screeched. Tremaine looked down. A black car was at the curb, doors sprung. Four uniformed men jumped out, headed for the door. Tremaine whirled to the phone. The desk clerk came on.
“Get me Jess—fast!”
The police chief answered.
“Jess, the word’s out I’m poison. An earful of State law is at the front door. I’m going out the back. Get in their way all you can.” Tremaine dropped the phone, grabbed up the suitcase and let himself out into the hall. The back stairs were dark. He stumbled, cursed, made it to the service entry. Outside, the alley was deserted.
He went to the corner, crossed the street, thrust the suitcase into the back seat of his car and slid into the driver’s seat. He started up and eased away from the curb. He glanced in the mirror. There was no alarm.
It was a four-block drive to Miss Carroll’s house. The housekeeper let Tremaine in.
“Oh, yes, Miss Carroll is still up,” she said. “She never retires until nine. I’ll tell her you’re here, Mr. Tremaine.”
* * * *
Tremaine paced the room. On his third circuit Miss Carroll came in.
“I wouldn’t have bothered you if it wasn’t important,” Tremaine said. “I can’t explain it all now. You said once you had confidence in me. Will you come with me now? It concerns Bram…and maybe a lot more than just Bram.”
Miss Carroll looked at him steadily. “I’ll get my wrap.”
On the highway Tremaine said, “Miss Carroll, we’re headed for Bram’s house. I take it you’ve heard of what happened out there?”
“No, James. I haven’t stirred out of the house. What is it?”
“A gang of teen-age toughs went out last night. They had guns. One of them took a shot at Bram. And Bram’s disappeared. But I don’t think he’s dead.”
Miss Carroll gasped. “Why? Why did they do it?”
“I don’t think they know themselves.”
“You say…you believe he still lives….”
“He must be alive. It dawned on me a little while ago…a little late, I’ll admit. The locket he gave you. Did you ever try it?”
“Try it? Why…no. I don’t believe in magic, James.”
“Not magic. Electronics. Years ago Bram talked to me about radio. He wanted to teach me. Now I’m here looking for a transmitter. That transmitter was busy last night. I think Bram was operating it.”
There was a long silence.
“James,” Miss Carroll said at last, “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, Miss Carroll. I’m still working on finding the pieces. But let me ask you: that night that Bram brought you out to his place. You say he ran to the kitchen and opened a trapdoor in the floor—”
“Did I say floor? That was an error: the panel was in the wall.”
“I guess I jumped to the conclusion. Which wall?”
“He crossed the room. There was a table, with a candlestick. He went around it and pressed his hand against the wall, beside the wood-box. The panel slid aside. It was very dark within. He ducked his head, because the opening was not large, and stepped inside….”
“That would be the east wall…to the left of the back door?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Miss Carroll, can you remember exactly what Bram said to you that night? Something about fighting something, wasn’t it?”
“I’ve tried for sixty years to put it out of my mind, James. But I remember every word, I think.” She was silent for a moment.
* * * *
“I was beside him on the buggy seat. It was a warm evening, late in spring. I had told him that I loved him, and…he had responded. He said that he
would have spoken long before, but that he had not dared. Now there was that which I must know.
“His life was not his own, he said. He was not…native to this world. He was an agent of a mighty power, and he had trailed a band of criminals….” She broke off. “I could not truly understand that part, James. I fear it was too incoherent. He raved of evil beings who lurked in the shadows of a cave. It was his duty to wage each night an unceasing battle with occult forces.”
“What kind of battle? Were these ghosts, or demons, or what?”
“I don’t know. Evil powers which would be unloosed on the world, unless he met them at the portal as the darkness fell and opposed them.”
“Why didn’t he get help?”
“Only he could stand against them. I knew little of abnormal psychology, but I understood the classic evidence of paranoia. I shrank from him. He sat, leaning forward, his eyes intent. I wept and begged him to take me back. He turned his face to me, and I saw the pain and anguish in his eyes. I loved him…and feared him. And he would not turn back. Night was falling, and the enemy awaited him.”
“Then, when you got to the house…?”
“He had whipped up the horses, and I remember how I clung to the top braces, weeping. Then we were at the house. Without a word he jumped down and ran to the door. I followed. He lit a lamp and turned to me. From somewhere there was a wailing call, like an injured animal. He shouted something—an unintelligible cry—and ran toward the back of the house. I took up the lamp and followed. In the kitchen he went to the wall, pressed against it. The panel opened. He looked at me. His face was white.
“‘In the name of the High God. Linda Carroll, I entreat you….’
“I screamed. And he hardened his face, and went down…and I screamed and screamed again….” Miss Carroll closed her eyes, drew a shuddering breath.
“I’m sorry to have put you through this, Miss Carroll,” Tremaine said. “But I had to know.”
Faintly in the distance a siren sounded. In the mirror, headlights twinkled half a mile behind. Tremaine stepped on the gas. The powerful car leaped ahead.
“Are you expecting trouble on the road, James?”
“The State police are unhappy with me, Miss Carroll. And I imagine they’re not too pleased with Jess. Now they’re out for blood. But I think I can outrun them.”
“James.” Miss Carroll said, sitting up and looking behind. “If those are police officers, shouldn’t you stop?”
“I can’t, Miss Carroll. I don’t have time for them now. If my idea means anything, we’ve got to get there fast….”
* * * *
Bram’s house loomed gaunt and dark as the car whirled through the gate, ground to a stop before the porch. Tremaine jumped out, went around the car and helped Miss Carroll out. He was surprised at the firmness of her step. For a moment, in the fading light of dusk, he glimpsed her profile. How beautiful she must have been….
He reached into the glove compartment for a flashlight.
“We haven’t got a second to waste,” he said. “That other car’s not more than a minute behind us.” He reached into the back of the car, hauled out the heavy suitcase. “I hope you remember how Bram worked that panel.”
On the porch Tremaine’s flashlight illuminated the broken hasp. Inside, he led the way along a dark hall, pushed into the kitchen.
“It was there,” Miss Carroll said, pointing. Outside, an engine sounded on the highway, slowing, turning in. Headlights pushed a square of cold light across the kitchen wall. Tremaine jumped to the spot Miss Carroll had indicated, put the suitcase down, felt over the wall.
“Give me the light, James,” Miss Carroll said calmly. “Press there.” She put the spot on the wall. Tremaine leaned against it. Nothing happened. Outside, there was the thump of car doors; a muffled voice barked orders.
“Are you sure…?”
“Yes. Try again, James.”
Tremaine threw himself against the wall, slapped at it, searching for a hidden latch.
“A bit higher; Bram was a tall man. The panel opened below….”
Tremaine reached higher, pounded, pushed up, sideways—
With a click a three by four foot section of wall rolled silently aside. Tremaine saw greased metal slides and, beyond, steps leading down.
“They are on the porch now, James,” said Miss Carroll.
“The light!” Tremaine reached for it, threw a leg over the sill. He reached back, pulled the suitcase after him. “Tell them I kidnapped you, Miss Carroll. And thanks.”
Miss Carroll held out her hand. “Help me, James. I hung back once before. I’ll not repeat my folly.”
Tremaine hesitated for an instant, then reached out, handed Miss Carroll in. Footsteps sounded in the hall. The flashlight showed Tremaine a black pushbutton bolted to a two by four stud. He pressed it. The panel slid back in place.
Tremaine flashed the light on the stairs.
“Okay, Miss Carroll,” he said softly. “Let’s go down.”
* * * *
There were fifteen steps, and at the bottom, a corridor, with curved walls of black glass, and a floor of rough boards. It went straight for twenty feet and ended at an old-fashioned five-panel wooden door. Tremaine tried the brass knob. The door opened on a room shaped from a natural cave, with waterworn walls of yellow stone, a low uneven ceiling, and a packed-earth floor. On a squat tripod in the center of the chamber rested an apparatus of black metal and glass, vaguely gunlike, aimed at the blank wall. Beside it, in an ancient wooden rocker, a man lay slumped, his shirt blood-caked, a black puddle on the floor beneath him.
“Bram!” Miss Carroll gasped. She went to him, took his hand, staring into his face.
“Is he dead?” Tremaine said tightly.
“His hands are cold…but there is a pulse.”
A kerosene lantern stood by the door. Tremaine lit it, brought it to the chair. He took out a pocket knife, cut the coat and shirt back from Bram’s wound. A shotgun blast had struck him in the side; there was a lacerated area as big as Tremaine’s hand.
“It’s stopped bleeding,” he said. “It was just a graze at close range, I’d say.” He explored further. “It got his arm too, but not as deep. And I think there are a couple of ribs broken. If he hasn’t lost too much blood….” Tremaine pulled off his coat, spread it on the floor.
“Let’s lay him out here and try to bring him around.”
Lying on his back on the floor, Bram looked bigger than his six-foot-four, younger than his near-century, Tremaine thought. Miss Carroll knelt at the old man’s side, chafing his hands, murmuring to him.
Abruptly a thin cry cut the air.
Tremaine whirled, startled. Miss Carroll stared, eyes wide. A low rumble sounded, swelled louder, broke into a screech, cut off.
“Those are the sounds I heard that night,” Miss Carroll breathed. “I thought afterwards I had imagined them, but I remember…. James, what does it mean?”
“Maybe it means Bram wasn’t as crazy as you thought,” Tremaine said.
Miss Carroll gasped sharply. “James! Look at the wall—”
Tremaine turned. Vague shadows moved across the stone, flickering, wavering.
“What the devil…!”
Bram moaned, stirred. Tremaine went to him. “Bram!” he said. “Wake up!”
Bram’s eyes opened. For a moment he looked dazedly at Tremaine, then at Miss Carroll. Awkwardly he pushed himself to a sitting position.
“Bram…you must lie down,” Miss Carroll said.
“Linda Carroll,” Bram said. His voice was deep, husky.
“Bram, you’re hurt…”
A mewling wail started up. Bram went rigid “What hour is this?” he grated.
“The sun has just gone down; it’s after seven—”
Bram tried to get to his feet. “Help me up,” he ordered. “Curse the weakness….”
Tremaine got a hand under the old man’s arm. “Careful, Bram,” he said. “Don’t start your wound bleeding a
gain.”
“To the Repellor,” Bram muttered. Tremaine guided him to the rocking chair, eased him down. Bram seized the two black pistol-grips, squeezed them.
“You, young man,” Bram said. “Take the circlet there; place it about my neck.”
* * * *
The flat-metal ring hung from a wire loop. Tremaine fitted it over Bram’s head. It settled snugly over his shoulders, a flange at the back against his neck.
“Bram,” Tremaine said. “What’s this all about?”
“Watch the wall there. My sight grows dim. Tell me what you see.”
“It looks like shadows: but what’s casting them?”
“Can you discern details?”
“No. It’s like somebody waggling their fingers in front of a slide projector.”
“The radiation from the star is yet too harsh,” Bram muttered. “But now the node draws close. May the High Gods guide my hand!”
A howl rang out, a raw blast of sound. Bram tensed. “What do you see?” he demanded.
“The outlines are sharper. There seem to be other shapes behind the moving ones. It’s like looking through a steamy window….” Beyond the misty surface Tremaine seemed to see a high narrow chamber, bathed in white light. In the foreground creatures like shadowy caricatures of men paced to and fro. “They’re like something stamped out of alligator hide,” Tremaine whispered. “When they turn and I see them edge-on, they’re thin….”
“An effect of dimensional attenuation. They strive now to match matrices with this plane. If they succeed, this earth you know will lie at their feet.”
“What are they? Where are they? That’s solid rock—”
“What you see is the Niss Command Center. It lies in another world than this, but here is the multihedron of intersection. They bring their harmonic generators to bear here in the hope of establishing an aperture of focus.”
“I don’t understand half of what you’re saying, Bram. And the rest I don’t believe. But with this staring me in the face, I’ll have to act as though I did.”
* * * *