Penelope Hill
"Why do these scientist types always have to choose such inaccessible places?" Sarah Stickney White grumbled as Jake Cutter helped her over yet another ridge of rock that lay in their path.
"You wanted to come," he pointed out, turning to look further into the valley that was their intended destination. It lay between two spurs of volcanic rock, the mountain's arms cradling a shallow bowl filled with low scrub and dark sand. The ground was faintly warm where they walked, evidence of the fire that slept below them. They were standing in Sofri's shadow, close to the spot where the volcano had spewed new land only a short time before and the air held a hint of old sulphur as well as its more usual scents.
"I had to come," she shot back, brushing black sand off her slacks. "Uncle Sam wants to know what these guys are up to, and I'm hardly going to find out sitting back at the Monkey Bar, now am I?"
"I guess not," Cutter agreed amicably. He turned back to help Corky manoeuvre the bulky box of supplies he was carrying over the jutting stone and the woman set off along the path in the wake of the two men who had gone ahead of them. They had managed to get most of the distance in Boragora's official (and only) car, the lanky constable who had been driving finally admitting defeat somewhere at the foot of the scree that marked the edge of the volcano's true territory. He and his Magistrate had been this way before, nearly a week previous when the Belgium scientist and his harassed assistant had first sought permission for their camp on the mountainside. The return visit was mostly a courtesy, along with an excuse to deliver the requested supplies and a desire to satisfy more than one person's curiosity.
The trail led into the centre of the secluded valley, the sand underfoot growing warmer as it neared the rise of Sofri's flanks. There was only sparse vegetation scattered about, in places marked by evidence of recent conflagration. It was a bleak and almost hostile setting compared with that of the islands more fertile regions along the coast, saved from its own sense of barrenness by the occasional hollow filled with a riot of flowers where the native flora was beginning to take hold. At the edge of one such miniature garden three tents had been pitched; two small and one large covering of canvas, the latter with most of its walls lifted up so that it was little more than a roof. Under it were stacked a variety of boxes and peculiar equipment, some wired into poles that were carefully spaced around a designated area. In the middle of all of this array was Dr Lebaumitz, standing up to greet the arriving visitors and leaving his young assistant leaning over the portable generator they had set up.
"Welcome," the Doctor exclaimed in his broken English that made him sound as if he talked through a mouthful of marbles. "Welcome! Is it a week already?"
"Most assuredly," Bon Chance answered glancing back to ensure the rest of his party were all arriving safely. "No problems, I trust?"
"None at all," the scientist announced, indicating a suitable place for his supplies and peeking eagerly into the top box to see what he'd been brought. "We have made excellent progress, have we not, Joseph?"
His assistant got to his feet, wiping oily hands on a rag, and grinned at Sarah where she was eyeing one of the strange instruments with puzzlement. "The readings are better than we hoped," he agreed. Joseph Verlain was a pale individual, with thick rimmed glasses and a tussle of straw coloured hair that needed a comb. Doctor Lebaumitz, on the other hand was a small bundle of energy, dark haired and florid faced; a more unlikely pair would be hard to imagine, but somehow they both managed to fit the idea of 'scientist' with uncanny immediacy.
"Readings of what?" Sarah asked in as innocent a voice as she could muster. Verlain walked past the ring of poles to join her and Cutter by the largest of the instruments. A roll of paper was slowly moving through it, a line of ink marking an unsteady track as it passed.
"Electromagnetic fluctuations," he said, pointing at the pattern on the paper. "We've set up an alternating resonance to intercept the variations in the Earth's magnetic field due to the close proximity of the inner core at the point of volcanic fault."
"What?" Sarah echoed, then added, "why?"
The young man laughed at her expression. "Why not? No," he went on, including Cutter in his grin, "we are looking at how volcanic activity affects the structure of the magnetic flux that permeates the entire Earth. With the recent activity in this spot the Doctor hopes to prove that an upheaval under the crust will be recorded in the overlying field structure - which means that we may be able to predict subsequent surface activity."
"You're building an earthquake predictor!" Cutter realised with a look of relief. "Will it work?"
"Young man," Lebaumitz moved across to join them, "we are modelling the unseen forces of our world, and we have only just begun to scratch the surface of the possibilities they offer us. Why - who knows what we might stumble on once we are able to measure the patterns of power that swirl around us at this very minute! The anomalies we are recording here..."
"Anomalies?" Sarah interrupted. "Is that good or bad?"
The scientist shrugged. "I do not take such moral judgements into account," he said. "I do know that this valley holds a definite secret - akin to others I have identified elsewhere in the world, although nowhere have the readings been as strong as these."
"A secret?" Bon Chance had followed the Belgian and was listening with interest. "What kind of secret, Doctor?"
Lebaumitz looked excited. "A fold - in space and time."
"What?" The response was a general chorus from his listeners, Verlain included. The Doctor looked vaguely embarrassed.
"Well, perhaps it is not that simple. I have measured a discontinuity from one side of this valley to the other, and here, in the centre, it becomes an acute difference. It is as if there were a whole piece of space, folded away, right where we are standing."
"That's impossible," Cutter decided. "You can't fold space up, just like a piece of paper. Can you?"
Verlain looked a little troubled. "The readings certainly indicate something is going on here, but surely such a conclusion is a little premature, n'est ce pas?"
Lebaumitz was adamant. "I have seen this kind of indicators before," he insisted, "and I am certain they point to a phenomena we have not yet isolated. Physical geography does not match the electromagnetic geography, and the difference is sufficient here to occupy a largish area."
"How large?" Sarah wondered. The scientist shrugged again.
"I have not been able to measure that yet. Perhaps I will, while I am here."
Corky had wandered across to stare down at the generator, which was chugging unrythymically and sounded oddly erratic. "Do you want the regulator on this adjusting?" he called across to ask, and Verlain excused himself from the group and went across to him.
"Its putting out an uneven current," he explained. "And the voltage is all wrong."
"I can fix that," the mechanic decided, after a moment's inspection. "Can we disconnect it?"
Verlain looked across at the Doctor, who sighed and nodded his agreement. He moved away from the others and began to switch off equipment, jotting the time down on a pad next to each instrument. Sarah wandered after him, considering each machine with interest. After the first two Lebaumitz began to explain their use to her, and she listened with bright interest fixed in her expression.
The scientists offered their visitors lunch while the work on the generator continued. They discussed some of the other work the two men were pursuing in the valley, and the Doctor explained how the ring of wired poles were used to generate a local magnetic field which enabled him to set up an interference pattern and so identify changes in the overall structure. Cutter managed to avoid yawning, while Bon Chance listened politely and managed to nod in all the right places. Sarah looked positively bored by the end of the meal and went over to engage Verlain in conversation while Corky restarted the repaired generator. The pilot moved to help the constable unpack the supplies while the scientist began to re-engage his instrumentation. It left the Frenchman free to indulge his curiosities.
He wandered over to duck under the droop of wire and into the open circle of poles, taking the opportunity to look more closely at the intricate windings they supported. Lebaumitz asked him to adjust something on the nearest pole and he did so, following instructions offered in French that sound distinctly more fluent than the Belgian's English. It was at that moment that Verlain, leaning across Corky's ample shoulders to flick another switch, slipped. His weight went down, pushing the mechanic forward and Corky, anxious to avoid the working generator, twisted round and threw himself sideways. The duo, now hopelessly entangled, collided with the machine's controls. Power surged out with a protesting whine as sparks flew from the equipment. Cutter looked up at the sound, in time to see a flare of pure white light flash around the ring of steel and wire under the tent. Bon Chance stepped back in alarm - and vanished without a sound, as if he had never been there at all.
"I tell you, Joseph, it is impossible." Lebaumitz was staring at the smoking ring of his equipment with a look of total despair. The generator had choked itself to silence after that initial surge, although several of the instruments it powered were already damaged beyond repair. The scientist had been distinctly shaken, not so much by the destruction of his work as by the impossible sight of a man who had been there one minute and simply gone the next. Verlain had postulated that the surge of power had been sufficient to vaporise whatever stood within the circle, a possibility that left Sarah white as a sheet. Cutter had refuted the idea vehemently, not least because the dark lava sand within the ring showed no sign of damage - or even disturbance beyond the clear marks of a man's footprints that went in, and did not come out again. Lebaumitz was less certain. He did not know what had happened, and he was too flustered to think about it clearly.
"Let us approach this logically," Verlain insisted. "At normal power input the field we generate is not even enough to be felt. let alone affect a man directly. And while the generator could just about put out enough of a voltage to kill it would not be sufficient to incinerate the corpse..."
"Don't," Sarah shivered. Cutter slid a comforting arm around her shoulders and she leant into him, a little ashamed at the strength of her reaction.
"...so," Verlain ploughed on, ignoring the interruption, "since we cannot have killed him, he must still be alive. But where is he?"
"Right here," Lebaumitz announced, with dawning realisation. "Right in the middle of our anomalous fold."
Cutter frowned at him. "I don't understand," he said.
"I do!" Corky interjected suddenly. "Its like that trick the stage magician's pull, right? The one with the disappearing cabinet - I mean the cabinet that makes people disappear, not one that disappears itself... anyway, you step into this thing and they say the magic word and you've gone. Only you haven't, because there's a curtain or something which just means people can't see you..." He trailed off under a combination of stares from those around him and looked at his feet in vague embarrassment. "Well it is," he defended warily.
"Corky," Cutter announced, "you're a genius. Right, Doctor?"
"Undoubtedly," Lebaumitz agreed, considering the mechanic with new respect. "I could not have put it better myself. The power surge must have opened a brief doorway into the fold, and our friend was pulled through it, so that when it closed again..."
"We're out here and he's - somewhere else?" Sarah wrestled with the concept, glancing round as if she expected missing man to materialise as suddenly as he went.
"Not somewhere else," Verlain tussled with the idea, "but still here. Right here. Which means..."
"If we can reopen the doorway," Lebaumitz concluded, "we can get him back."
Cutter hugged Sarah with relieved enthusiasm at this, then his face fell. "But can you?" he asked. "Reopen the door? It was an accident which triggered it in the first place, remember?"
"We can try," the Doctor decided firmly. "we can fix the generator, and restore the configuration as it was, and if we stabilise the power output to direct it purely through the ring we can maybe maintain the level for a short while... it will not be long," he realised with a sigh, "but hopefully it will be long enough."
The pilots' head turned to stare at the open ring and the space it contained. "I wonder what its like," he said softly. "And if he realises what happened?"
"I just hope we can find him," Sarah pointed out anxiously. "Before anything else does ..."
It took nearly two hours to jury rig the equipment to match the scientists' precise specifications. The two men argued over every little detail, testing and re-testing connections while Corky patiently readjusted the generator and ignored the rapid French which flew over his head. The constable hovered anxiously in the background while Cutter spent most of the period pacing, trying not to disturb the work but impatient for it to be completed. Sarah sat and watched him, Jack sprawling at her feet. It was an uncomfortable time to wait, and her earlier concerns over the scientists' activities weighed heavily on her mind. She couldn't think of any potential military application for the unexpected discovery they had made, but she was sure that somebody would if she reported it exactly as if happened. On the other hand, if she fudged the report and Lebaumitz then published... She wondered if anyone would believe the outrageous conclusions they had been forced to draw.
It was completely impossible, of course it was. All this talk of folds in space and doorways that led into somewhere else that was still the same place... She shivered, trying to imagine what it could possibly be like and failing to visualise anything beyond a distinct sense of unease. She knew Bon Chance to be a resourceful man, but this was the complete unknown; anything might be found on the other side of that doorway, and the thought of being trapped in some pocket of nowhere, not sure of how or why and with only a small chance of rescue, was not a comfortable one. There was a small voice, nagging at the back of her mind, that told her they might never find him, and she was not sure she could walk back down the mountain and look Gushie in the eye with that kind of news. Then there was Jake, glibly declaring his intention to try the doorway for himself; she knew there would be nothing she could say that would dissuade him, but she didn't want him to go and then become trapped himself.
"We are ready, " Verlain announced, although his expression was doubtful. Cutter drew in a tight breath and strode across to the pattern of poles, checking the gun at his belt as he did so. Sarah trailed after him, Jack at her heels.
"Are you sure about this, Jake?" she asked, looking at the seemingly innocuous construction of steel and wire. He threw her a distracted frown.
"Of course I'm sure. What the hell kind of question is that?"
"I just wanted to be certain."
He snorted, ducking under the wire to take up a wary stance in the centre of the ring. Jack pattered over and came to sit at his feet and, after the barest hesitation, Sarah followed him.
"Sarah!" Cutter protested, staring at her in alarm, "what do you think you're doing?"
"Coming with you," she announced, her face set with determination.
"Oh no you're not..."
"I am," she snapped, cutting his protest short. "Jake," she went on, her voice softening, "I can't let you go alone. I can't."
His hand waved in the direction of the dog. "Jack's with me. I'll take Corky if you insist, but..."
"Corky has to watch the generator. Listen, you lunkhead. I am not going to sit out there and watch an empty space for however long it takes, understand? You might never come back - and I'd never know. Never know if you were there, just next to me, and I couldn't see you..."
He stared at her for a moment, indecision wrestling in his eyes. He looked down at Jack and the dog barked, two short sounds that brooked no arguments. "Okay," Cutter breathed slowly. "I don't like it, but, short of tying you up I suspect I'm not going to be able to stop you. This isn't a Sunday jaunt though - we go in, we find Louie, we get out again, quick as we can, okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, moving to stand at his side. "Jake?" she asked a moment later, "are we crazy?"
"Count on it," he growled. "Okay, Doctor. Anytime you like."
As experiences go, it was rather anti-climatic. One moment they were standing in the twisted ring of poles, the tent and other equipment scattered around them, the next all such signs of habitation simply shimmered away, leaving them completely alone in the bleak valley. There was no sensation of movement, or any transition, merely an odd tingling across the skin like static electricity.
"We're still here," Sarah frowned in confusion. "Everything else has gone."
Cutter smiled with relieved realisation. "Right," he laughed. "Same place, remember? Space folded over on itself. Space and time," he added, remembering what Lebaumitz had said. "Sarah," he explained with a grin, "we haven't gone anywhere, just anywhen. A whole piece of time outside of everything else. Another Boragora existing in tandem with the first. Just like it..." he'd turned as he'd spoken, taking a good look around, and his voice trailed off into awed silence. She swung round, wondering what he'd seen and found herself staring at the weirdest sight imaginable.
Behind them, hanging from nothing at all, was a curtain of light, all the shades of the rainbow shimmering across it. Above it the volcano's shadow rose in indifferent magnificence, and, while the image the curtain covered seemed to match up with the expected curves and lines of rock and valley, it also contained vague shapes that had no match in the empty world they were facing. Shapes that might be stacked boxes, and scattered equipment, although they were obscured and unfocused, only seen by squinting through the cascade of incandescence.
"Guess that's the way home," Cutter breathed, glancing at his companion as he did so. "Want to try it?"
She dragged her eyes away from the sight and frowned at him. "Oh no you don't, Jake Cutter," she said firmly. "I'm here with you and I'm staying until we're all out, okay?"
"Okay," he laughed, lifting his arms in mock surrender. "Which raises the next question - where do we start?" He paced away from the shimmering gateway and began to look around, searching for signs that might have been made by an earlier arrival. The sand under foot was slightly warmer than before, and it showed odd signs of disturbance where pits and hollows had been scooped into it for no apparent reason. There were no footprints, or any sign that someone might have been there before.
"Jake," Sarah realised, following him cautiously. "Do you think Louie realised what had happened? I mean - since this place is just the same, wouldn't it look as if we were the ones that vanished?"
He frowned, staring down at what looked oddly like a curve of broken eggshell, except he couldn't imagine a bird large enough to lay something that size. "I guess it would, at that. In which case," he went on, his tone brightening, "he probably scouted around for while and then headed for the village in search of help...Damn. He's got a two hour start on us. I wonder how big this place really is."
"It could cover the whole island," she said. "It certainly looks as if it might."
Jack barked twice at their feet, then began to cast around in search of a scent. Cutter watched him for a moment, then took another look around. "On the other hand..." he said softly. "Sarah - take a look at the sky."
She looked up and gasped involuntarily. Instead of the familiar blue of Pacific sky the air above them was topped by a sheen of pearlised silver, an opalescent gleam that diffused light from no apparent source. What had seemed to be sunlight was actually an unlocalised luminescence that cast shadows in several directions at once. All of a sudden the sense of familiarity about the place was supplanted by a feeling of complete misplacement; she stepped a little closer to the pilot and fought down a shiver. "That's spooky," she muttered, trying to keep her voice light.
"Yeah. You can say that again."
Something cried out in the distance, a grating sound that bore no resemblance to any animal or creature that either of them knew. It was followed by a high pitched shriek; something flew between them and the light, carried on wide wings high above the valley. It looked like a large vulture from a distance, but something told the watching pair that that wasn't was it was it at all.
"Come on," Cutter decided, striding after the eager dog. "We have to find Louie and get out of here. We don't know how long they can keep that gate open."
She nodded and scrambled in his wake, glancing behind her as she did so. The gateway still shimmered above the dark sand. Somewhere beyond it she thought something might have moved among the shrubbery.
The trail was where they expected it, and the scramble over rock ridges was disconcertingly familiar. Jack had still not found any specific scent to follow and he shuffled backwards and forwards ahead of them, investigating the ground with growing wariness. On the other side of the ridge lay the expected scattering of scree, but beyond that ...
Where there should have been a riot of tropical vegetation, sandalwood and other trees competing with the palms to form a canopied jungle, there was a far more open vista leading down to the sea. Boragora bay lay out of sight behind the curve of Sofri's slope, but the shape of the coast they could see was a match to what might be expected. There were fringes of jungle hugging the edge of the hills and the coastal edge below, forming a snaking ribbon of denser cover, but within them lay an area of rolling green like a vast plantation of tea or cotton. A small herd of bulky animals were grazing there, along the edge of the coastal jungle, an impossible sight. To be seen at that distance, which was two or three miles away, they had to be huge.
"What the..." Cutter's exclamation was cut short by an ear piercing roar close by. Heads jerked round, seeking the source of the sound and were in time to spot a slim figure as it ran from under the nearby treeline and began to scramble up the rock face to their right. It seemed to be a young man, almost a boy; he was clad in dark pants and a green patterned jacket that broke up his shape against the stone. It was not so much the figure that held their attention though, as the menace from which it sought to escape.
They pounded out from under the trees, two figures out of a man's worst nightmare. They must have stood ten feet high, or more at a stretch, their muscled back limbs keeping them in a semi upright crouch as they ran. They were slimly built and streamlined for speed, their pointed muzzles bristling with teeth and their forelimbs tipped with slashing claws. Dark eyes gleamed below crested heads which turned this way and that as they sought to keep their quarry in view; tails lashed the air and one lifted its head to vent that same piercing hunting scream they had heard earlier. Sarah stifled a scream of her own, jamming her hands against her mouth as the two agile hunters paused at the bottom of the scree. Heads whipped forward, jaws snapping at the scrambling figure as he desperately sought shelter against the rock.
"My god..." the pilot breathed seeing it, but not believing it. He was watching a scene that was pure Hollywood, except these dinosaurs were not made from rubber and wire. They were sleek and deadly killers, their hides dappled in a subtle camouflage of greens and gold, and they moved with a sinuous speed that bore no relation to the deceptive jerk of stop motion animation. "Stay here," he hissed and began to scramble down the slope, moving carefully so as to avoid attracting too much attention. Behind him Sarah clenched her fists in tight terror, watching the hunters snatch at their prey.
Cutter was still over a hundred yards away when the second figure moved out from under the trees, following the trail left by the monsters. The new arrival paused to take in the scene, unnoticed for the moment by the eager killers as they continued to try to reach their prey. Clawed back feet slid on the rough scree and they scrambled on the uneven surface with cries of frustration as their quarry pressed himself tight against the rock. At a glance the new figure was an older man; he was dressed similarly to the youngster, in dark pants and a high shouldered, sleeveless jacket. He also wore a tight fitting crested helmet that echoed the sweeping curve on the two crested heads of the predators in front of him. There was a long bladed knife slung at his belt, a pair of short spears across his back and he carried a strung bow in his right hand, the arrows for which sat in a quiver at his hip. The pilot slid to a halt as he waited to see what this latest arrival would do, wary of distracting either the frustrated lizards, or their prey.
He didn't have long to wait. The warrior, for that was clearly what the figure was, reached to nock an arrow to his bow, aiming it at the nearer monster with practised ease. The shaft impacted into the scaled hide, close behind the creature's shoulder. Its head reared up in surprised pain and it turned to nose at the offending object, snapping at the protruding shaft with sharp teeth. A second arrow pierced its crest, deflected by the scaled surface of its neck. It slithered round, seeking the source of the annoyance and charged at the figure beneath the trees, letting out a scream of anger. The second creature looked back briefly before returning to its primary prey.
Cutter held his breath, waiting for the inevitable end of what looked to be an uneven match. The warrior loosed one last arrow, then tossed the bow aside, flipping one of the short shafted spears into his hands. The creature's charge roared towards him, and then past as he side stepped at the last moment. Teeth snapped together and claws raked sideways. The man dodged back, and then forward, driving the point of the spear deep into the extended shoulder. The monster jerked round with a scream, its jaws open in a grin of threatening death. Its front claws scrabbled at the sunken weapon and its tail lashed in agony, sending the warrior rolling. Mindlessly it dived after him, mad from pain and anger, only to nose down into the undergrowth as the movement drove the embedded shaft deeper into its heart. It thrashed wildly for a few moments longer, then lay still, the tip of its tail quivering in death.
The pilot did not breath again until he saw the man rising to his feet among the greenery. The warrior limped back out into the light, settling the second spear in his hands and yelled at the remaining creature, a sound both challenge and anger. Cutter cursed and finished his descent, breaking into a run at the bottom of the slope. The man had been lucky the first time. He was clearly hurt and yet was trying to draw the other monster's attention. His bravery was beyond question, but his actions were suicidal.
The beast turned, allowing the youngster to relax his desperate scramble and slide down onto the scree. Suddenly the situation became much clearer. If the warrior could hold the beast's attention for just long enough his companion might be able to escape to safety. It was still suicide, but a more rational one; it wasn't even going to be that if Cutter could help it. He reached down for his gun as he ran, trying to estimate the best place to direct his shots as the beast whipped right round and went for the waiting warrior. Its head jerked back as the spear point slashed across the line of its attack, and it reared up, lifting one massive back foot to lash out in anger. The man dodged, but his earlier injury had lessened his speed. Claws raked across him, throwing him down and back, the spear torn from his hands. He reached for his knife, but it was a futile defence against the savage teeth that loomed above him. He scrambled desperately backwards but there was nowhere to go. The monster's head went up in preparation for a strike - and Cutter's bullet took it squarely between the eyes, spraying blood and bone everywhere.
It screamed. A scream of agony and rage that echoed and re-echoed through the air. Claws flailed wildly as the head thrashed back and forth in directionless violence. A second bullet drove it back a step, and the third brought it down in a heap, crashing into a shiver of reaction as it twitched its way into death.
Silence fell across the hillside. A silence broken only by the ragged gasps of the warrior as he realised he was still alive. Cutter holstered his weapon and walked towards the remnants of the conflict, relieved to see the man climb cautiously to his knees. He was still facing the dead monster; his shoulders heaving as he fought to regain his breath. The crest on his helmet was shattered and his hands tugged at the confining weight, sliding it from his head to reveal a tumble of dark hair. The action brought the American's steps to an abrupt halt as he suddenly realised that he might have no way to communicate with the man he had just saved. The dark clothing was not cotton, or any kind of woven textile; it was polished leather, patterned in tiny scales like the lizard hide on the dead hunters. The man's arms seemed pale, like a European's, although he was streaked with blood and it was hard to be sure. With the helmet now dangling from his hand, he carefully completed the rise to his feet and turned to regard his rescuer with wary eyes.
Cutter's heart thudded to a shocked halt. Despite the unfamiliar clothing, despite the unaccustomed drape of silvered jewellery at neck and wrist, the man who faced him was instantly recognisable. It was Bon Chance Louie.
They stood and stared at each other for what seemed an interminable time, although it could only have been a minute at most. The Frenchman's expression was dazed and oddly defensive; he was still panting a little for breath, and there were ragged lines torn through the leather jerkin that revealed the slow ooze of blood beneath. His hair, that two hours before had been cut in a neat and efficient style, now tumbled in ragged disarray over his eyes. He reached up a bloodied hand and brushed it back with an automatic gesture, never taking his gaze from the pilot's confused face. The familiar moustache was cut more roughly too, as if a veneer of civilisation had been wiped away to reveal a more barbarous figure underneath. The subtle change was startling, all the more so for having only taken so short a time; had he been a stranger Cutter would have found the look more than an adequate match to his expectations based on the warrior's deeds.
"Mon dieu...." The voice was the final confirmation, familiar words released in familiar tones. They held a note of total disbelief, of a shock that matched the pilot's own. "Jake...?"
The American's lips quirked in an involuntary smile. "You were expecting Douglas Fairbanks?" he cracked, almost without thinking. As smart remarks went it had its moments, but this was not one of them. Bon Chance continued to stare, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. "What happened to you?" Cutter ploughed on, the laugh in his voice a little forced and desperate. "You were a civilised man two hours ago."
"Two...?" The echo was faint and disbelieving. The Frenchman's face furrowed into total confusion and he shook his head slowly. "Non, c'est ne pas possible... Jake," he announced, his voice overwritten with puzzled doubt, "I have not seen you for twenty years..."
It made no sense, no sense whatsoever. It was the pilot's turn to stare, trying to rationalise the words while matching them to his own experience; the effort proved to be an impossibility. He opened his mouth to question the statement, just as another voice interrupted them both.
"Pappa? Pappa? Che ne- aka?" Bon Chance's head turned, his confusion giving way to a relieved smile as the young man they had both saved loped across to join them. Cutter looked in his direction, blinked, then looked again, finding further bewilderment in the shape of the youngsters face.
He was a youth in his late teens at a guess, dressed in the same patterned leather, although his feet were bare, not booted like the older man. His hair was also dark, and his eyes a matching depth of golden brown; his limbs were lean and muscled, and he was built to echo the slight figure that had been prepared to risk so much for his rescue. The pilot looked from one to the other, seeing in the new arrival a clear and astonishing resemblance to his friend.
"I live," Bon Chance responded to the question, his initial delight at the youth's safety settling into tight disapproval. "No thanks to you."
The young man winced and stared down at his feet. He muttered something in the unknown tongue, sounding distinctly apologetic. The Frenchman continued to frown and after a moment the teenager shuffled his feet and added another phrase, glancing up with a clearly contrite expression. Bon Chance considered him for a little longer before lapsing back into a wry smile.
"Ke ne amu, AtaJakka," he said, both an acceptance of the apology and something more as well. The youth looked up in amazement and smiled with embarrassed pleasure. The older man reached out his unencumbered arm and gathered the youth into a friendly hug, laughing a little as he did so. "My eldest son," he explained to the confused American at his side, pride in every word of it. "Trying to prove himself when he has no need to do so. Jakka," he went on, addressing the young man, "this is my friend, Jake, whom I have told you about. Thank him for your life, even though you didn't deserve to keep it."
The young man's eyes widened as he turned to stare at the pilot. Cutter felt oddly uncomfortable, wondering just what the youngster had been told about him. "It is true?" the young voice questioned, glancing at his father in astonishment. Bon Chance nodded wearily.
"It always was."
The look that crossed the young man's face was one of wary suspicion. He reached a hand to touch the arm of the pilot's leather jacket, frowning a little as he studied the American's face. Then he smiled, an amused smile that only served to enhance the echo of his father in him. "My father's friends are my friends," he said with courteous formality, even his English reflecting his father's familiar accent. "My life was Ku-a-Naga's. Now it is yours."
"Don't mention it," Cutter muttered, still disconcerted by the whole affair. Something he had been told had finally penetrated. "Your eldest?" he questioned. "How many sons do you have?"
Bon Chance drew breath to answer that, thought about it and smiled. "Two," he decided, tousling Jakka's hair with affection. "But only one daughter. Mon dieu," he realised, "this is no place to stand and discuss history. We must go before the scavenger's get here."
Jakka nodded, glancing around warily. "The scent of blood will draw them," he agreed, then stopped as his eyes alighted on something behind Cutter's shoulder. The pilot spun, only to relax as he recognised Sarah walking cautiously towards them, and Jack, skirting the first dead creature with a low growl. "Sarah too?" he heard the Frenchman murmur behind him.
"You are hurt, Papa," Jakka said with concern.
"Oui," Bon Chance admitted softly. "Ku-a-Naga's touch is never gentle, mon fils."
"I know. I said I was sorry. It is all my fault. I meant to be wary of the sky, but the hunt was so close..."
"It is done," the Frenchman decided firmly. "You have learnt the lesson, and I still have my son. Who can now be called a man, n'est ce pas? "
Cutter glanced back as he waited for Sarah to reach him, seeing Jakka smile a little shyly at his feet. He didn't know what might have been going on, but he got the impression that the young man had been more than a little foolish in his recent behaviour, and despite that his father had still been prepared to pay dearly to save him.
"I do not deserve the title," Jakka decided, with a frown. "The hunt was good, and the kill clean, but Ku-a-Naga claimed it, not I. And I went on the trail without permission," he added as if just realising this was his original fault. His father laughed softly.
"Moi aussi."
"Tu?" Jakka threw him an astonished look and then chuckled in delight. "Guna tara de lamanatini. Ke AtaLouie. Ke na challa desa coo. Sa Shalanour."
"Ssh," his father advised, indicating Sarah's arrival with a tilt of his chin. Cutter grinned at her with heartfelt delight. The multi-lingual conversation at his back had been highly disconcerting, not least because it re-inforced the Frenchman's statement concerning time. An impossible statement, since twenty years could not and would not translate into two hours. But it had, somehow. He had passed through Lebaumitz's doorway in search of a friend, and found his intended rescue misplaced by an entire lifetime. Jakka's lifetime, the young man's existence implying a settled life and an existence that made the man he had known a stranger, their friendship separated by events he'd neither had nor could have experienced.
And what an existence! Trapped in a world where dinosaurs still roamed, where... where what? He didn't know. Didn't know anything about this pocket of nowhere that had swallowed a civilised man and made him a savage - except that assessment was unkind, and probably unwarranted. Bon Chance had always been more dangerous than his urbane facade would suggest, and only a fool would think of him as anything less than a survivor. Nor was the intricate cut and fit of the local costume a primitive one, just sufficiently barbaric to match the environment. The broken helmet had undoubtedly saved its wearer's life, and the weapons he wore had been clearly needed, not carried just for show.
Sarah was staring past his shoulder at the figures behind him and he stepped aside with a faint smile unsure of what he might say to prepare her for the situation. Her eyes widened and she glanced from the unexpected sight of the Frenchman and his son to Cutter's wary face and back again. "Louie?" she breathed, doubt chasing across her features. At her feet Jack barked twice in easy confirmation, before going back to his fascinated investigation of the surrounding vegetation and its accompanying smells. Jakka looked distinctly startled and Bon Chance laughed softly.
"I'm afraid so, cherie." His voice held a touch of resignation about it, as if the situation were not totally unexpected. His line of thought was interrupted as a shadow floated overhead, and the look of wry consideration was replaced by one of wary alarm. "We cannot stay here," he announced, turning to scan the edge of the jungle with alert expectation. "We must go before the scavengers come."
Jakka glanced at him with brief concern, a look Cutter echoed although he didn't immediately realise it. "Papa?" he queried. "Ha na lakada cohai?"
"Oui," his father acknowledged the question with a reassuring nod. "Si tu trouve." The youth grinned and ran towards the tree line, dipping to collect the fallen spear as he went. Sarah stared after him with decided confusion.
"Would somebody tell me what's going on around here?" she asked, then let out a little gasp of alarm. A dark shape had dropped from the sky, aiming for the sprawled corpse behind the two men. Cutter turned, seeing yet another nightmare materialise in front of him. He registered an impression of long bat like wings of folded leather tipped with curved claws, a long beaked snout filled with daggered teeth and a bright, bead like eye that turned towards the small group with unreadable intent. His hand dropped to his gun, but the Frenchman stayed the impulse with a touch of his fingers.
"Shada will not attack the living while dead meat is plentiful," he said, ushering his companions in the direction the youth had taken while keeping a wary eye on the creature. "Walk away slowly. He will not be alone for long." Sarah swallowed hard as the head, that was neither lizard nor bird, but a little of both, snapped downwards and then back, a bloodied strip of flesh hanging from its jaws. Jack had already run for shelter, and Cutter guided her after him, watching the winged scavenger with anxious expectation. Another shadow dropped from the silvered sky, and then another, some falling on the second corpse close to the trees. Within moments both fallen monsters were a crowded mass of squabbling wings and jabbing snouts.
"There are so many of them," Sarah considered with fascinated horror.
"Firstcomers to an unexpected banquet," Bon Chance murmured, his eyes skimming his surroundings with wary expectation. "Kekatch will be next. We must be gone before then. They hunt by scent, not sight - and they are fast," he added, throwing Cutter a look that spoke volumes. The pilot shivered at the unspoken implications in that glance. The wounds that raked across the older man's chest and shoulder were still bleeding, a sluggish ooze of scarlet caking skin and torn hide alike. Even in the short distance to the trees he had been favouring his injured leg, and his face was pale beneath a sheen of sweat.
Cutter raked perspiration out of his own eyes and frowned back at the heaving mass of scavengers. It was hot, as hot as an airless midday in the middle of the dry season; except that the air here was much more humid. It reminded him of rank days in the Brazilian jungle where the barest exertion would soak you from the inside out. Scent carried well in such an atmosphere, and lingered for a long time. "Our way out's back there," he announced, jabbing his thumb towards the trail they had used to descend from the valley. The Frenchman allowed a wry smile to curl onto his lips.
"Not at this time of the day, mon ami," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. Jakka reappeared at his shoulder, his hands bundled with bright green leaves, and was in time to catch the indicated direction. His eyes widened and he stared at the pilot with open mouthed astonishment.
"Farassa Ku-aNaga?" he questioned. "Chela dei? Are those who walk under the sun marked with madness?"
"Every one of us," his father agreed dryly. He had taken a handful of the proffered leaves and had begun to wipe their juices over his skin. The action produced a pungent scent , a little reminiscent of sour lemons, and Jack sneezed violently at it, backing away with distaste. "The valley is Ku-a-Naga's hatching ground, Jake. Nobody goes there once the heat of the day begins to rise. It isn't safe. It isn't exactly safe at other times either. You were lucky not to meet anything before you came this far down."
Cutter thought about that. "Those things - breed up there?"
Jakka nodded vigorously, then winced as his fellow warrior took a second handful of leaves and let their sap run down his scored chest. The pilot echoed the reaction, trying not to think of the effect the pungent liquid would have on an open wound. Sarah merely stared in fascinated horror before looking across at her fellow American's anxious face. "Jake," she said quietly, "can we go home now?"
"I don't know," Cutter answered, his attention flitting from the squabbling feasters, to the concentration on his friend's face, and back again. "Louie - Dr Lebaumitz reckoned he could only keep that gateway open for a few minutes. We have to go back - and we have to go back now."
Bon Chance shook his head, wiping the last of the leaves down the blood streaked line of his hide pants before tossing them away into the trees. "C'est ne pas possible," he said, taking a long and careful breath. "We have stood here for too long, and we must go."
"But..."
"Now," the Frenchman interrupted, a command, not a request. "Jake - even if you could get past the scavengers, avoid Kekatch and make it to the valley, you would never reach your gate. The warmer the air, the more active the hunters are. You have - what? Three bullets left in your gun and half a dozen clips at the most? It would be suicide. When the day dies it might be different, but not now. We should have been underground an hour ago. Every minute we waste in discussion shortens the odds on our lives. We go, we go now, and we head for safe ground."
There was no room for argument in that rapid speech. It was delivered with forceful certainty and it carried a sense of urgency that only a fool would question. Cutter pushed his cap back on his head and glanced apologetically at Sarah. "I guess you know what you're talking about," he admitted. "Which way do we go?"
Relief blossomed in Bon Chance's eyes, and he motioned a way further into the jungle, muttering something to his son in the unfamiliar tongue they both used. Jakka nodded and melted away into the trees, leaving his father to lead his companions deeper into a world both naggingly familiar and disorientatingly strange. Jack came over to trot at his master's heels, eyeing the undergrowth distrustfully. Cutter was doing exactly the same, letting Sarah ahead of him so that she was protected between himself and their guide. The Frenchman moved rapidly, favouring his injured leg with a loping pace that would be punishing even if he'd been a hundred percent fit; the pilot found himself hoping that their journey would not be a long one. He was soaked through with sweat in a few short minutes and Sarah's face was creased with enduring determination. Somewhere behind them something howled, a long drawn out sound that sent shivers through the soul.
"Kekatch," Bon Chance threw back, ducking under a tilted tree trunk and splashing through a shallow stream. Jack ran after him, apparently more afraid of what lay behind than the unknown ahead. It quickened Cutter's pace, and Sarah's too; they followed the twisting trail with a sense of urgency that overwhelmed all other considerations.
They stopped once. Jakka slid out of the undergrowth on Cutter's heels and hissed a single word that drew his father to an abrupt halt. Sarah ran into his restraining arm, and the pilot crowded in behind her. Somewhere, very close, a large and lumbering shape crashed through the trees and across their path. It was huge, larger than an elephant and twice as long, moving with slow deliberation as it pulled down mouthfuls of vegetation. Sarah stifled a cry as the creature wandered by, almost close enough to touch.
"What the hell was that?" Cutter muttered, not expecting an answer. Beside him Jakka grinned.
"Coobara. Good eating when they're small. A leaf eater," he added at the look this inspired. "The meat is sweet."
"Right," the pilot acknowledged a little weakly. The young man was so much his father's son it was uncanny, seeing the reflection of a friend in the eyes of a complete stranger.
"We take his trail for a while," the youth announced as Bon Chance resumed his leadership. "Kekatch will confuse the scents. They do not hunt Coobara when he reaches that size. Few things do," he grinned. Cutter found himself grinning back, despite the situation. Jakka had obviously inherited his father's charm along with his looks. The youth replaced Bon Chance's rangy elegance with a lanky energy that carried an impression of innocent vulnerability, although Cutter doubted that Jakka matched that assessment at all. He lacked some of the inner poise that shielded his father and gave him quiet strength, but he made up for it with a self certainty that was disconcerting in someone so young. Not that Cutter was surprised to see it; life in this savage jungle would demand maturity in a way that the twentieth century never could.
The monster's trail took them closer to the rise of the volcano, skirting along its foothills where the jungle clung thickly to the rock. Then, instead of turning towards the coast, which Cutter was subconsciously expecting, Bon Chance led them upwards, onto Sofri's lava flanks, and back into the open air. After a few short moments following the curve of the treeline, they reached a rough path that clambered up the dark rock and vanished behind an overhanging outcrop. Jakka gave a cry of delight and took one eager step towards the promising sign of habitation, only to be caught and held back by his father's arm.
"Langalang," Bon Chance growled, half with annoyance and half with affection. The youth went bright red.
"Talana ke," he winced. "I wasn't thinking."
"Stop thinking like that too often and you'll stop thinking forever," he was told in resigned tones. "The day is well advanced, and you know better than that."
"Oui," Jakka agreed in a small voice.
"What's the problem?" Cutter asked, not seeing any sign of danger ahead of them. Bon Chance eyed him sideways with brief surprise, then sighed, remembering the pilot was a stranger to a world he knew intimately.
"The exposed rock grows warmer as the day advances," he explained softly, "and tempts things out to laze after they have fed. Ku-a-Naga and his cousins know that, and could well be stalking on these slopes. While the light is bright enough to cast three shadows you stay alert and never drop your guard. Not that many venture out in the day. These people call themselves children of the twilight - and it isn't a poetic description."
Sarah shivered and moved a little closer to Cutter's side. The pilot touched her arm in brief reassurance. The unfamiliar jungle was bad enough, but this grim suggestion that even the bare rock was a dangerous place to be pounded his heart into quiet overdrive. He reached to wipe sweat from his eyes, the rising humidity of the day an oppressive blanket that was becoming stifling. "So what do we do?" he asked. Unexpectedly the Frenchman grinned.
"We take our chances," he laughed. Jakka, who had crouched down to look out at the mountainside, rose to his feet with a whoop, echoing his father's sudden amusement. The two Americans stared at him in total surprise.
"Ketei," the youth explained with a sweep of his hand, "Ku-a-Naga reigns. But we are the thorn in his side. We are the walkers in his shadow. We are the whispers beneath his feet that echo his mortality. Even Ku-a-Naga can die. The White Fountain makes no judgements, but where its waters run, we are the chosen people." He paused for breath, considering their confused faces with puzzlement. "Do not the people of the sun understand the patterns of fate?"
Bon Chance laid an affectionate hand on the young man's shoulder. "They are a little more complicated where we come from, mon fils," he said. Jakka frowned at him.
"But you were the one that taught me..."
His father laughed. "If you want to argue philosophy, mon fils, do it underground. We are no safer here than we were when we started this journey. Go on. Break the trail and check the way down. We will wait for your signal."
The youth's frown deepened a little as he considered the older man's face. Bon Chance was pale and drawn in the unnatural light; his skin glistened with sweat and each breath was a considered effort whose labouring had little to do with the heaviness of the air. Jakka nodded abruptly and turned to run up the slope, glancing back once before he leapt up to the path and vanished behind the curve of the rock. Cutter watched him go, then turned to his friend with concern.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I will make it," the accented voice replied, its owner focused on the point at which he had lost sight of his son. "Will you?"
Jack barked twice at their feet, a firm certainty that released some of the tension of the moment. Sarah laughed, a little uncertainly. "He thinks so," she said. "Louie, where are we going?"
Bon Chance glanced back at her, his distracted frown softening into a weary smile. "To the halls of the White Fountain," he said. "One of the few places that Ku-a-Naga cannot go. Nor any of his cousins either. It's not exactly the Monkey Bar I'm afraid, but it is a little more civilised than out here."
Cutter swept his eyes over their current surroundings. "That doesn't look too hard," he muttered. An odd sound, like a panted low pitched hoot, drew his attention and he looked around, trying to locate its source.
"That is our signal," the Frenchman announced, darting glances along the tree line before stepping into the open. "There is not a lizard alive that can make a sound like that."
They scrambled up the rock face, reaching the path, which was little more than a worn track with the occasional step cut roughly from the stone. It led around an outcrop of volcanic black rock, and down into a narrow gorge. Something slithered away from their approach, but the pilot only caught a glimpse of a sail shaped fin before it vanished among the scattered stones. The gorge came to an abrupt end, but the path continued into the mountainside, leading through a tight fissure that was barely the height of a man. Sarah hesitated as Bon Chance motioned her into the darkness.
"Do we have to?" she asked, and he nodded reassuringly.
"It widens out further on. Jakka will be waiting with a torch, I promise you."
She grimaced, but stepped down into the opening, her hands extended to guide her along the rough cut tunnel. Jack ran after her, sniffing his way at her heels. Cutter took a thoughtful glance at the silvered sky then waved Bon Chance ahead of him. "I'm right behind you," he said at the look the gesture elicited. The Frenchman found him a wry grin and then limped down into the waiting fissure. The pilot followed him, ducking under the overhang and feeling his way along the walls. The rock was warm close to the opening, but it quickly cooled as they made their way through the twisting passage. The air dropped to a more comfortable temperature too; it felt almost icy after the cloying heat of the outside world.
After several unexpected twists and turns in the pitch dark the sudden flare of light was a welcome sight; Jakka waited at the mouth of a small cavern, off which several more darkened passages ran. The youth carried a flaming torch in one hand, one retrieved, no doubt from the pile of unlit torches conveniently stacked in a basket at the centre of the cave. The walls were polished black lava and they reflected the sputtering flame so that its meagre light was magnified into a reasonable illumination. Sarah stood beside the young warrior, looking uncomfortable in the confined space.
"Are we safe now?" she asked, the note of impatience in her voice a cover for her anxiety. Bon Chance nodded, stepping aside so that Cutter could move into the cavern.
"The scaled folk do not seek shelter in the depths, cherie," he murmured, resting his back against the wall with a quiet sigh. "We are safe from Ku-a-Naga, at least."
"So what else is there?" she demanded suspiciously. He laughed softly.
"Who can say?" he breathed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "It has been said that I am far more dangerous than any number of Kekatch. But," he added, "I don't think you will have cause to worry about that."
Jakka frowned at him anxiously. "Pappa?" he questioned softly. Bon Chance opened his eyes again to smile wearily at his son.
"You had better run ahead," he advised. "Warn Ka-Tesh that we have visitors." Jakka didn't move. He continued to frown a little worriedly at his father, then glanced warily at the pilot beside him. "Go," the Frenchman ordered, his voice amused. "I will make it." He too glanced at the American and smiled. "I won't be alone. Kar kas," he hissed as the youth still hesitated. "They will be writing your name for the history if you don't show your face soon. Run, and set your Grandfather's heart to rest."
Realisation fluttered across the young man's face with an echo of horror. "Chitka," he breathed. "Sha te lana," he added, dipping to lift a second torch from the pile and light it with the first. "I will be quick. And I will send word to Shalanour."
"If you must," his father acknowledged. "But go."
The youth placed the second torch into Cutter's extended hand, smiled hesitantly at Sarah, and vanished into one of the dark openings, his bare feet making no sound on the smooth stone. Cutter waited until the last echo of the other torch had been swallowed by distance before he rounded on his friend with determination.
"Okay," he said, firmly. "Maybe now you'll tell us what's going on around here."
"Yes," Sarah interjected, "that's what I'd like to know. Where are we, and who was that who just left?"
"That, cherie," Bon Chance said softly, "was my son. My eldest son." He lifted himself up from the support of the rock and winced as his weight shifted over his injured leg. "As to where you are - I suspect that you have a better idea of that than I do. Mon dieu," he considered, looking from one to the other. "I thought never to see either of you again. And to see you now, after so long..." He shook his head in weary incomprehension. "You have not changed." He reached to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Perhaps I am dreaming after all."
"Uh-uh," Cutter denied, sharing a concerned glance with Sarah as he did so. "I know I'm real. I'm not so sure about the rest of it though. Two hours ago you slipped into Lebaumitz's piece of folded space. Which is where we all are now, I guess. But you said..."
"Twenty years," the French accent corrected grimly. "Not two hours, mon ami. I know. I have counted every one of them."
"Don't be silly," Sarah insisted. "You don't look twenty years older."
He looked up at her and , after a moment, allowed a wry smile to curve beneath the dark moustache. "There are - reasons for that," he murmured. "But it is the truth, Sarah, I swear to you. I did not know what might have happened, although I have guessed a little of it. I waited, for a while, thinking someone might come after me, but no-one ever did. The Twilight people helped me, and I have done what I could to repay the debt. This is not an easy place to live, but I had no alternative. Jakka was born seventeen years ago. A man cannot look back forever." The smile crept back as he spoke of his son. "In many ways, they have been good years."
"Twenty years - in two hours," Cutter breathed, trying to encompass the concept and not entirely managing it. "It's incredible."
"It explains a lot," Bon Chance said thoughtfully. "Sometimes it is hard to accept that a man's friends might have abandoned him."
Sarah's eyes widened in contrite realisation. "Oh, Louie," she exclaimed, stepping forward to lay a sympathetic hand to his arm. "If we'd only known..."
He shook his head with wry resignation, looking down at her hand as it rested on the blood stained patterns that marked his skin; then he looked up at her anxious face, and the reality of the situation imploded inside his eyes. Wordlessly he reached out and drew her into a heartfelt embrace, his shoulders trembling with reaction. She returned the gesture with feeling, letting him regain his self control in the warmth of her arms. Cutter watched them both for a moment before reaching his free hand to lay it on his friend's shoulder. Bon Chance looked up, reluctantly releasing his hold on Sarah, only to then reach out and embrace his other friend with just as much enthusiasm. The pilot responded awkwardly, one arm encumbered with the burning torch, while Jack barked with decided enthusiasm.
"I'm sorry," the Frenchman apologised, stepping back and looking a little embarrassed at the strength of his reaction. "I didn't..."
"Hey," Cutter grinned, a little embarrassed himself. "Its okay. I mean, twenty years is a long time, right?"
Jack barked twice more, a firm agreement that rippled a laugh around the three of them and banished the moment of awkwardness. Bon Chance crouched to offer his hand to the dog, who sniffed at it before allowing the man to scratch behind his ear.
"If two hours back home is really twenty years here," Sarah was pondering, "does that mean the couple of hours we've been here has only been a few seconds?"
"Probably less than that," Cutter decided, offering down his hand so that the injured Frenchman could straighten up again. "Which means..." he realised with sudden relief, "that our doorway home is going to be around for quite a while yet. Several days probably. How about that," he grinned. "We get time to see the sights."
Sarah shuddered. "I've seen quite enough sights, thank you very much."
"Not quite," Bon Chance interjected quietly. "The Halls of the White Fountain lie below us, and they, at least, are worth the cost of reaching them." He indicated the narrow tunnel that Jakka had taken. "We must go. We will be expected, and not even I keep Shalanour waiting."
"Who's Shalanour?" Cutter asked, moving into the tunnel and finding that it sloped downwards in a series of shallow steps. Bon Chance laughed softly.
"The voice of the White Fountain. Eldest and most respected of the Twilight People." He limped ahead to lead the way, letting Sarah step in beside the pilot. At the first sharp turn in the passage he looked back and grinned conspiratorially. "She also happens to be my wife's Mother, but don't tell her that I know. I don't think anyone else does. Not even Ka-Tesh herself."
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