they picked that up from Cahn’s reports?
Pel remembered the battle that had sent the earlier group fleeing through the magical opening from Shadow’s universe into the Empire’s reality. Shadow had sent hordes of monsters against them, and the Imperials’ blasters might as well have been harmless toys for all the good they did. Valadrakul’s spells had worked, and Susan’s pistol…
Susan’s pistol.
Pel blinked, and looked at Susan.
Yes, she had her purse. The big black handbag hung from one shoulder. Despite everything, she still had it.
Carson and Raven were arguing about something, and everyone else was watching the dispute, or else busy with their own affairs. Pel leaned over and whispered to Susan, “You armed?”
She threw him a quick warning glance, then answered, not looking at him, “Yes.”
He took his cue from her, and did not look at her as he asked, “Loaded?”
She lowered her head slightly, in a barely-perceptible nod.
A moment later, as some minor official was herding the entire party of twenty-five into the ship that would carry them through the space-warp, Susan managed to step away from Ted and closer to Pel.
“.38 Police Special,” she whispered. “Six-shot revolver, but I only have four rounds left. Why?”
“Just wanted to know what’s available, in case we have any disagreements on the other side.” He threw a meaningful glance in Colonel Carson’s direction.
She nodded.
Just behind them, Amy asked, “What are you two talking about?”
Pel glanced at Ted, and at the Imperials, and said, “Tell you later.”
Amy, annoyed, decided not to press the issue on the spot.
“You’d better,” she said.
Pel smiled. He glanced about.
His gaze fell on Prossie Thorpe, and his smile vanished. If she read what he was thinking, the whole game might be up right there.
Or it might not; he wasn’t sure just what side Prossie would take.
To be safe, though, he decided it would be best not to think about any of that stuff. Not about the pistol, or using Elani’s magic to get back to Earth, or anything the Empire might not like. But of course, trying not to think about it was almost impossible.
If he thought about something else instead, maybe he could distract himself.
Well, here was something—just how were they going to go through the space-warp? He had seen the machinery the Imperials used to generate their opening between universes, and it was absolutely gigantic—Hoover Dam would make one of the support brackets, and the Washington Monument an insulator. The resulting field was a couple of hundred yards across—and a few hundred yards away from the machinery, out in the vacuum of open space. They would need some sort of transport to reach it.
Captain Cahn’s expedition to Earth had flown through the warp aboard I.S.S. Ruthless, and had immediately discovered, on the other side, that anti-gravity didn’t work in Earth’s universe.
Their blasters hadn’t worked on Earth, either.
And their blasters hadn’t worked in Shadow’s realm.
Pel suspected that meant that anti-gravity wouldn’t work in Shadow’s realm, either.
So how would the whole group get there?
Was the Empire going to throw away another ship, and count on Raven’s wizards to send everyone back? Had they come up with some other approach?
A glider might work. The space-warp generator operated in the hard vacuum of space, but an anti-gravity craft with wings could use its engines on the Imperial side and its wings on the Shadow side.
“All right, folks—everybody, your attention, please!”
Pel realized he was staring at the dull gray asteroidal stone of the floor; he looked up, startled. Colonel Carson was speaking.
“We’re all here, and I think we’re all ready. We’ve got our team equipment loaded already, and if you’ll all bring your personal belongings, I think it’s time to board the ship and get this show on the road!” He smiled—Pel supposed the smile was intended to be encouraging and friendly, but it came out rather stiff and stupid.
Pel had very little in the way of personal belongings; unlike Susan, he had been unable to retrieve anything after his stint working the mines of Zeta Leo III.
Not that he’d had much of anything, in any case. He hadn’t carried a purse; when he’d stepped through the magical portal in his basement, planning a five-minute visit to Stormcrack Keep and a quick return home, all he’d had was the clothes he wore and the contents of his pockets. A shirt, a belt, pants, socks, and shoes; his wallet, with credit cards and a few dollars in currency that wouldn’t pass anywhere in this universe; the key to his car; and that was about it.
And even those items were all lost.
Nancy had had her purse, but she was dead and her purse was gone.
Rachel was dead, too.
So all Pel had to carry were the pair of pants he had been given at the mine, and somebody’s cast-off Imperial uniforms.
With a sigh, he picked up the little bundle and marched in the direction Carson had indicated.
* * * *
The Empire, it seemed, had decided to throw away another ship.
This one, I.S.S. Christopher, was a small short-range personnel transport, smaller than Ruthless, perhaps seventy feet from nose to tail—certainly no more than that. It was purple and pink, but not particularly elaborate in its design or decoration—at least, not by Imperial standards. To Amy, with its fins and curves and two-tone paint job, it still looked like something out of a comic book or a campy movie.
She shivered slightly; the air of the flight deck felt thin and chilly. She knew that had to be an illusion, though; the door they had entered through had been wide open to the rest of Base One, so the air would have equalized. It was just the knowledge that the flight deck itself was an air lock that was bothering her, she was sure—that, and the general stress and uneasiness she had been living with since arriving at Base One. She glanced up at the immense outer door; that mass of steel girders and panels was all that stood between them and outer space, and in a few minutes it would be opened.
She quickly looked away, back at Christopher.
The entire party trooped inside and found seats in the main cabin, which was starkly utilitarian—gray steel ribs overhead, gray steel plates underfoot, and eight rows of four seats apiece, gray steel seats upholstered in worn maroon leatherette, arranged in pairs on either side of a central aisle, like some military imitation of an airliner. Three bare lightbulbs, in a line down the center of the curving ceiling, provided light.
Amy thought that Ruthless,
