Eschaton 1 – The Other End of Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Patsy

It was foolishness, Patsy scolded herself-yes, and it was gender treason as well-to allow herself to feel so lost simply because Dan Dannerman was away.

It was also embarrassing, because the other women in the party were clearly not as troubled about it as she. All three of them were asleep, even Pat, while Jimmy was morosely poking at the machine that looked like a two-humped camel, just outside the cell boundaries. (Poor Jimmy, she thought, almost sympathetically; he was taking the loss of the helmet hard. But of course it had had more to offer him than anyone else.) Martin was flat on his back, hands locked behind his head, open eyes regarding their tattered ceiling with incurious distaste. Once more he had positioned himself next to the sleeping Rosaleen. At least, Patsy was grateful to him for that; if freedom was an unexpected challenge for all of them, it was a challenge that could hardly be met for Rosaleen Artzybachova. The old lady couldn't move without wincing. Taking part in any exploration was out of the question for her; the ancient body wasn't up to it.

But Patsy's body was, and she was too restless to sit still. "I'm going to look around," she called to Martin, keeping her voice low.

But not low enough. Martin didn't answer but Rosaleen did. "Be careful," she said, not opening her eyes. "Yell if you need us." And what, Patsy asked herself, could a couple of unarmed men and three equally unarmed women, one of them frail and old, do if she should really need help? As well she might, in this baffling combat zone.

That was a thought that should have been frightening. Oddly, she wasn't particularly frightened. Oh, there was a lot of fear, even something not too remote from panic, that sat there at the back of her mind, ready to appear if something startled her, but curiosity outweighed the fear. Everything she saw was a new mystery-not one that she could hope to solve, no, but something to wonder at. That smoke that drifted overhead, sometimes pale, sometimes inky black and stinking with some foul chemical odor. The machines all around-all silent, some in ruin. When she looked up, crane her neck as she would, she could get no glimpse of anything that looked like sky, only layers and layers of construction and mechanical puzzles.

The first time she saw a Doc standing motionless before her she yelped out loud. She couldn't help it.

But the creature didn't move. Its eyes were open behind the fuzzy beard, but unfocused; the half-dozen limbs were hanging loose and still. So it was with the next one she saw, a moment later. It was alive, all right. She could see an artery pulsing in the Doc's throat and it seemed to be breathing.

Patsy couldn't resist. She passed a hand before the creature's eyes, the way they said tourists used to do for the guards at places like Buckingham Palace. It didn't blink.

Patsy was almost smiling as she turned away, and that was when she saw the dead Dopey.

Oh, Jesus, she whispered to herself, staring. The body had been roughly handled. It lay in a pool of sticky dark fluid and its head had been crushed.

But it was smaller than Dopey-smaller than their Dopey, at least-and the peacock plume was far more modest: matted and discolored now, but nothing like the great fan that Dopey had worn.

That was enough for Patsy. She turned on her heel and headed back to the company of the others. Rosaleen was standing at the perimeter of the cell, leaning on the useless cooker, Martin close behind. They were both watching for her. "Yes?" Rosaleen said, and Patsy poured out everything she had seen.

"I was frightened," she finished. "I'm sorry."

"But why should you be sorry? Of course you were-" Rosaleen didn't say "scared shitless"; she was kind, and only said "startled."

"Thank you," Patsy said, and then was immediately startled again. They heard a faint chittering sound, and when she turned something very strange was coming slowly toward them. It was a round… well… a round thing, turtle-shaped, beach-ball-size. Possibly it was an animal, possibly not. Feathery fronds extended upward from the short-legged body, and clinging to the tip of each frond was a tiny creature, no bigger than a mouse. The little creatures were all peering worriedly behind them, chittering softly to each other; and Patsy was almost certain she had seen them before. That shark-toothed grin on the tiny faces surely belonged to the variety of the Seven Ugly Dwarfs called "Happy." "But I didn't think they would be so small," she said stupidly.

She had spoken softly, but the little things heard. One of the creatures turned and saw the humans staring at them. It squeaked in shrill alarm. All dozen of them turned, toothy mouths wide in fear. There was a chorus of chittering, and they turned their mount toward another corridor and galloped away out of sight in obvious panic.

"My God," Rosaleen remarked behind Patsy, crossing herself. "Patsy? Did it not seem to you that they were running away from something?"

And so it had; but it was Martin who saw what that something was and called, "It's all right. It's only Dan coming back."

In spite of everything, some little part inside of Patsy had been hoping that when Dan returned he would be bringing good news. She couldn't imagine what the good news might be. Certainly not like-like-well, like finding that Colonel duValier's expedition had got to Starlab, and found the transmitter there, and used it to ship themselves and a brigade or two of commandos here to rescue them. She hadn't really expected anything like that, but there had still been a hope that Dan would have something to report that might make things look better for the captives.

He didn't. What he had was a bundle of metal rods tucked under one arm, and a discouraging report. "Looks like somebody's dismantling this whole enterprise," he said. "I went about two or three hundred meters down one of the corridors, heading toward where the smoke was coming from. I didn't want to get too close-"

"Thank God," Pat put in.

Dan gave her a glum look. "I figured I had to be cautious," he said, defending himself although Pat obviously hadn't intended an attack. "There was a lot of destruction, some of it still going on. I saw a big damn thing that looked like a school bus-"

"A bus?"

"Well, it was all yellow, and it had wheels, or anyway those big ball-bearing things, and it was on fire. I could see it melting, liquid metal flowing out onto the ground like water, and a stink you wouldn't believe. And then there was this other thing right next to it, kind of a pyramid, and it began to burn, too."

"I hope you had the sense to get out of there," Pat said.

Dan gave her a somewhat mollified look. "You bet I did. But wherever I went there was all this wreckage. Oh, and bodies. I saw a couple dead Dopeys and a bunch of others I couldn't recognize-maybe like that thing you said you saw, Patrice? That looked like the Bashful? But these were too burned to tell, and some of them were pretty ripe, too. I think they'd been lying there for days, some of them."

That seemed to conclude the report. No one spoke until Rosaleen said philosophically, "Your food is ready. Me, I think I will get some sleep."

Martin was frowning over the pile of metal rods Dan had dropped. "And what are these things?"

"I picked them up," Dan said, selecting one of them and hefting it. "I thought they might do for clubs. Or spears, maybe. And who knows? We might be needing some kind of weapons before long."

There was another unwelcome thought for Patsy. Weapons. To defend themselves, that was, against some invisible enemy that could melt metal objects without even being seen. Perhaps some of her fellow prisoners could take comfort in having a club to bash somebody with-if they ever came across somebody who could be dealt with by simple bashing-but all the rods meant to Patsy was one more wholly inadequate response to problems they could not really hope to solve.

For lack of something better to do, Patsy picked out a couple of packets of food and carried them over to where Rosaleen lay huddled in silence, next to the water tank. Although the old lady wasn't moving, Patsy didn't think she was asleep. Still, she tried to be quiet as she juggled the food packets, but she dropped one.

It made hardly any noise as it bounced from the mesh flooring, but Rosaleen opened her eyes and looked at her. "Oh, sorry," Patsy said. "I didn't want to disturb you. I thought you might be, ah-"

"Yes? You thought I might be what?"

"Well, praying, I guess."

"Praying?" Rosaleen looked surprised, then comprehending. "Ah. You saw me crossing myself."

"Well, yes." Patsy was embarrassed to have brought the subject up; conversations about religion, with religious people, always embarrassed her. She said, "It's just that- Well, how long have we known each other, Rosie? And I never knew you were religious before."

"Am I?" Rosaleen pondered the question. "I don't think I am, exactly. You might say I'm just stubborn. It's a kind of a family tradition. My mother's grandfather was the metropolitan of Rostov, back in Soviet times. He died in the camps, like a lot of our family, so I kind of go to church every now and then just to spite the memory of Joe Stalin. On the other hand-" She looked wistful, then smiled. "You know, my mother didn't want me to take science courses in school, she thought it would ruin me as a believer. Now, if there's really some scientific proof of Heaven, I'd really like to have had a chance to show it to her."

Patsy suddenly shivered. "You know-maybe you will."

But really, you had to face up to this eschaton thing, she told herself. You can't just go on ignoring the whole subject. Suppose what the French colonel said is real. Suppose it doesn't matter all that much what happens to you here, even if maybe you die. No, she amended herself, that's not a maybe; you damn near certainly will die here, and probably before very long. Okay. Fine. For if the colonel was telling the truth then all that happens is you go to sleep, and next thing you know you're wide awake and healthy and happy and, hey, immortal! That wasn't too shabby, was it? Living forever in Heaven…

But it wasn't really a very comforting thought. Future immortality was a theory; dying was a fact. Not to mention the other thing. Even if the theory was right, what about these damn mysterious Horch? Or, for that matter, about the equally damn mysterious Beloved Leaders?

She shuddered again, and began picking over the stored foods. They were as discouraging to her as ever, but she settled on something that called itself potato soup and set it to soak in cold water; maybe it would turn itself into vichyssoise, she thought optimistically. Then, on second thought, sighing, she picked out a couple of others and set them to soak for when the others woke up.

Rosaleen was giving her a questioning look. Patsy said sorrowfully: "I wish I hadn't got you into this, Rosie."

Rosaleen looked surprised, then gave her a little never-mind headshake. "Oh, don't blame yourself, Patsy. Look at the bright side. I'm not dead yet-here, I mean. Whereas actually, if I understand what has happened, the one of me on Earth isn't that lucky. So perhaps accepting your invitation to come along has produced a net gain for me after all." Then she smiled. "What foolish things we think of. Shall I tell you what has been on my mind for hours now? I have been wondering who might have taken over my old office at the observatory."

Nearby, Patrice confided, "You know, so am I, Patsy. Who do you suppose has taken over ours?"

"I hope nobody," Patsy said with indignation. "This jail thing must be some kind of misunderstanding; when it gets cleared up we'll be back in charge."

Patsy looked at her in surprise, then nodded. "Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. That would make a problem, wouldn't it? I mean if we all got back. Anyway," she said, stretching her arms, "I wonder how old Papathanassiou's getting along with his gamma-burster counts. And poor dumb Mick, and all the rest of the guys…"

"And-" Patrice began, and stopped, frowning. Something was moving toward them through the maze of machinery. Everyone was suddenly standing, half of them with metal rods already in their hands.

They they saw what it was: a Doc, walking slowly and gazing from side to side. When it saw them it stopped, immobile, waiting.

And what it was waiting for…

That appeared a moment later. It was Dopey, bedraggled, limping along, hurrying fearfully toward them.

"Please!" he begged. "Help me! They'll kill me if they find me!"