The Galaxy Builder

Chapter One

It was a mild spring evening in the palace gardens at Artesia, and Sir Lafayette O'Leary, late of Colby Corners, U.S.A., now the trusted confidant of Queen Adoranne, sat on his favorite bench, at the end of the long mall with a view of the nymph fountain. Beyond stood the glittering bulk of the pink quartz palace itself, its towers atwinkle like the colored lights strung in the gardenia hedges.

Lafayette reached for Daphne's warm little hand. She responded with a squeeze and leaned her head on his shoulder with a sigh.

"Lafayette, honey," she said uncertainly. "Is something wrong?"

Lafayette shook his head and nuzzled the smooth cheek. "It's just that the big gala tonight reminds me of the night we broke up the big affair where that light-fingered no-good Zorro, masquerading as me, was just about to convince everybody that Adoranne and Alain were dead. That lousy Zorro! Tell me, Daph: When that stinker was occupying my body and pretending to be me, did he—that is, did you—did he try to get fresh with you or anything?"

"Why, Lafayette!" Daphne exclaimed. "After all, it was your body, so what difference would it make?"

"So you did let the skunk take liberties! Daphne, I'm surprised at you!"

"Don't be silly, Lafayette," she replied calmly. "I suppose things have just been quiet and peaceful for so long that you just have to try to stir something up; next you'll be going up to that dingy old magician's laboratory or whatever at the top of the east tower, and fiddling about with all the old necromancy equipment Nicodaeus left there. Please don't, Lafayette. I want you to promise me!"

"That's ridiculous, Daphne," Lafayette returned hotly. "You know perfectly well Nicodaeus was no sorcerer, he was a perfectly ordinary Inspector of Continua, operating out of Central, just like I was, once—"

"That's what's bothering you, isn't it, Lafayette?" Daphne said in a sympathetic tone. "You're remembering all those wild times you had, and wishing you weren't just a humdrum married man now, with a suppressor focused on you!"

"That's not true, Daphne," Lafayette protested. "Why, I'd be crazy not to appreciate the life I'm living here in Artesia, with you." He looked earnestly into her big brown eyes, thinking for the millionth time that hers was the prettiest face in all the worlds. "Anyway," he added, "they lifted the suppressor."

"Then promise," Daphne insisted, pausing to nibble at his lower lip. "Promise me you won't start focusing your psychic energies, or whatever it was you used to do."

"Sure, I promise," Lafayette said easily, after a prolonged smooch. "I have no intention of meddling; I've learned my lesson." He looked up into the ink-black sky and its familiar constellations which never changed, whether he was in Artesia, Melange, even Colby Corners—or any of the other infinity of alternate realities.

"Those old eyeball astronomers must have had oversize imaginations," he commented idly, "seeing all those animals and so on in the stars. Look at Orion: three stars for a belt and three for his sword, and they see a full-length portrait, complete with his dog, Spot. If it wasn't so boring, I could easily think up better ones that would come closer to looking like something. Take Ursa Major over there; 'Big Bear', nuts. The most lifelike part is the tail, and bears don't have tails. Now, if that little bright star on the left was just shifted over to the right a little ..."

"Lafayette!" Daphne cried, clutching at his arm as if in panic. "What was that? Didn't you feel it?" she urged, giving the arm a shake. "It was—as if the film slipped, or —"

"Nonsense," O'Leary said laughingly. "This isn't a film, Daph—it's living, breathing reality. You're thinking about the times when I succeeded in shifting things around a little—I guess you're hipped on that subject tonight. Forget it. I promised to stay out of Nicodaeus' lab, after all—and I won't respond to any more notes from the Red Bull."

"Do you remember our first meeting, Lafayette," Daphne cooed, "when you first came to Artesia? And nothing's been the same since."

"How could I forget?" O'Leary inquired rhetorically. "There you were, wearing nothing but a few soapsuds and a charming smile. I ordered up a hot bath ... and got one with you in it."

"I thought I was dreaming," Daphne murmured. "One minute I was alone in my garret quarters, and the next I was in a strange apartment—with the cutest man looking at me—and you looked as surprised as I felt."

"That reminds me," O'Leary said. "We don't have to go back to the party; since Adoranne and Alain have already retired, we're free to do the same. Come on." He stood. A drop of cold water spattered on his forehead. "We have to go in anyway," he said, turning to Daphne, and offering his hand, which she failed to notice.

"Lafayette!" she wailed. "It's going to rain!"

"Correction," he said as more drops impacted on his face. "It is raining." Heads down, they hurried along the gravel path, skirted the fountain, and made for the shelter of the great elm trees lining the walk. Rain on the foliage was a roar now, and cold rivulets were running down between Lafayette's shoulder blades. He unclipped the throat-latch of his short cloak of deep blue velvet with the argent device of the Axe and Dragon, and covered Daphne's shoulders and head.

"We can't stay here, Lafayette!" she cried over the drumming of the downpour. "Come on." Without awaiting assent, she was off, dashing out into the nearly opaque downpour. Through it, the palace lights were barely visible. In a moment O'Leary had lost sight of her, though he plunged after her at once. He nearly fell then, as the full force of the sudden storm struck. He stumbled ahead, calling, toward the blurry glow, but heard no reply, and could see nothing of Daphne. The soaked turf squished underfoot.

"Daphne! Wait! Please!" he shouted. But that's silly, he added silently. Why should she stand out in the rain waiting for me when she can just as well wait inside? He stumbled again, splashing through an ankle-deep puddle already formed in an unsuspected hollow at what he estimated had to be the foot of the wide, shallow steps leading up to the terrace. He felt loose stones underfoot. Ye gods, it's already undermining the pavement, he thought with dismay. But it's hardly surprising, under a torrent like this; it's like massed fire hoses. Totally soaked, shivering, half-blinded by the water in his eyes, he groped his way up the broken steps and across to the barely visible dark rectangle of an open doorway. Still no glimpse of Daphne. He staggered, reached the entry in a final lunge, and fell headlong.

For a long time, it seemed, the roar of the rain, from which he was now mercifully sheltered, went on. Lafayette wiped water from his eyes and blinked into total darkness all around.

"Daphne?" he called tentatively as he got to his feet.

"Not even an echo," he said aloud, and shivered hard. It was strangely cold. And why so dark? The palace was always kept warm, well-lit, and cosy in spite of its size. Maybe he had stumbled into a storeroom, he reflected, though he didn't recall any such facility interrupting the wide glass facade on the ballroom side— unless he had wandered off to the far left, where he seemed to recall there was a cluster of service spaces in the corner, across the corridor from the big party room. That must be it—and poor Daph had blundered into one of them like himself, and was alone somewhere now in the dark, wondering why he didn't come. He jumped as the door closed with a slam! There was no latch on the inside.

It took him five minutes to pace off the chamber in which he now was, it appeared, trapped: The room was an unadorned rectangle of rough-hewn stone, ten paces by six, with a crudely arched opening opposite the doorway through which he had entered. The opening was securely barred by a massive slab of iron-bound oak, abounding in splinters, one of which he removed from his thumb with his teeth. At his next approach, he proceeded more cautiously, paused before the door, set himself, and delivered a kick, partly in revenge, he acknowledged to himself. To his surprise, the heavy panel swung inward with a creak of rusty hinges. Lafayette took a tentative step inside and found himself at the foot of a steep flight of chipped stone steps which ascended into an even deeper blackness.

"Daphne?" he called, but his voice reverberated hollowly up the stairwell, eliciting no reply.

"She's got to be up there," he assured himself. "There's nowhere else she could have gone. So, here goes." The sound of his own voice talking to himself was unnerving. He started slowly up, then paused.

"Wait a minute, O'Leary," he commanded himself sternly. "This would be a good time to do something at least half-smart. You don't know where you are now; why get in deeper?

"Because if poor little Daphne is up there," he replied doggedly, "I want to find her and tell her everything's OK. But is everything OK?" He went on, unwillingly.

"OK or otherwise, she went up, and I've got-to go, too," he settled the dispute. He paused to listen. Other than the faint keening of the wind, there was no sound at all—unless that was cautious whispering down below ... On impulse, he turned and went back down, pausing just inside the half-open door.

"... tell ya it's him," a hoarse voice hissed urgently. "All we gotta do to cop the reward is lay the scoundrel by the heels."

"That's easy to say, Marv," another raspy voice came back. "But if that's really the dread necromancer Allegorus, all the more reason to stand pat and send for the cavalry."

On impulse, Lafayette uttered a low, anguished moan, as of a spook in distress.

"Listen! You hear that, Marv? It sounded like maybe he's dying! Allegorus healthy is bad enough," he went on, "but wounded—and thirsting for revenge—lemme out of here!" The sounds of pounding feet and a brief scuffle followed.

Satisfied with the effect, O'Leary groaned again. More sounds of departing feet; and the chamber seemed deserted again. He stepped boldly forth, and at once found his head enveloped in a coarse and dusty cloth, held in place by more than one pair of hard hands. He managed to bite a thumb, eliciting a yell of pain, but the enveloping folds were only pulled tighter. He kicked, felt a satisfying impact against what felt like a knee, then swung both fists in haymakers which failed to connect. Then a rope clamped around him, both binding his arms and securing the dusty cloth tightly. He sneezed violently.

"Hey!" one of the coarse voices yelped. "No sneeze-spells now, or we'll hafta clobber ya good, which ya might never come to!"

Desperately, Lafayette suppressed a second sneeze, choking it down to a muffled snort. At once, a loose block of masonry fell from the ceiling, knocking him end-over-end. He had time only for a pang of dismay that he had somehow done it again, before all thought faded away.

It was going to be one of those tedious dreams, O'Leary realized, the kind where you know you're dreaming but having to go through with it, just as if you were awake. Only this one was surrealistic: nothing but a face, an angry—or frightened—face, yelling at him at close range, demanding, threatening. The face of a man. The man was dressed in a drab gray smock, Lafayette saw, and behind him in the dim gray-lit room he caught a glimpse of Daphne.

"Very well, then, fool!" the angry man said clearly. "If you refuse to cooperate, I shall consign you to the unresolved continua of your own meddlesome making. Begone!"

O'Leary tried to lunge past him toward Daphne, who was gone now, but he tripped and hit his head hard. He got to his feet shakily.