The Project Gutenberg eBook of Out of nowhere

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Title: Out of nowhere

Author: E. A. Grosser

Illustrator: John R. Forte

Release date: March 13, 2024 [eBook #73156]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Columbia Publications, Inc, 1941

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/73156

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OUT OF NOWHERE ***

OUT OF NOWHERE

By E. A. GROSSER

(Author of "The Radiant Avenger", "The Psychomorph", etc.)

Valnar, time traveler from nowhere in particular,

had raised havoc in plenty the last time he stopped

in this continuum; he'd been responsible for the

rise of Dodson, the mental dictator who was now

menacing the entire planet. So Barlow and Laurine

decided that the tourist had better undo it this trip!

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Future combined with Science Fiction October 1941.

Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that

the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

Dictators are the most naive persons. About all they know are the facts of life. Therefore Great America's Dodson thoroughly approved of a man such as Joel Barlow and a girl such as Laurine Coret walking in the park at twilight. Quite evidently Director Dodson reasoned: Dusk is mysterious.... Man is curious.... Q. E. D.—usually.

A civic guard saw them and saluted with a good-natured grin. Wisely, they returned the salute. Then Laurine passed her arm under Barlow's and sort of cuddled up to him. He straightened and looked at her with surprise.

"Smile, darn you," she grated. "Make it look real—as though you enjoyed it, even if you don't."

His lips stretched into a grimace that in the dusk, passed muster for a smile. And the civic guard smiled fondly after them as they walked along the park path.

"What does Central want me for?" Barlow asked when the guard was beyond earshot.

"The organization is going to hibernate. You're to pass the word along. 'Stay away from headquarters.'"

"Why?"

"Dodson must have managed to get agents into our organization. The New Orleans headquarters was raided during a meeting."

"Did they get them all?" he asked quickly.

She nodded. He said nothing, but his hands closed slowly. They both knew the seriousness of the loss, but still her eyes clung to his face. Director Dodson knew the facts of life.

Suddenly her gaze went over his shoulder and her eyes widened with fright. She turned with a stifled scream and fled. Barlow stared after her with puzzled eyes.

"—me she didn't like," said a rueful voice behind him. "I beg your pardon. I guess it's—"

Barlow turned quickly, but saw nothing. Then, as though someone had switched on a light, there was a violet haze in front of him. And in the middle of the haze was the figure of a man. Then the man and the queer haze disappeared as though the light had been turned off.

A moment later it had returned. "—leave you so abruptly," the figure said, and vanished. A second later it reappeared and said, "I'm sorry I had to—"

Barlow moved away, intending to follow Laurine.

"Don't go," said the queer newcomer. "I think I've settled down, and I want to talk to you."

The haze flickered uncertainly. Barlow's last doubt was removed. He must know how Laurine was faring. But before he could get started, the violet haze and the talking image had returned.

"Hello," it greeted cheerfully. "I'm glad you waited. I've made it at last. Inconvenient—that time-lash."

"Yes," Barlow agreed uncertainly. He stared at the newcomer. The fellow appeared to be an ordinary human being. The violet haze had vanished and in the poor light Barlow couldn't see him very clearly, but it seemed that he was rather tall, strongly built, not too good-looking, and dressed in loose, comfortably fitting clothes. At the moment the newcomer was staring in the direction Laurine had fled.

"Too bad I frightened her," he said with a shake of his head. "She's a cute little trick."

Barlow frowned at the familiarity. "Who are you?"

"Valnar one-oh-oh-three-oh-seven-one-oh-oh—"

"I didn't ask for your telephone number," snapped Barlow. "What's your name?"

"That's it," said the newcomer. "You see, I'm from—well, from the future. I was experimenting with time, and discovered a few of the natural laws that I could control. I constructed this traveler"—He tapped a plaque strapped to his chest. "—and since then I've just been wandering around ... trying to get back home."

"Lost?" asked Barlow more friendly.

Valnar hesitated. "Well, not exactly. I'm always able to find out where I am, but I can't find my own time. Right now, for instance, figuring from the Birth of Christ as many of the people I've met do, I should be in the year 1974. Is that right?"

"Nineteen seventy-three," Barlow corrected.

The man named Valnar seemed shocked. "Another error," he murmured. "If I don't do better than that, I'm going to find myself out in space, freezing to death."

"I thought you said you were time-traveling," Barlow questioned.

"Certainly," said Valnar. "But traveling in time requires considerable knowledge of astronomy. Both the Earth and the Sun move in space. If I were to travel twenty-four hours into the future, without moving in space, I'd find myself out in the void. But luckily the earth seems to exert an attraction which compensates for numerous errors, though it upsets my calculations concerning the time."

"What time are you from?"

"1974."

"That's next year! That means there are two of you in the world now—that is impossible!"

"No," Valnar disagreed impatiently. "I told you this wasn't my time—maybe I should say, space-time continuum. Time is like a tree with a lot of branches—too damn many of them. In my own time, we calculate that dimension from the Year of the Subsidence. I slid down my branch of that space-time continuum, and now I can't find it again. My people are the descendants of an Atlantean colony established in what you call Florida, but evidently that colony had few chances for survival—perhaps only one. That would make it a single small branch and difficult to find—which it is," he concluded feelingly.

"Then how do you explain your being able to speak English?" Barlow asked, grinning. He was thinking that the stranger was an unconvincing liar.

"This stop is merely incidental. I miscalculated time before last and landed in 1941—met a nice fellow who didn't ask too many questions." He looked severely at Barlow. "He believed me right away, taught me English, and told me I was just like someone out of a science-fiction story. Poor fellow was quite worried about some sort of a European menace, though. So I gave him the Mental Ray to protect his—"

"Why, you dirty—" Barlow started forward with swinging fists. He landed one fairly solid blow, then his hands were held powerless in the other's.

"What's the matter with you?" Valnar asked a bit angrily.

Barlow fought to free himself, and couldn't. Valnar was much stronger than he appeared to be. Finally he ceased his struggling, watching closely for a chance, but he didn't stop cursing the newcomer.

"Was that fellow's name Dodson?" he asked at last.

"Why yes," Valnar admitted with surprise. "Then my help was enough to protect this continent. Good!"

"Yeah, 'Good!'" Barlow snarled. "Your 'poor' Dodson protected the American continents, but when he saw that it was so easy, he decided to be a Dictator—only he calls himself, Director." Suddenly Barlow chuckled, "Now Europe is squealing about the 'American Menace.' Don't you think you ought to go over and 'protect' them?"

Valnar released Barlow and stepped back. "But he didn't seem like that sort of a fellow. He was so—so idealistic!"

"Probably because he didn't have anything to be practical about," Barlow sneered. "Now he's got the Mental Ray you said you gave him, and he controls two continents with absolute power—and is thinking of expanding. The only ones in all the Americas who can even think he's wrong are a few like me—ones who for some reason, aren't affected by the ray which orders your thoughts to an approved pattern."

"The dirty heel!" Valnar spat. "I'm going back and kill him. So long!"

"Wait! What good will that do? He's here now, so that proves you didn't kill him. But you caused all this mess; help us free ourselves."

"I can kill him; and I will. I'll create a new branch of the tree—a world where Dodson died right after protecting the Americas."

"But what about this branch!" Barlow shouted as Valnar's hand went to the plaque on his chest. "According to your screwy theory this limb will still be going strong."

Valnar hesitated. "You're right," he admitted, lowering his hand. "We might as well create two new limbs, one right here."

Barlow waited, watching Valnar. Somehow he was impressed by the other. He no longer considered him merely a liar; there was something strange about the newcomer. And the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the Mental Ray had never been explained. Dodson was no scientist, and yet he and no other knew the more complicated parts of the powerful electrical broadcaster that matched the thought waves of the people and heterodyned those he considered undesirable.

"I'll have to acquaint myself with the circumstances," said Valnar.

"Okay, what do you want to know?" Barlow offered.

Valnar looked at him slyly. "It would be much more pleasant to learn from that girl you were with. I always try to make my work pleasant."

Barlow made a wry face. "I'll help you," he repeated, and wondered why he so instantly rejected Valnar's suggestion.

Valnar shrugged. "Oh, all right. If you insist. But she sure lit out of here in a hurry. Where was she headed?"

"She knew I could run faster than she could, and wanted a headstart," Barlow grinned. "She's probably at headquarters now, getting a bunch to help me."

"Let's go to headquarters," said Valnar.

Barlow looked at him sharply, frowning with suspicion. "You promised to help," he reminded.

"Oh, you may be sure that I shall," Valnar assured airily. "Lead on, MacBarlow!"

Barlow grunted and started toward the headquarters that he was never supposed to approach. The organization believed in never establishing a personal trail between the various headquarters, and Barlow was a runner. But he considered that the circumstances warranted disobedience.

"Your education was evidently quite sketchy," he grumbled as he led the way. "Dodson didn't give you your money's worth."

Two blocks from headquarters, Barlow halted suddenly. He was staring at two patrol wagons drawn up in front of the suspiciously unimpressive building that the organization used.

"It's a raid!" he snapped to Valnar.

Two guards came out of the building with a young girl between them. They helped her into the nearest car, even though she fought against it.

"They've got Laurine," Barlow cried, starting forward.

Valnar caught his arm and held him back. "Is that her name?" he asked easily.

Barlow fought to free his arm from Valnar's grasp, but the newcomer was much too strong.

"Come, don't be childish," Valnar reprimanded. "There are too many of them. Don't worry about your friends. We'll free them as soon as possible."

Barlow was undetermined.

"In the meantime, we'll go to see Dodson," Valnar continued.

That settled Barlow's mind. To get near the Director was something that every member of the organization hoped to do. Besides, Laurine and the others would be safe for a while. The "questioning" of the guards always started on a gentle note.

"How will we get to him?" he asked.

"That's up to you," said Valnar. "You get some sort of a conveyance, and I'll construct a small Mental Ray to blackout anyone who tries to stop us."

Barlow took Valnar to the rooms he had engaged and managed to secure the apparatus Valnar declared essential. Luckily it could be made from altered radio parts, the sale of which wasn't restricted. But his own part of the task was harder.

Dodson was one of the first to realize the power of transportation, and held firm control of all its phases. Public conveyances wouldn't serve their purpose because, while Barlow's passports were necessarily in order even though forged, Valnar had none. And no forger was available.

They must steal either an auto or a plane—preferably, a plane. But there was no such thing as a private auto or plane, and the civic conveyances were carefully controlled.

Finally Barlow had to admit defeat and return to his rooms. He went in wearily and sat down. Valnar greeted him cheerfully.

"It's finished," he said, waving to the small assembly on the table.

Barlow peered at it. "I failed," he admitted. "Couldn't steal one anywhere."

"Then we'll get one with this," said Valnar.

Barlow thought of his wearying hours of search and felt like slugging the other. But he knew that Valnar would win any scrimmage, so he regretfully discarded the idea.

"Then we might as well free Laurine and the others before we take off," he suggested.

Valnar's eyes glowed with interest. "Good idea!" he approved. "I was thinking that we'd need help."

The city prison was a grim structure. It contained few people, but those it did swallow were seldom heard of again. Barlow felt a tightening of his muscles as they approached.

Valnar was carrying the ray projector. He walked along confidently, with an unserious buoyancy like that of a person engaged in a game with children. Barlow envied him.

He was well aware of what they were fighting. And the thought that possibly the projector wouldn't work, made him feel hollow. The guards at the entrance stepped forward to bar the way.

Valnar's fingers switched on the projector and he swept it over the two guards. They dropped their rifles and slumped to the stone entranceway. Barlow picked up their rifles, then stared at them. They were sleeping peacefully.

Valnar strode into the building, applied the ray to another man, and entered the warden's office. The warden leaped to his feet angrily.

"We want the prisoners brought in yesterday," Valnar informed.

"Shoot, Perkins!" cried the warden.

Barlow wheeled, rifle ready. A secretary that they hadn't noticed at the other end of the room was leveling a pistol. Barlow moved the rifle swiftly, but Valnar was the swifter and the secretary lay back in his chair and went to sleep.

"The prisoners, please," Valnar insisted.

"I—I can't," said the warden, sitting down weakly.

"You better," Barlow advised.

"They were taken to Washington this morning at the orders of the Director."

Valnar switched on his projector again and the warden fell forward on his desk, snoring. Barlow urged Valnar toward the elevator that would take them to the roof.

"A police plane will do fine," he said. "And they are fast. We've got to get to Washington in a hurry."

"Is that where Dodson is?" Valnar asked as they shot upward while the elevator operator snored peacefully in a corner.

"Yes, and God only knows what he intends to do to Laurine and the others."

The elevator halted at the roof and Barlow faced Valnar. "Can you spread that beam to get everybody up here?" he asked. "Then they won't follow, or radio ahead to have us intercepted."

"Sure thing," Valnar said, motioning for Barlow to open the door.

Barlow pulled the sliding door aside, and Valnar stepped outside with the projector running. He swept the roof quickly and smiled with satisfaction to see the uniformed men fall.

Barlow chose the newest of the planes ready on the roof and helped Valnar inside the cabin. Then he climbed inside himself and found Valnar staring at the controls with offended eyes. He turned to Barlow.

"Can you fly this thing?"

"I was in the Air Guards before they discovered that I was an Unamenable," Barlow answered with a smile. He started the motor, waited until the nearly silent hum of power had reached a constant pitch, then sent the plane into the air.

"Why do you have so many instruments?" Valnar demanded. "Doesn't Dodson know that the acme of science is simplicity—beautiful simplicity? This plane has ten times as many instruments as my time-traveler. It's foolish and confusing."

"I didn't make it," Barlow disclaimed. "But then you got to remember that you've been making errors in your calculations. Maybe you need a few more instruments."

Valnar said nothing. For several minutes he was silent, then when he did speak, the subject was entirely different. "What did you mean—'Unamenable'?"

"That's Dodson's name for those who aren't affected by the Mental Ray. I guess you're one, or you wouldn't be helping me."

Valnar shook his head. "Never heard of it," he declared. "The ray affects me all right, but I only gave Dodson a low-power version of this," he signified the set he had constructed, "and I am able to compensate for the effect."

It was late evening when they sighted the lights of Washington. Barlow sent the plane down over an arterial highway that stretched in the night like a glowing worm. He hovered noiselessly above it until he was sure that there were no cars in sight, then landed.

"Why don't we go on?" Valnar asked.

"Dodson has forbidden planes to fly over Washington, and there are anti-aircraft batteries permanently on duty to enforce the order."

Valnar grumbled, but helped Barlow send the plane into a field near the road, where it would not immediately be seen. They walked into the little suburban town. It took only a short time to find an automobile, but when they started away in it, the owner came running out of a tavern, shrieking for the police. Valnar lifted the projector and removed the man's objections and they sped on toward the White House.

The closer they came to the symbol of government, the more doubtful Barlow became. It had all been too easy. Through years he had been conditioned to a powerful, almost omnipotent government that struck back savagely at the least resistance. And now he was nearing the nervous center of that government in an automobile! Like any government-approved and personally curious tourist. It almost made him feel guilty.

The guards at the entrance of the drive halted them. Valnar lifted the projector confidently and the men slumped to the pavement. Barlow got out and dragged them aside and opened the gates, then sent the car up the drive.

He halted at the entrance at Valnar's direction. Valnar climbed out of the car with Olympian confidence as a pair of guards barred the way and an officer stepped forward to question them.

"Your names, gentlemen?"

Barlow followed Valnar out of the car and watched Valnar thumb the switch of the projector. The beam swept over the three soldiers. And nothing happened. Valnar passed the beam over them again and still nothing resulted. The two at the doorway still barred the way and the officer smiled grimly.

"Your names are unnecessary," he said. "We have been waiting for you." He waved to someone in the darkness.

Barlow turned and saw a full squad with leveled rifles. There was no chance to get the two rifles he had brought with them. There was no chance for any sort of a fight. They were trapped as completely as rats in a wire cage.

Valnar seemed paralyzed. He didn't seem to realize that he had been vulnerable. He made no resistance when the officer took the projector from his hands. He stared at Barlow dazedly.

"The Director will see you," the officer said to Valnar, then turned to look at Barlow. "You must be Barlow," he mused. "Put him with the rest. The Organization will be liquidated tomorrow."

Barlow was escorted to prison by two watchful soldiers. He was silent. The abrupt failure had stunned him, and he knew that it was no use to appeal to his guards. With them Dodson was not a ruler; he was a messiah. The Mental Ray effected that in the common man. They might be pretty decent fellows with wives and families and friends, but on that one point they were adamant and inviolable.

He was quickly booked, then taken down the corridor between the cells. He was thrust into the largest cell, the tank, and heard the door close behind him with dreadful finality.

"Barlow!" came a surprised shout from one of the men in the crowded cell.

Barlow focused his eyes on the face of the man who came forward, and saw that it was the chief of Laurine's group. Then there was a flurry of movement among the captives and a girl ran to his arms. Her face was tear-streaked and her voice unsteady.

"Joel! I hoped that they wouldn't get you." She was crying again, softly, face hidden against his chest.

He stroked her hair slowly. "Don't cry, Laurine," he said dully as he looked around. There were many whom he didn't recognize, but among the half hundred in the cell he recognized all those of Laurine's group that he had met. He looked at the leader questioningly.

"A clean sweep," said the leader. "And not only of our group, but of every one in the country. The prisons are full, overcrowded. We know that nearly every man of our group was captured, and the others report the same for their groups. The Organization is through."

"They must have got lists of members," Barlow mumbled.

"How could they?" the leader demanded. "Nothing like that exists. We never kept any records. No! It was spies. They may even have got into the organization. Laurine tells me of something strange that made her return to headquarters to get help for you. What was it?"

Laurine had ceased her weeping, but she still clung to him. And Barlow felt an inner happiness for her closeness. He held her in his arms while he told the leader all that had happened to him. When he was through he expected them to feel as he did, that the disaster had struck them at the very moment when success seemed within their grasp. But instead they were staring at him pityingly.

"What's the matter?" he asked hesitantly.

Laurine lifted her head from his chest and freed herself of his arms. In her eyes too, there was pity. But there was also anger.

"You fool!" she cried. "That must have been the spy."

Barlow was stricken dumb for a minute. Then he shook his doubts from his mind. "No! Valnar wanted to help us."

The leader pressed his shoulder with a smile, "No, son," he said, shaking his head slowly. "He must have been a spy. That story of time-traveling—" He left the sentence uncompleted and the incompleteness only showed more starkly the absurdity of Valnar's tale.

Barlow felt the strength flow from his body. He felt old, tired. All that they had fought for was gone. This was the world's last chance at freedom. All the Unamenables were gathered together for death and there would be no more differences of opinion. The only opinions in the Americas would be those of Director Dodson. And soon his will would be the only power in the world. In his mind's eye he seemed to see man marching through time in a long hopeless column, never progressing, always regressing, without the yeast of the fighting minority. He turned away from those eyes of his companions, those eyes that told him that he had had the chance to avenge this betrayal and had failed.

Laurine's hand went to his shoulder and rested there lightly to comfort him. He covered her small hand with his own large one. Then she was standing beside him. His arm was over her shoulders and she was smiling up at him.

"Any one of us would have done the same, Joel," she said softly.

He smiled bitterly. "If so, we don't deserve to win. We're too damn dumb!"

She said nothing, but remained quietly at his side. And he became aware now that he was to lose his life, that it could have been much sweeter if he hadn't been so blind. He cursed Valnar under his breath.

But Laurine heard him. "All you missed was a chance to avenge us," she said. "The Organization was already doomed."

The anger and disgust left him and he waited with a quiet acceptance. There seemed to be no hope. But he was determined to wait, and watch.

The morning was a gray, dull-humored thing. There was no cheer in the large cell. They waited silently.

It was still early when guards came into the prison. They marched down the corridor in perfect discipline. Their weapons were well kept and ready.

"Empty the tank, first," commanded the officer.

The door of the large cell opened, but there was no chance to fight or escape. The prisoners filed out, formed ranks, then, surrounded by guards, marched to the prison courtyard.

Barlow and Laurine had managed to stay together and as they left the prison, her hand slipped into his. He thought it possible that she was afraid. But when he looked at her, her shoulders were back and her eyes bright. He pressed her hand.

"Look, Joel," she directed in a whisper when they halted in the courtyard. She nodded her head toward a richly dressed group near the outer entrance.

Joel Barlow looked and saw the well-publicized features of Director Dodson in the middle of the group. And close by the Director was Valnar.

But Valnar was heavily guarded. His clothes were torn and the plaque which he had always worn, was gone. And he had lost his confident bearing.

Their eyes met across the courtyard. Barlow saw Valnar smile, lift his hand in greeting, but he showed no acknowledgement. Valnar's face showed puzzlement.

The prisoners were lined against the wall. The guards withdrew to one side and stood at attention. Director Dodson motioned negligently with one hand, and Valnar and his guard crossed to the prisoners. Valnar was placed with the prisoners and the guard withdrew.

Barlow stared at Valnar. Then he looked down to meet Laurine's eyes.

"They're going to kill him too," he said. "He wasn't a spy."

She didn't answer.

Barlow turned again to Valnar, called to him, "I see you're still with us."

"To the end—maybe it won't be so bitter," Valnar grinned. "Get in there and fight when the time comes."

Barlow had no chance to ask for an explanation. One of the officers with Dodson stepped forward. He carried the projector Valnar had constructed, but it was changed and was mounted on a tripod. The officer trained it on the prisoners and pressed the switch.

Barlow felt a nervous shock that was almost electrical. He stiffened spasmodically. He suddenly felt a hundred times stronger than he had been, and felt a stinging contempt for the sheep around him. Rage welled into his mind like a hot acid burning away all but the desire to fight and kill.

As through a red haze he saw Valnar collapse limply to the ground. But the other prisoners were standing rigidly, faces twisted with hate. He leaped forward.

"Come on, you yellow-bellied cowards! What the hell does it matter if they have all the guns? Maybe we can get a couple of them anyway!"

A hoarse roar of approval came from the throats of those behind him. Laurine was at his side and they were running toward the group of rulers. And behind came the others of the Organization, a blood-hungry, hateful rabble. Unfearful of death and desiring only to tear the flesh of the Director's men from their bodies.

Then a volley from the massed guards struck into them. Barlow felt something strike him on the side. He staggered and almost fell as a burning thread of agony lanced through his body. But the rage upheld him, made him fight on.

Others passed him. Laurine ran ahead. He fell to the ground, then fought his way to his hands and knees and crawled toward Dodson and his subordinates. He saw Laurine leap at the men at the projector. They went to the ground, fighting and kicking in utter disregard of all rules.

The bullets of the guards were dropping men and women all around him. Many struggled up to fight their way onward, but many stayed down.

Barlow reached the projector, grasped the tripod to lift himself up. He saw dimly that Dodson and his officers were clamoring at the gate to be freed from the bloody courtyard, but the portals had been closed to retain the prisoners and now did as well for the Director.

Weakly, Barlow turned the projector around. He had to lean over it to stay up, but he threw its beam over those at the gate. They went down like dead men, slow and easily. Then the guards, then....

The rage was leaving him. Blackness was closing in around his mind. He sagged over the projector, and dragged it to the ground with him.

The blackness around his mind first parted to allow a tiny pricking of pain to dart into his mind. Then, as though the neural dams had broken, agony came. He twisted to escape it, and from far away a voice spoke soothingly.

The agony faded slowly and he became conscious of light. He saw a white-garbed figure near him. The face was pretty and feminine, and in the woman's hand was a hypodermic syringe. His mind cleared slowly and he saw more clearly. He was in a hospital.

He turned and saw Laurine and Valnar standing at the other side of the bed. Laurine's hand was bandaged and her face scratched but otherwise she seemed uninjured. She smiled at him.

"That was close," said Valnar and Barlow looked at him. The strange man had entirely recovered his good humor and confidence. Barlow saw that he was again wearing the plaque.

"Did we all go crazy?" Barlow asked.

"Just a bit more than usual," Valnar grinned. "I got to thinking about what you told me about the Unamenables, and came to the conclusion that the Mental Ray only controlled the average person. Those who varied from the norm, either above or below, were affected differently. To them it was an irritant. Haven't you ever thought it odd that all the Unamenables fought Dodson?

"So when we were captured because the warden reported our visit, I agreed to help Dodson. He had scientists, anyway. They sure blanked the projector that night. Dodson wanted me to make the projector deadly. I did, then Dodson was quite amused when I suggested that he try it out on you Unamenables. But instead of killing you, it aroused you to intense activity. The only thing that went wrong was that Dodson crossed me, and the ray was too strong for me to compensate. I was laid out cold."

"We've won, Joel," Laurine interrupted. "Dodson is dead. And we've released all the members from the prisons, and destroyed the transmitters."

"Yeah," agreed Valnar. "My job here is done, so I'll be getting along. I want to kill Dodson again, this time personally."

Barlow forced Laurine to sit on the edge of the bed. Then held her hand to make sure that she stayed there, and faced Valnar.

"Why don't you stay here?" he asked.

Valnar shook his head. "I got to see about getting home," he said, starting to go. "So long."

"Wait!" called Barlow. "Where are you going this time?" he asked when Valnar halted. "All the way back to the beginning?"

"I've already been there," said Valnar. "That was my first trip. I had a car then, but the elemental chaos ruined it and I was barely able to get away in time."

A sudden thought struck Barlow. He grinned at Valnar.

Valnar frowned and demanded, "Well?"

"Remember your simile of time to a growing tree with a lot of branches?"

Valnar nodded and waited.

"And remember how you said that you were creating new branches every time you stopped?"

"Uh-huh," Valnar grunted impatiently.

"Well, I'll bet you haven't been sliding up and down the branches of that tree at all. You've been leaping from one to another like a monkey. And you weren't in your own past before you started, so you can't be now. You aren't in your own time at all. When you leaped back to elemental chaos, you planted this tree. You're climbing around the wrong tree, fella."

Valnar started, then stared. "I guess I'll stay here for a while after all," he muttered as he turned and went out.

Laurine was watching Barlow. "You were trying to sell him something then," she accused.

"Sure," he admitted easily. "Think of the world-limb we can build if he stays with us." He laughed and drew her face down to his.

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