With Strings Attached

by D. Aviva Rothschild

©1998

*24*
SCALE

~OK, looks like a successful break. Listen, you guys, I got stuff to do, so I can't hang around to watch this time.~ +What sort of stuff?+ ~Oh, one of the deans has some software for me to debug. I also gotta check on Jim Hunter. I've been neglecting him like crazy lately, and even though he's a Free character, I don't like him being too free, you know what I mean? Like, if he took a vow of chastity for some weird reason I'll have to-~ [Jim Hunter? Don't you think what we're doing with our boys takes precedence over a game?] ~Oh, come on, Shag, I'm gonna be spending like five units on Jim and ninety-five on the debugging, so don't get your feathers in a ruffle. Anyway, it's not like you need me to be here all the time. Geez, look at the time. I've gotta get moving. I'll see you guys later.~ ... +No great loss, Shag.+ [I know, but... Varx! What happened to the screen? Why did it go black?] *** C-R-A-C-K! Pitch darkness. Dead silence. Apparently the four were outside. Grass crunched under their feet and tickled them up to their knees. But the air was stagnant, the sky starless; the place was the bare minimum of existence. *** +Unless the instruments have gone completely wacky, they're where they're supposed to be. They're about twenty feet off our original target, but that's within the error tolerance of the machinery. What I can't figure out is where they are in relation to the target. There's absolutely nothing in that area that duplicates those conditions.+ [Shouldn't we pull them out right away?] +I don't want to until we know more about their situation. Anyway, they don't appear to be in any immediate danger. Let's see what develops.+ *** "Are we all here?" Paul's voice floated out of the black. They were. "Right, I'm here, I'm not moving, and no one come near me." Soft pad-pad-pads suggested that the others did Paul one better by moving away from him. "I don't like this," John muttered. He could hear the others well enough, and a few insects scrabbling around in the grass, but nothing more; no wind in the grass, no big rocks for their voices to bounce back from. Except for the feeble humidity in the air, he couldn't sense any water nearby; there was no water table underneath his feet. There wasn't even anything resembling weather in the air, nor would there be any, just an eternal flat warmth. "I don't like this." "Uh..." Ringo said nervously. "Uh, we're in a room. That's not a sky up there, it's a ceiling." The others looked, uselessly. "Bloody high up, then," John said. "Or soundproofed. Don't echo at all." "It's very high," Ringo confirmed. "It looks hundreds of feet high. The walls are so far away I can just barely see them from here. The floor-well, from what I can see, it's just one big flat grassy plain." "Which way is the Vasyn?" asked Paul. "They said it would just be a hundred feet away." "I don't see it around us...." Then Ringo made a little grunt, of pain or surprise. "It looks like it's in a park of some kind. Outdoors, in the sunshine. There are these futuristic-looking houses in the area, but nothin' like what we're in. I can't figure out where we are compared to it." "They said we'd be only a hundred feet away from it," Paul repeated resentfully. "Well, we can't be, unless things change if we start walking." John asked, "George, you have the location bar?" *ping* "Yeah," came George's relieved voice. "Thank God, I thought maybe I was stuck again when I couldn't get me camera in the white place." He moved the location bar around to make the gem glow, but even when he had it at its brightest, its light was feeble and hard to distinguish from the afterimages still scooting across everyone's eyes. "Is that the best we can do for light?" John said in despair. "George, can't you turn into a lamp or somethin'?" "No," George said firmly. "And even if I could, I'd rather bash around in the dark than get stuck like that." "Half a mo here," said Paul. "I might be able to make light. I usually use me light spell to blow up, but maybe I can keep it just at light this time. But you lads better clear out, just in case." They did, post-haste, and when each one announced that he was at a sufficient distance, Paul cast. A cold white light sprang from his body. He monitored it for a few minutes to make sure he had control over it, and then he waved the others back. "It worked!" he enthused, naked and shining like a testament to unshielded nuclear power, especially where he had lots of hair. "How's that, lads?" The others made approving noises, though all they could see was each other and a few feet beyond. Hoping the Vasyn was nearby, they started off towards it. Paul led the way with the location bar flat on his palm, taking tiny steps, his elbows and upper arms clamped to his sides to minimize sudden movements. The others followed off to the sides because, as John put it, "I don't wanna be behind Paul if he farts." They padded along quietly for a while, with Paul concentrating on being careful, Ringo distracted by trying to place them in relation to the Vasyn-piece, and George either just being quiet or (as John suspected) brooding over his ring. But the atmosphere wasn't conducive to conversation anyway. John muttered nonsense to himself and touched the Kansael often, trying to keep at bay his growing impression of being the only one in the universe. Swush-swush-swush through the grass they glided, floating islands whose passage was forgotten the moment the stems stopped waving.... swush-swush-swush, a maddening rhythm underlying their existence.... swush-swush-swush.... Suddenly John couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Oh leave me alone, or I'll tear up your phone, and you'll hear all the cantaloupe pray!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, drowning out the grass and startling the others. "The bellbottoms herd, and encourage the birds, and my eyes are not crowded but gray. BONES, BONES FOR THE STRANGE!" "There's a house!" added Ringo. John was insulted. "There's a house? There's a house instead of what? It doesn't fit anywhere!" "Over there it does." Ringo pointed. "There's a house over there, off to the right. A farm, actually, with a barn." It diverged from the path to the Vasyn, but they were so eager to look at anything besides grass and each other that they went to it without hesitation. The little house, vividly white in Paul's glow and smelling of fresh paint, sat at the apex of several acres of fenced land. A stable held two sleeping horses, and in the barn were several cows and a chicken coop as well as a wagon and plow and other farming implements. The crops, mostly beans and lettuce, were half grown and healthy. Beyond it, Ringo reported, were more farms and a small rural town. "There's also," he said significantly, "two big walls makin' a corner that the town's in. So we've come to the end of the room." "Rather a big room," said Paul. "You know that Star Trek where they live in an asteroid? 'For the world is hollow and I have touched the sky.' Maybe we're in something like that." "Where's the Vasyn, then?" said George. "Maybe it's above ground and we're underneath it." "Right, let's ask," said John. He went up to the door and knocked. Someone stirred in a bed; he pounded harder. A warm yellow light flickered on in an upstairs window, and the silhouette of a human shuffled past. "Let's be careful what we say," Paul cautioned. "If they don't know what they're in, it might be a dreadful shock, or even forbidden." In a few minutes the door opened a crack. A bit of light streamed out and a craggy old male face peered at them blearily. "Yeah? Whaddaya want?" His gaze strayed to Paul's glowing nether regions. "What're you, the newest thing in sex toys?" All at once Paul remembered what he looked like, and he hastily damped his glow and clothed himself in illusion as the others sniggered. "Sorry, forgot, not always like this," he mumbled. Unexpectedly, the old man regarded Paul with some approval. "Magic-user, huh? Good to see the younger generation doin' it. And what in hell are you, chicken?" This to John. "Some kinda genner?" "Bruce," John said automatically. The old man's lip curled. "New ones get stranger alla time. I'm not even gonna ask you about them glasses," he said to Ringo. "Well, c'mon in, day's gonna start soon." Yawning, he threw the door open, giving the four their first good look at him. He was in his sixties or seventies, weather-beaten and hook-nosed, dressed in an old-fashioned nightgown and candy-striped stocking cap. He was bald under the cap and bony about the knees and elbows. The light came from a single flickering oil lamp that he carried. The four looked at one another, silently sharing a feeling that something wasn't quite right here. Awfully brave of the old man to welcome in four peculiar strangers who showed up in the middle of the night. Still, he seemed harmless enough (and if he wasn't, well, they could probably handle him), so John, George, and Ringo trouped in. Paul demurred. "I'd best stay out here, thanks." "Why, 'cause yer embarrassed?" The old man grinned sourly. "I've seen 'em before, sunny." "No!" Paul said quickly. "I mean, it's not that-it's just that I'm, well, a bit clumsy, I wouldn't want to break any of your things." The old man shrugged. "Fine. I'll leave the door open so's you can hear what I tell the other guys." He turned to deal with them. The room they were standing somewhat self-consciously in was crammed with overstuffed furniture and bric-a-brac. It looked entirely Earth-normal, perhaps American colonial/Victorian to go with the man's accent. The only odd thing was the clock over the door to the kitchen. Otherwise normal, it had a black mark at the ten and a yellow mark at the six. It was nearly six now. "Siddown," the old man said, gesturing vaguely. He collapsed into a comfy worn brown armchair. When the three had found themselves seats, the old man announced, "I'm Stoffer Briggs. You ever heard of me?" When they admitted that they hadn't, he scowled and rubbed his eyes and set the lamp down with a clatter on a side table. "And who're you?" They introduced themselves, half expecting him to recognize them, but he just nodded. "You all magic-users, or just sunny out there?" This was one of those things that hadn't seemed quite right: if they were on a spaceship, why was Stoffer talking about magic? Thinking a "wizard" might be someone who used high technology, John said "Sort of. We all do magic, but most of it's not really spells." "Hmph! Don't matter. Won't do you much good." Stoffer produced a lit pipe out of thin air and sucked on it slowly. (So much for John's theory.) He blew a few smoke rings, then snapped his fingers. Four lanterns around the room blazed on. "Anyhoo, welcome to Third." (Aha, thought the four.) "Yer lucky-there's an empty house in town. Needs work, but you'll get it in shape in no time." "We don't plan to stay quite that long," said George. "They never do," agreed Stoffer. "Plan, that is." That comment dug nastily at everyone. "What's that supposed to mean, we're trapped here?" John demanded. "Not in this house you're not, chicken. What would I do with four extra mouths to feed? I'm gonna have enough trouble as it is obeyin' the New Ones' Covenant. I only got one garden, you know. Maybe I can farm you guys out." "What's the New Ones' Covenant?" asked four voices. "Oh, we older Thirders gotta put up any new ones that come around until they get acclimated. Lotta them don't." The old man took his pipe from his mouth and laid it in an ashtray. "Lotta them just go crazy." Three bodies stiffened. "Why?" Stoffer fixed them with a bright, concerned eye. "Now, I don't want you to be scared or nothin', but we ain't outside. We're in a room. A big room. That's why there ain't no stars." Three bodies relaxed. "Oh, that," said George. "We know all about that." The clock chimed six. Dawn abruptly switched on outside: dreary white indoor light. The four were startled, then laughed, and those who needed to, got up and looked out the window at the little town, at the high gray walls that it nestled next to, the gray ceiling-sky far above. Unsettling but fascinating. Apparently Stoffer thought the same of the four. "Don't recollect when I've seen anyone acclimate so fast," he said, scratching his head through the cap. "'Course, I dunno where you come from." He got up and stretched mightily. "Oorg! Looks like you'll be on yer own purty soon. After Arnold comes, I'll introduce you to Amelia, our mayor; she'll set you up in that house I was talkin' about." "Thanks, but we ain't stayin'," said John, turning from the window. "We've got something to pick up outside. You know, in the real world. Is there a door or anything to let us out?" The gaze Stoffer rested on him was incredulous, resigned, and a little sad. "Yeah, there's a stairway in the south wall. Might be kinda hard for you to use... but I guess you'll figure somethin' out." Then he perked up and rubbed his hands together. "Hey, you want breakfast before you go?" He started towards the kitchen. "Eggs 'n mushrooms. Mushrooms grow good around here. I can't gather the new stuff 'til after Arnold comes-if he comes, he don't always-but I got plenty in the icebox." "Sure," said John, licking his lips and following the old man. George came too, but Paul politely declined the offer of a plate brought to him and busied himself with the location bar to establish precisely where the Vasyn lay. Ringo stayed where he was in the living room with his eyes closed, looking around. The kitchen was as stuffed with old things as the living room had been. The stove was a cast iron wood-burner not unlike a Franklin stove. Stoffer fed it only a few logs and a bare minimum of kindling, then snapped his fingers to light it. "Where do you get your wood?" asked George. "We didn't see any trees around here." "You sure didn't!" Stoffer picked his teeth with his fingernail. "There's only a couple inches of soil before you hit concrete. Arnold brings the firewood. He brings everything we can't make or grow ourselves. Like all this antique crap." He waved a deprecating arm at his kitchen gear. "What I wouldn't give for a flash cooker! But we ain't wired for power here." He began to collect breakfast gear, putting a cast iron frying pan on the stove and then rummaging around in the icebox, which was, indeed, an icebox. "What is this place, anyway?" said John. "Is it some kind of spaceship? Is it underground?" The old man froze in the act of removing an egg. He straightened up slowly and looked at John and George in alarm. "I thought you said you knew where you were!" Suddenly, "AAAAAH!" *POP* Stoffer was so startled by the two noises that he squeezed the egg in his hand, and it burst yellow and white over his fingers, and a little red where the eggshell cut into his hand. "Shit, that's Ringo!" George exclaimed, and hurried into the living room. John came tearing out after to find him staring Ringo's empty chair in dismay. "He did it again!" John pushed past him and out the door. "He's in the barn!" he called over his shoulder, and George came running. Paul, approaching cautiously, nodded and followed. "Don't go outside until I'm sure Arnold ain't comin'," called Stoffer, but he was way too late to prevent anyone from going. They found Ringo sitting in a pile of hay, trembling, holding his head. Next to him, the cow chewed its cud, unconcerned. "What happened, what's the matter?" everyone cried. "Stairs," Ringo whispered. Tears trickled from beneath his black glasses. "There's stairs in the wall." "Yeah, so?" John prompted. "Big stairs. Stairs God would come down." Ringo lurched to his feet and took hold of John's arm. "Look!" John connected mentally with Ringo and jerked as if stung. "Bloody hell!" "What, what?" clamored George and Paul. By way of answer John touched them, and two more exclamations shook the barn. The village wasn't in a spaceship. It wasn't underground. It was in someone's basement. On the floor. * Stoffer sat them at his kitchen table (except for Paul, who stood outside, staring into the kitchen window) and poured them the fieriest liquor they'd ever tasted. "It's called Brainburner," he said as they choked it down. "Same stuff I drank when I first got here. We all did. Uh-uh, no more." He put the jug back in the cupboard. "One cup'll keep you two days. 'Sides, I don't got much more." He pulled up a chair and conjured up a steaming mug of coffee, which he sipped. "I thought you already knew where we were." "We thought we were on a spaceship," said George, coughing from the liquor. "Naw!" the old man scoffed. "We're in Arnold's science project." *** +How about that, huh? Remind you of anyone, Shag?+ [Be quiet, Varx. I wish we'd known about this little problem of scale sooner.] +We couldn't have done anything about it anyway.+ *** They stared at him. "Well, we don't know his real name, so we call him Arnold. He's eleven or so," Stoffer added. They stared at him. "Won third prize with us last year. Liked his project so much he decided to keep addin' to it. His folks let him take over the whole basement." Stoffer sighed. "It's a big improvement over the fish tank we used to be in, 'cept the soil ain't as deep." "You mean this kid is that big?" John squeaked. "Yep." "This is crazy," said Paul. He hadn't had any Brainburner, but he was quite calm. "Why don't you leave? You're not in a box, you've got the stairs-" "And go where? None of us got any way back to humanspace. Believe me, sunny, some of us tried. Never saw 'em again. Maybe they got home, but I wouldn't put money on it. There's rumors of a cat up there. So don't go riskin' yer lives for nothin'. It ain't so bad here." Stoffer knocked on the table. "Never gets cold, crops grow good, no responsibilities 'cept to yourself, no wild animals or nothin'. Kinda boring, I guess, if you're from one of the urban planets, but me, I'm rural." "But we've got a way out," Paul said. "We're on a mission. Once we get what we've come for, we'll be sent home." Stoffer's eyes narrowed. "You sure?" "Yeah." Paul detailed the arrangement. Suddenly George stiffened. He leaned forward over the table, knocking his empty cup over as he asked Stoffer, "Are we shrunk? Or is everything big?" "We can't tell," replied Stoffer. "Don't matter much, does it?" "Yes!" George had a wild look in his eye. "What if we're shrunk and the Vasyn's still big? How're we gonna pick it up? What if we're still shrunk when we get back to C'hou? If we get back?" The mood around the table, never so bright to begin with, took a nose-dive through the floor. "Oh, I wish you hadn't said that," muttered John, putting his head in his hands. "Let's not jump to conclusions," cautioned Paul through the window. He turned to Ringo, who had not said a word for the last fifteen minutes and was still pale under his dark glasses. "Ring, can you tell if - " All the life jumped back into Ringo's face. "No!" he barked. "I'm not lookin' out there!" No amount of pleading or reasoning could change his mind, and Paul had to give up that idea. He sighed. "Look, whether it's big and we're small or not, there's nothing we can do about it, so we'll just have to go after it and cross bridges as we get to them." "Right, have fun, drop us a line when you find it," said John, folding his arms. Paul was thunderstruck. "What, you're staying here?" "I'm not goin' out there." "You're not staying here!" "Watch me." Paul suffered a flash of déjà vu. Hadn't he gone through this scene with John before? "George? Ringo?" he pleaded, but George just gazed bleakly at him, and Ringo wouldn't even turn his head in Paul's direction. "I'll go with ya," said Stoffer. Paul turned a surprised, grateful glance on the old man. "But I thought you liked it here, with the good crops and so on." "Sunny, I shit because I gotta, and sometimes it feels good, but if I could give it up I would. Sure I wouldn't risk the Outside World for nothin', but if you got a guaranteed way home it's worth a try." "Not to your home, just ours. And it's not even our home, really." "I'd sooner live there than here." "But it's dangerous out there!" said John, embarrassed at being shown up by a man twice his age. "You said there's a cat, and - " "Listen, chicken," Stoffer said, "the risk's worth it. I'm sick of bein' a mouse. 'Sides, I can protect myself. Hogtie that chicken!" Suddenly John fell off his chair, trussed up like a calf with his ankles and wrists tied together. While he swore and struggled, the old man cackled. "You never heard of Stoffer Briggs the Farming Wizard, but he exists anyway." "Good enough," said Paul, the trace of a superior smile on his face. He reached through the window and let Stoffer shake his hand. "We're singing a duet." * Of course the others weren't really going to settle in Third, and by the end of the hearty breakfast that Stoffer made for them, they more or less felt ready to tackle the "big world." Stoffer's enthusiasm for freedom he'd long written off was helpful; he danced around the kitchen cracking eggs and slicing mushrooms, sang off-key, and even made the three smile when he dropped an egg on the floor and made the mess turn back into a whole egg before he threw it away. By the time they finished breakfast, it was past 8:00, and Stoffer pronounced it safe to go outside, as Arnold never came after 7:30. The old man threw on his overalls, saddled up one of the horses, and rode into town to find someone to take his farm. While the four waited for him, they stared at the two gray cellar walls. "How can they stand being so close to them?" George murmured. Not that he hadn't been tiny on occasion, but never in his own body, or with such a feeling of helplessness and impotence. (However, something interesting occurred to him, but he didn't say anything. He couldn't act on it until they left the town anyway.) "Be harder to accidentally get stepped on, I suppose," said John. Stoffer soon returned with a middle-aged woman sitting behind him on the horse. Her bland expression imperfectly hid her excitement at her windfall. "All set," Stoffer said cheerfully. "I tried to get some more folks to come along, but they didn't wanna. Sure you don't wanna come, 'Melia?" Amelia shook her head. "See? Cowards, alla them." He slid off the horse. "Gimme a minute, I wanna get some food and other stuff." He went into the house and emerged a few minutes later with a small knapsack, which he shrugged into. Then he went into the barn and kissed the noses of the cows. "Now, you give 'Melia as much milk as you gave me, hear?" He petted each of the chickens, exhorting them to lay well for their new owner. Finally he hugged and kissed the horses. There was a tear in his eye as he turned from them. "I was gonna breed Millie. I'll never see her foal... oh, well. Come on, that way." He pointed away from the corner walls. They plodded off. Amelia watched stoically from the front yard. But John heard her say when she thought they were out of range, "So what if they have a way to their world. They'll die before they can use it." "Great," John said through gritted teeth. "Just great." * A bit later, a fair distance from the village.... "I don't wanna watch this," muttered John, turning his back. "He can't really, can he?" Stoffer asked everyone. "I knew you guys had magic, but there ain't magic that powerful, is there?" "I hope not," Paul said softly. Ringo just braced himself, looking only with his eyes at the tiny figure of George far away in the grass.... *PING!* The sound rattled their teeth; the shadow almost stopped their hearts. *** +Whoa, power spike!+ *** Before them stood ten wiggling peach boulders topped with whitish-clear Plexiglas; two were almost as tall as Paul and John. These were attached to two arched platforms, which in turn supported two vast columns riddled with finger-sized holes and flexible branches and irregular white tiles peeling off. Three obscene asteroids clustered within a thin cloud. "WELL, THAT WORKED!" thundered happily across the sky. The impossible bulk knelt, and ten wrinkled pink logs tipped with white supported thinner holed and branched columns. A giant cavern yawned in the moon of George's face: "HELLO DOWN THERE!" But the stiff little figures, frozen in place or sitting on the grass blinking, did not reply. * Well, can't really blame them, George thought. I hope they're okay. Feeling useful at last, he looked around. The floor of the basement was covered in dirt and very fine grass. There were four villages in all, hugging the corners like mushrooms. Flat panels in the ceiling lit the room. A couple of small, dirty windows allowed almost no sunlight in. Though he'd grown roughly 400 feet (assuming he'd been normal size to start with), it took another glimpse of his dust-speck friends to remind him of his size. Being properly proportioned to the room, he didn't feel at all large or strong. He was, however, naked. The ring changed only him, not his clothing. "Squeak!" Life below. Two tiny, tiny faces peered up at him; John and a very impressed Stoffer. "Are the others okay?" George asked. John clapped his hands over his ears. "Squeak!" he yelled. "Sorry," George whispered. John frantically waved at him to shut up. Defeated, George sat his bare bottom on the grassy dirt. How would they communicate? Then John approached tentatively, like a shy fairy. Guessing what was up, George held his foot still for John to touch. Does this work? rang clearly in George's mind. Splendidly, answered George with great relief. He couldn't believe such a loud thought came from that morsel of life. I heard that-piss off! A wash of horror accompanied the oath. This is hard enough without you reminding me! Sorry. Are the others all right? Ringo's fine, better than me, said you look normal in his head. I dunno about Paul. Stoff said you'd better look like a native, they're prejudiced against humans. John transmitted the physical characteristics: humanoid, brown skin, curly black hair, pointed ears, slanted eyes-and jumped back when *ping* George became himself with those features. "Squeak!" John came back. That's Paul, he's alive. Come on, pick us the fuck up and let's get this over with, all right? He sounded a step away from either crying or bursting into hysterical laughter. Fuck, you're big. And you smell dreadful. "Squeak!" he shouted at the others, gesturing. George laid his hand palm up on the ground. They came, Stoffer a bald gnome, Paul aiming straight for the raft of hand and not looking up, Ringo shuffling forward. They sat down on his palm like trained beetles-George wished he hadn't thought of that, especially since John overheard it (overthought it?) and pounded on his hand. Slowly he lifted them to his head. Top floor, hair oils, wigs, dandruff, he thought at John, but John didn't think he was funny. Then George stood up, vainly trying to keep his head still. Terrified squeaks accompanied each tilt of his skull; he felt them weighing down his hair, clinging to it for dear life. John gave him the dubious benefit of a running commentary: Fuck, it's slippery up here! Watch out, goddamn it! Jesus fucking Christ, be careful! When George was finally up and his passengers had settled down, he decided to find some clothes before emerging into the world. Those up top, already well oiled and rope-burned, heartily agreed; they wanted to be put in a pocket. But the basement held nothing but Third. Hoping someone his size had sired Arnold, George carefully mounted the stairs. The others bounced around, but he couldn't help that. He tried the door, but it was chain-locked on the other side to confound people who broke into the basement. I don't believe this! he thought, poking at the chain through the small crack he could open in the door. This stupid little ordinary thing's got me trapped! And he couldn't become something small enough to fit through the crack with the others on his head. I'll have to put you down, he told John. "Squeak!" Ringo's gonna try to open it first, John informed him. Shhhh-click! The chain rattled against the door. So much for bigness, John thought dryly, more relaxed than before; to know the small set could still affect that huge world was an enormous psychological lift. Feeling ordinary, George opened the door and peeked out. Directly ahead was a living room that the Jetsons had decorated. The furniture was soft and boneless; the prevailing colors were silver and white. A milky cube with knobs on top hung in the center of the room. But it was strangely homey, thanks to magazines and nutshells scattered around a chair, and a pile of socks on the cornerless silver coffee table-the lived-in look. The smell of clean clothes led George to a laundry room nearby. The washer and dryer were rounded at the corners, but otherwise Earthlike; apparently some designs were universal. Men's clothing hung from a triple laundry line spanning the walls. George transferred the others from his head to the top of the dryer, then started to dress. As he was pulling on a white shirt, he heard the others squeak and bang on the dryer. The cat! flashed through George's mind. He yanked the shirt down over his face. Suddenly the door across from the laundry room opened and in stepped a chubby brown woman wearing what looked like a red jogging outfit and headphones attached by wire to the fanny pack that spanned her waist. In her right hand she carried mail, including a letter she'd been reading. Music tinkled unnoticed from her headphones as she and George gaped at each other for a second. Then her mouth opened and "EEEEEEEEEEE!" She threw the handful of mail at George, who ducked under the barrage. "RAPE! FIRE! HELP, HELP! MURDER!" "No, no! I won't hurt you! I'm not a rapist!" George babbled, retreating among the hanging laundry. "Please, ma'am, I'm-I don't want your money!" For she was digging desperately in her purse. "I just-" "TAKE THAT!" she screamed, yanking out a tube and spritzing George in the eyes. Oh, it burned! He couldn't see, he couldn't think! Rubbing and flailing and yelling, he blundered into a wicker basket full of dirty towels, knocked it over, then grabbed at the hanging clothes, which gave way. He crashed painfully to the floor on his knees, eyes watering madly, thump! Something heavy connected with his head. "Stop!" he cried, feebly trying to block the blows. "How dare you!" the woman yelled. Thump! Thump! George glimpsed the solar system spinning, spinning... blackness. * Meanwhile, everyone else ran like hell for the only place to hide on the plain of the empty dryer: behind a box of powdered detergent, which had such an intense odor that Ringo almost passed out before John covered him with his water aura. The smell didn't bother John as much as the noise; he'd flung the aura up to save his sensitive eardrums from shattering. Stoffer, that tough old man, crouched down with his hands over his ears, muttered "New-mown Hay." The smell vanished around him. Paul, bothered by nothing, turned himself invisible and sat in otherwise plain sight, feeling like a spectator on Mount Olympus, or, more prosaically, a patron in the world's largest movie theatre. The massive brown shape stroked the giant Walkman she'd hammered George's head with. She shivered all over, thundered thanks to the sky. Then she left the room, slamming the door. A monstrous scrape and thump; she'd jammed a chair under the doorknob. The laundry room was very quiet. "Paul," John called, "are you here?" Paul went visible and illusion-clothed. "Is he alive?" "Yeah, I can hear his heartbeat. I can also hear that woman callin' the cops. Come on, we've got to wake him up and get him to change." They all hurried to the edge of the dryer and stared down at the unconscious hulk of their friend, enormous even at that distance. "How're we gonna get down?" Ringo said weakly, still nauseated by the smell of detergent. He couldn't look down with his eyes, much less his head; he had to retreat and sit. "I think I can drop down safely... can't you levitate?" Paul asked. Ringo shook his head. "It's too far even if I felt okay." Stoffer checked his knapsack, but found nothing useful. "Why don't you carry us, chicken?" he asked John. "That is, assumin' you can use them things." "I can, but I can't even carry groceries and still fly," John said. He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "Ice," he said. "I'll make an ice ladder." "All the way down there?" The old man looked at the long, long drop. "Sorry, chicken, I ain't that strong." "Not that kind," John said, cheerful with innovation. "Don't go away." He dove off the side and spiraled down, while the others wondered what he had in mind. He was a speck when he landed, then a sparkling speck, then a larger sparkling speck as he rose toward them on a pillar of ice. Stoffer was awed. "If we Thirders'd had this much magic... Hey, chicken!" he yelled down. "That's no ladder!" "So sue me!" John shouted up, arms outstretched, fingers sprinkling icy sparks that fed the growing tower beneath him. A few more minutes and he reached their level, panting and proud. "I remembered this from a comic book I saw once. All aboard!" The others got on gingerly, but the surface wasn't wet or slick, just cold. "Sit, this could be bumpy," John advised them. He sat cross-legged, his hands palms down on the ice. "Right, all set? Here we go!" With a lurch the tower began to sink. "This isn't as hard as it was comin' up," he said jauntily. "I don't have to pull any water out of the air, just keep us steady and the rest of the tower from crackin' while I melt it." But he was still quite tired when the last of the ice dissolved under them, and had to catch his breath. They were ankle deep in rapidly receding water-there was a drain in the center of the floor-and the terrain was full of adventure: tall hills of shirts, log-sized wooden hangers, a vast wicker cave with terrycloth darkness, and brown Mt. George folded up against the washer. "Come on, John," urged Paul, "let's you and I - " "Sh!" John waved at him to be quiet and cocked his head, listening. "Oh shit, somethin' just pulled up outside! The cops are here!" George groaned and lifted his rumpled head. He groped for a damp shirt and began to rub his eyes. Immediately they started yelling "George! Change!" but he just looked at them blearily and went back to rubbing his eyes. "There's only one way into that thick head of his," growled John. "Dammit, I could do it from here if he'd woken when there was water on the floor! Now I'm too tired to fill it up again. Everyone stay back, he might kick or something." Snapping up his water aura, John ran to George, praying a limb wouldn't jerk in his direction. Arriving at George's left leg, he caught hold of stiff black branch-hairs and swung himself up, touched his strings to George's. A wave of disorientation, stinging eyes, and dull throbbing pain washed over him; he fought to separate it from his own feelings, thinking urgently George! George! This is John, can you hear me? Change to something else quick! The cops are coming! Owww... that hurts, came weakly back. Shut up... Change, just change! Hurry, they're at the front door! ... who? John danced on George in agony. The cops! They'll take you away, would you bloody change! ... into what? A menagerie of fuzzy images formed and dissolved in George's head. Oh Christ, anything! No, not Christ! John amended hurriedly as the likeness of that man began to take shape. The cops clomped towards the laundry room... A cat! Turn into a cat! John desperately pictured one of his own cats, the one named Jesus, and shoved the image into George's mind, yelling Become that! Become that! Be - *PING!* A mass of weird sensations passed through John's mind and under his hands. In a second he was George, nothing, a cat, and John again, clinging like a burr to a carpet of black fur. That feels better, George thought in relief. A disoriented John couldn't agree- Footsteps! Startled, George sprang back. John lost his grip and was tossed into a pile of wet shirts as the door flew open. "FREEZE!" A Statue of Liberty-sized brown man in a red uniform aimed a strange gun at the floor. He checked only a little at the sight of the black cat nervously swishing its tail. "OH, YOU'RE ON CHANGE-O," the cop said, finger tightening on the trigger. "IT WON'T DO YOU ANY-" Yowling, George rocketed between the cop's legs. The gun sizzled; a beam of light struck the floor where George had been. "GET THAT CAT, THAT'S HIM!" shouted the cop, backing out of the doorway. "HE'S ON CHANGE-O PILLS, GET HIM BEFORE HE TURNS INTO SOMETHING ELSE!" John scampered across the acres of shirts to the fallen wicker basket. The gun blast tingled even through his water aura; then he was burrowing madly among the towels. * Even after the action had moved upstairs John waited a long time before he dug himself out of the towels (which were soaking up his aura). He climbed a soft hill to survey the landscape for the others. Had they gotten out of the way in time? Had the gun blast reached them? "John!" They waved from the alley between the washer and dryer. They met in the middle, Paul asking "You okay? You took a nasty fall." "Nah, water absorbed it. You lads all right?" "Yeah. Ring says George is upstairs under a bed. What-" Overhead a toilet flushed. The laundry room roared like a waterfall. They held their ears until it quieted. "What d'ye wanna do?" Paul continued. John stiffened. "I think we shouldn't make any sudden moves." A poodle stood in the doorway. A poodle the size of a dinosaur. If the toilet hadn't flushed John would have heard it coming, for its toenails clicked on the tile floor. SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF. The dandelion-puff tail bobbed energetically at its mistress's scent. GRRRRRRR at a place George had rested as a cat. Then it saw the morsels in front of it. Go away, urged four minds. Nice puppy, go away. "URR?" it wondered, trotting over to inspect them more closely. It wafted towards them a smell of clean washed dog. It put its nose almost on top of them, and SNIFF SNIFF SNIFF with its mouth slightly open - "Beat it, dog!" yelled John, hosing its nose with cold water. "YIP!" The poodle backed up a step and sneezed, splattering everyone with disgusting goop. John followed it, still squirting. Paul jumped over to a shirt and tore off the nearest button. He frisbeed it at the dog's woolly chest, shouting "G'wan, get out of here! Go home!" The button bounced off the dog with some force. "YIP!" "Paul, it already is home!" John snapped, switching from cold to hot water and spreading the flow to cover a wider portion of the dog's face. Second and third buttons tagged it on its left foreleg and chest again. Meanwhile, Stoffer fumbled in his knapsack, pulling things out and dropping them back in, muttering "Nope-nope-too slow-where is it?" And Ringo, clinging to John, thought at its fur, ears, whiskers, trying to tug it out of the room. Sprayed on one side, buttoned on another, jerked painfully about the ears, the poodle backed up further, whining in confusion. This made the three, especially Paul, feel terribly guilty; none of them wanted to hurt it; but the prospect of being appetizers on the hoof steeled them. Finally the animal's pea brain blinked No more! and it turned and fled, yapping. At the same time Stoffer pulled out a handful of feathers, announcing "Here they-oh, shoot. Sorry I didn't help, fellas." They assured him they didn't mind; they grinned at each other, feeling extremely competent. *** ~Oh, yeah, big strong guys, beat up on a poodle.~ [Be quiet.] *** But that was the extent of their congratulations, for the laundry room was funneling trouble down to them and they didn't want any more, thank you. Time to rendezvous with George- Except that when Ringo looked, he couldn't see him. He'd changed. So they hid and waited, and ate-the toilet flushed-and talked-Stoffer conjured up a checkers set and beat John-the toilet flushed-Ringo watched carefully for any signs of George, but the only thing he could report besides the cops' frustration was that one of them had diarrhea. John could hear him grunting and groaning upstairs. They traded origins with Stoffer. The old man had lived on Garden, a farming world that imported technology from more industrial worlds. Magic, once common within humanspace and the primary reason humans had been able to leave their home planet of Home (Earth had no place in this universe), was being supplanted by more efficient sciences developed within the last century. Stoffer was hardly the last wizard, but enrollment in magic schools had been falling for years. A wizard of some fame, he'd been on the lecture circuit talking about new spells for crossbreeding plants when half the population was scooped up by the big people, natives of the planet Dandond, a year and a half ago. The Dandonders were a secretive and extremely ethnocentric race on the fringe of the human worlds. Too paranoid to deal with aliens, they never allowed them onto their planets-at least not as equals. The human government knew well how many people had been kidnapped for research, fun, and even food, but after a year and a half there hadn't been so much as a hint of rescue. "'Course, we Thirders don't have no way to find out if a warfleet attacked," Stoffer said, puffing on one of his conjured pipes. "But I think the Confederation's too scared to even-" "Well, that ain't hard to understand," said John, his mouth full of carrot. "I mean, a human-sized spaceship against one of theirs...?" "Lemme finish, chicken. Nobody knows whether this giant stuff is real or just a shrinking trick. See, humanoid lifeforms that big shouldn't be possible. But no one's ever seen 'em in the flesh offplanet, just on comm screens or like now when we have no way to tell. Shit, chicken, no one even knew they had spaceships 'til they raped Garden, and we didn't see 'em comin'-everyone just fell over and woke up in big boxes. So we could just be shrunk and the whole Confederation diddled." They waited-the cops finished tearing apart one bedroom and started on another-the toilet flushed. They waited.... * CLOMP - CLOMP - CLOMP The checkerboard on John's knees fell off and scattered little disks across the floor. "Cheese Whiz, the cops!" Paul turned invisible and stood in between the washer and dryer. The others raced for the space behind the dryer; this was really small, just big enough for them to slide into and still breathe. Once it had been full of dirt and spilled detergent, but John had scoured it out for just such an emergency. Ringo watched and John shared. He also covered the side of the dryer with a thin strip of ice, which Paul touched so he could be in the link. However, John wouldn't include Stoffer in the link. Friend he might be, but he was not one of them. Stoffer seemed to understand this and didn't protest when John apologetically refused. In came the cop with diarrhea, a fat fellow missing the point on his right ear. He entered the laundry room with great care, watching the floor; once in, he closed the door slightly behind him. He scanned the top of the washer and dryer thoroughly, then got to his knees, again placing himself very carefully so his legs didn't rest on any fallen clothing. Then he started to hum. WHAT'S HE DOING? asked Ringo. Paul was just as mystified. Looks like he's praying. No he's not! John exclaimed. Listen! What's that song? HERE COMES THE SUN! the other two chorused. They piled out of the crack and ran to meet George-the-cop. * So how'd you do it? John asked eagerly. They were gliding away from the house in a sleek police hovercar, all curves and aerodynamics, and one of the simplest vehicles to drive George had ever seen. It even corrected his course when he accidentally drove on the left side of the road instead of the right. Everyone was on the dash admiring the futuristic suburban landscape-space-age houses in circles around neat little parks, velvet lawns, round swimming pools, etc.-except John, who perched on George's head. It wasn't easy, George said proudly. He was his Dandonder self-the fat cop's body had been extremely uncomfortable. The red uniform hung on him like a deflated balloon. I turned into a mouse so they wouldn't find me, but their voices were too low for me to hear, so I turned into a bird our size and flew past them into the closet. I was scared to try getting back downstairs. If I stayed small I'd get lost coming down, and I was afraid to get bigger and pick you lads up, because they'd catch me. So I figured the only way to sneak past them was to be one of them. Which meant getting rid of one of them. You killed him? John demanded, shocked. Clam up, Lennon, let me finish. Anyway, I had to get one of them alone. Then the one cop got the runs. After he got out the third time I snuck in the toilet-not the bowl, you know what I mean-and waited. God, did it stink! When the poor sod came back and sat down, I changed to myself, grabbed his gun, and shot him. Don't worry, it's a stun gun. I heard them talk about it. After that it's a bit obvious, I think. George slumped down as another car passed from the opposite direction. We're lucky he had the keys, John said. This beats walking. Yeah. This is a great car, I wish I could take it home. However, after passing a few more houses, George pulled over to a curb and pushed the OFF button. The car settled to the ground. Those on the dash squeaked curiously. Tell them I don't want to drive around more than necessary. A stolen panda car is the easiest thing in the world to spot. Besides, I want you to get a fix on the Vasyn. Good idea. John squeaked at the others, then pulled the location bar from his food pouch (Paul, lacking pockets and wanting to keep his hands free, had given it to him for safekeeping). George felt him walking around up top. Right, it's back and to the right-your left. Off we go, then. George pressed the ON button. The car rose-and rose and rose, until it hovered a hundred giant-feet in the air, far higher than the foot or two it normally traveled over the ground. What're you doing? John asked. This high, everyone can see us! George wanted to know too, since he hadn't touched anything different. He played with the controls, but nothing happened. Suddenly the radio (which he'd turned off) snapped on and a female voice announced: "ATTENTION MALEFACTOR IN PATROL VEHICLE 1109-PH! THIS IS SPECIAL OFFICER MORA GALDAN. I HAVE TAKEN CONTROL OF YOUR VEHICLE. IT WILL NOW PROCEED DIRECTLY TO POLICE STATION PH. DO NOT TRY TO LEAVE THE VEHICLE OR INTERFERE WITH ITS OPERATION. EITHER WILL CAUSE IT TO SELF-DESTRUCT. FOR YOUR SAFETY, I WILL NOW ADMINISTER A KNOCKOUT GAS." Hiss... a greenish mist spurted from an air-conditioning vent. Don't panic, John reassured George. I think I can handle this. Just pick up the others and put them up here with me. The air around George began to sparkle. Too late, I'm going, he thought miserably, but after a few seconds he realized his mind was as clear as ever. John had enveloped his head with his water aura, spread extremely thin and useless for preventing objects from entering (like George's hand) but coherent enough to keep the nasty green stuff out. George collected the others, who didn't need the help; Paul, as usual, wasn't affected, and Stoffer's New-mown Hay spell cast twice protected the other two. But they had to be able to communicate. The gas soon dissipated, since the air in the sealed car kept recycling. But the vehicle poked along like a tour bus. Officer Galdan was considerate enough not to subject the malefactor's helpless body to sudden jerks; no doubt she could be sued if he was hurt. I wonder if I was set up, George thought gloomily, watching the houses creep by. What should we do? Break a window and fly out, Paul said through John, who was touching everyone to facilitate discussion. He even allowed Stoffer into the link this time. She said the car would blow up, remember? I'd rather take my chances with the cops. That ain't a good idea, cat, said Stoffer. He gave George a quick profile of the Dandonders. If they find out you're an alien their size they'll kill you out of xenophobia. That's fear of aliens. Lovely. Why don't I just - OH MY GOD! Ringo's mental voice cut through the conversation. He started jumping up and down on George's head. LOOK ON THE FLOOR OF THE BACK SEAT! John fed the picture to everyone: a cage, a giant-foot square or so, with a tiny padded seat and microscopic seatbelts. They wouldn't put seats in for humans, would they, Stof? Paul asked happily. I doubt it, the old man said in a hushed mental tone. Even Arnold steps on humans he don't like. We must be shrunk! John cried, echoing what everyone else had on the tips of their brains. If they shrink their own people, we must be shrunk too! George tried to think to himself, Or they shrink them down to human size, but of course everyone overheard him. Mental balloons deflated all around. On the other hand, he hastened to add, if they've got the technology there's no reason to think they're also bigger. Well, at least we've got a chance! Paul said, ever the optimist. The cops can't possibly just go and shrink someone without expecting to enlarge them again. (Actually they could, but no one wanted to entertain that hideous possibility.) What if a cop was accidentally shrunk? There must be an enlarger somewhere. George promptly pulled out the gun, which he'd never really looked at. On it was a small sliding nerve with four settings marked with symbols: < > O and O*. Currently the gun was set on O, which he knew was the stun function. Probably the O* was nothing they wanted to mess with, and the triangles made more sense anyway; but they split on which one meant target growth. Either < meant moving from small to large like the shape of the symbol (the four), or it meant "less than" (Stoffer) as the mathematical symbol. Try it on me, it can't do much if we're wrong, Paul volunteered. He leaped like a flea off George's head and bounced a few times on the seat. "Squeak!" He says whenever you're ready, translated John. Eh, are you all right? No; the force of Paul's launch had joggled George's skull. But his dizziness passed quickly, and he set the gun on <. However, after a moment's reflection he switched it to >; Stoffer's argument had the force of science. He aimed and shot. BAMF! The rush of displaced air sent small people tumbling across George's scalp. "Thanks," said Paul, looking down at himself happily. "I needed that." *** [Now wait a second here! They really were shrunk? HOW DID THEY GET SHRUNK?] *** The radio crackled. "What was that?" Officer Mora Galdan demanded. "You're awake? The gas wore off!" George put a finger to his lips as the others picked themselves up. He tried turning the radio off, but nothing happened. Having priorities, he motioned at Paul to scooch over, then set Stoffer on the seat between them. BAMF! "What are you doing?" She was angry, official-and frightened? "Are you enlarging people?" Hiss... More gas seeped into the car. "New-mown Hay!" Stoffer chanted, laughing and crying at the same time. "New-mown Hay! NEW-MOWN HAY!" And all the green gas wobbled and vanished. "Listen, you bitch-and-a-half!" he screamed at the radio. "You can't get away with this! I'll fight you mmph!" George had clapped a hand on his mouth. Paul pulled him with exquisite gentleness into his lap (struggling and biting to no effect) and George took Ringo down. BAMF! "I want you to tell me," Officer Galdan said in a shaky voice, "that you aren't enlarging humans. That's the crime of a madman and a traitor, and it carries the most extreme punishment on Dandond. Tell me you're not, tell me!" They heard excited conversation behind her. They could guess the nature of that punishment. "I'm not," Paul said in an approximation of the Dandond accent, while Ringo crawled into George's lap and John flew down and landed on the seat. Final BAMF! "Then who are you enlarging? Who, who?" "He's lying!" they heard a stern male voice announce. "I give you permission to deal extremely with this potential threat! Blow up the car!" John grabbed Stoffer and Ringo's arms, and the three disappeared behind his water aura- KA-BLAMMM! *** +Shag, kindly extract your claws from my arm.+ *** Bits and pieces of the car, some flaming, showered down on the road and houses below. Paul landed on his feet in time to see a large chunk of metal crash into the road. Passersby, some injured, were scattering in all directions. "Those bastards, those paranoid bastards!" he yelled, terrified for the others. He himself was fine, even better than fine-he felt full of energy, as if he'd absorbed some of the explosion-but had John's water aura been enough to protect three people? What about George? Paul's frantic gaze fell on the chunk of metal. It seemed to be a statue of some sort *ping* "Ow, that's hot!" cried George, scrambling up from the street. He brushed off the uniform, looked down at his body, looked around at the car shards, and chuckled nervously. "Glad that worked." "Not bad," called Paul, sagging with relief. "That was better than not bad," George retorted, unsmiling but clearly happy. He held up his left hand and displayed his ring to Paul. "I think it's reliable. Right, where are the others? I think they vanished just before the car blew up, but it was hard to tell." They found them climbing over a fence from a back yard, unhurt but shaken and excited. Stoffer and Ringo looked as if they'd been wetted and dried. John hopped up and down. "God bless Ringo's escape clause, I didn't know if we'd survive just with me, he popped us into a swimmin' pool when the car blew, I can't believe we survived that!" "I wish I could do it when I wanted, so it wouldn't rattle me so much," Ringo added. "I let go of John and almost drowned." "You did not, I wouldn't have let you!" John laughed, spreading his arms and wings. "Fuck, we're powerful! We are so fucking powerful!" No one could disagree.... Meanwhile, Stoffer stood by himself, looking not at the wreckage but at the world, finally his size, and at the Dandonders who had crept back to rubberneck. Seen properly, they were a small, frail people, and he whooped and yelled at them "We got you now! You're nothin' but a pack of scared dogs! Once I get back to humanspace, you're dead! We'll wipe you out like we did potato blight on Garden!" He scooped up stones and hurled them at the aliens, who fled, howling. "Your lousy shrinkers can't do nothin' against a fleet of Confederation battleships!" He could have ranted like that all day, but was interrupted by a horse dipping its muzzle in front of his face-George, of course, with Ringo clinging to his neck. "Can't get much done just standin' about!" John sang, grabbing the surprised old man and swinging him up behind Ringo. "We've got a statue to liberty!" * "I don't believe it," declared Paul. "We are such idiots!" laughed John. Ringo slapped his forehead. "Why didn't I look when we left the house?" "If we'd just gotten right to it instead of gettin' me dressed..." George plucked the sleeve of the baggy red uniform. "Yeah, but look what we learned because we didn't," Stoffer said. In lieu of a backyard, the back of the house they'd been in opened onto a small round park ringed by a dozen other houses. The Vasyn-piece had been planted in the park as an ivy-climb. It wasn't as big as the first piece, being only about ten feet tall. All around sirens approached, hot on their trail. Were they worried? "Anyone up to rescuing a few more people?" asked Paul. They grinned all around, and Stoffer hoisted the gun. * The original two policemen were in the basement trying to question the Thirders. Since they didn't dare enlarge the humans and show them that their condition was reversible, they weren't getting anywhere. On hands and knees, the fat cop bawled "Talk louder!" at the tiny people. The tight shirt he'd borrowed from the woman had already popped a button; if he hadn't been so much bigger than the Thirders he would have looked ridiculous. "SQUEAK!" the Thirders chorused. They were scared but not terrified; in fact, the cops' questions implied that Stoffer and those new ones were causing the Dandonders trouble-which awoke hope in even the most jaded Thirder breast. "You little vermin, you talk so we can hear you or we'll crush you!" the other cop threatened for the fifth time. The Thirders knew he didn't dare, for fear of destroying someone who might have information. The basement door opened. "I told you to leave us alone, ma'am," the fat cop snapped. "Oh, sorry to bother you, but someone took a bath and I can't find it at all." That was no lady's voice, much less a Dandonder voice. They stared petrified at George, leaning in the door frame. He waved at them. The uniformed cop yanked out his gun. George gave them the finger and *ping* seemingly vanished a second before a beam lanced into the doorway, WONK! The fat cop clutched his head in despair. "You had it set on disintegrate, idiot! We're supposed to capture the big one alive!" "I'd've sworn he vanished before-" The other cop examined his weapon in confusion. "Wait, it's not on stun or disintegrate, it's-" The gun jerked in his hand and went off. WONK! Suddenly he was face to face with a mob of humans. He squeaked in terror and pelted off to hide behind his comrade. But the fat cop couldn't do anything for him, because he was staring like a pop-eyed comedian at the other's gun, which hung in the air and had the drop on him all by itself. "Tele -" WONK! "- squeak!" Like roaches the two scuttled away. A great shout arose from the massed Thirders. Three huge humans came clomping down the stairs. John scooped up the gun and Ringo thought the shrunken cops to his hand. "How's your own medicine taste, then?" he asked them cheerfully. "Squeak!" "Oh, we'll be executed?" translated John. "Dear me, I'm scared." He pointed the gun at the two. "Let's see if you can shrink someone more than once." From the pitiful squeaks that arose, it was clearly not a healthy thing to do. He grinned wickedly. "Just kidding." Stoffer tugged at John's arm. "Gimme the gun!" BAMF! BAMF! Soon the basement was crowded with happy humans hugging each other and their rescuers, interfering with their aim and making a frightful din. They would have abused and ultimately killed the two tiny cops, but several strident voices with lots of weight on their side sternly forbade such behavior. So one of the basement windows was opened and the cops were put on the sill; the two sensibly vanished into the grass of the park. "OKAY!" John shouted, waving his arms. The people fell silent. "There's more cops coming, we've got to hurry out back to the Vasyn, that's the pink job and the ticket back to our world." "Have a good time, chicken," said Stoffer. His arm was around Amelia's neck, one of the guns stuck in his belt, the other in his left hand. "Don't think I ain't grateful, but I'm stayin'. This is the first time humans got a chance to find out about the Dandonders, and I aim to be the one to tell 'em." The humans muttered between themselves, while John said hurriedly "That's great, that's noble, anyone who wants to come with us can, but we've gotta go now!" He motioned towards the stairs. "It's a one-way trip, but it's a hell of a lot better than this place!" He half expected all the Thirders to spout patriotic rhetoric and wave goodbye to them, but about forty of them, including Amelia (who patted Stoffer on the back saying "I'm no martyr" and walked away), parents with children, and a pregnant woman, followed the four out to the park. "Good God, I hope we're not responsible for this lot," Paul said softly as they mobbed the park. But all four felt marvelously warm at having freed so many people and given a branch of mankind a chance to avenge the crimes against it. It was corny, but they really felt like heroes. "Thank you for everything!" Stoffer called across the lawn, waving both guns in the air. This Vasyn-piece was the topmost bit and had no base to climb on, so everyone just grabbed hold. Conscious of all the hands on the stone, Paul lifted it slowly and carefully, just until it cleared the ground. Plink! The scenery switched abruptly to the lawn directly in front of As'taris's house. The Thirders gasped and murmured, then gave a great cheer, pounding their rescuers (except Paul, who warned them off him) on the back, hugging them, kissing them, shaking their hands. Amidst the general celebration, and over the shoulder of a woman who had flung her arms around his neck, John whooped to George, "I can't believe it-we've got both pieces! We're practically home!" "You're right!" George called back, hardly noticing the man shaking his hand or the one rubbing his head. "I was so scared in that damn basement that I never thought about it, but you're right!" "Everybody please get out of the way!" bellowed Paul. "I need to set this thing down!" The crowd dispersed, and he eased the Vasyn-piece to the ground, at which point everyone came back to ooh and ahh. "Right," he said, wiping his hands for show on his legs. "If everyone would kindly move there-" he pointed to the right of the house "-so I know you're not behind me, I'd like to move this piece over to the other one." "What other one?" said Amelia. Still pointing, Paul carefully turned in place. "The one over-" The final "there" died in his throat. The Raleka encampment was gone-and so was the first piece of the Vasyn!

[To Be Continued December 15, 1998 (or there abouts)]

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