Dancers at the End of Time Page 8

"Of sorts. She hasn't explained? She can be a bit vague, My Lady Charlotina, I agree. But she has made you comfortable. Your own environment in all its details."

  Jherek looked without enthusiasm at the drooping plants and dark yellow rocks, the mouldy tower sticking up into the chill air. It was easy to see why the alien had chosen to leave. "Nice."

  Yusharisp turned away and began to waddle towards his tower. "It is useless. My translator is malfunctioning more than I realised. I cannot transmit my message properly. It is my fault, not yours. I deserve this."

  "What exactly was the message," said Jherek. He saw a chance to find out without appearing to have forgotten. "Perhaps if you could repeat it I could tell you if I understood."

  The alien appeared to brighten and walk backwards. The only difference between his back and his front, as far as Jherek could see, was that his mouth was in the front. The eyes looked exactly the same.

  He swivelled round so that his mouth aperture faced Jherek.

  "Well," Yusharisp began, "basically what has happened is that the universe, having ceased to expand, is contracting. Our researches have shown that this is what always happens — expansion/contraction, expansion/contraction, expansion/contraction — the universe forming and re-forming all the time. Perhaps that formation is always the same — each cycle being more or less a repeat of the previous one — I don't know. Anyway that takes us into the realm of Time, not Space, and I know nothing at all of Time."

  "An interesting theory," said Jherek, who found it somewhat boring.

  "It is not a theory."

  "Aha."

  "The universe has begun to contract. As a result, skree, all matter not in a completely gaseous (roar) state already, will be destroyed as it is pulled into what you might call the central vortex of the universe.

  My own, skree, planet has already gone by now, I should think." The alien sighed a deep sigh. "It's a matter of millennia, perhaps even less time than that, before your galaxy goes the same way."

  "There, there." Jherek patted the alien on the top part of its body. Yusharisp looked up, offended.

  "This is (roar) no time for sexual advances, skree, my friend!"

  Jherek took his hand away. "My apologies."

  "At another time, perhaps…" Yusharisp's translator growled and moaned and he kept clearing his throat until it had stopped. "I am, I must admit, rather dispirited," he said. "A trifle on (roar) edge, as you might expect."

  Jherek's plan (or at least an important part of it) now crystallised. He said: "That is why I intend to help you escape from My Lady Charlotina's menagerie."

  "You do? But the force-field and so on? The security must be, skree, very tight."

  Jherek did not tell the alien that he could, if he wished, wander at large across the whole planet. The only intelligent creatures who remained in menageries remained there because they desired it. Jherek reasoned that it was best, for his purposes, if Yusharisp really did think he was a prisoner.

  "I can deal with all that," he said airily.

  "I am deeply grateful to you." One of the alien's brown, bandy legs rose and touched Jherek on the thigh. "I could not believe that every creature on this planet could be so, skree, skree, inhumane. But my spaceship? How will I escape from your world to continue my journey, to carry my message?"

  "We'll cope with that problem later," Jherek assured him.

  "Very, skree, well. I understand. You are risking so much already." The alien hopped eagerly about on his four legs. "Can we leave now? Or must secret preparations be made, skree?"

  "The important thing is that you shouldn't be detected leaving by My Lady Charlotina," Jherek answered. "Therefore, I must ask you if you will object to a little restructuring. Temporary, of course.

  And not very sophisticated — there isn't time. I'll put you back to your original form before we go to Mongrove's…"

  "Mon(roar)grove's?"

  "Our, um, hideout. A friend. A sympathiser."

  "And what, skree, is 'restructuring'?" Yusharisp's manner had become suspicious.

  "A disguise," said Jherek. "I must alter your body."

  "A skree — a skree — a skree — a trick. Another cruel trick! (roar)" The alien became agitated and made as if to run into his tower. Jherek could see why Mongrove had seen a fellow spirit in Yusharisp. They would get on splendidly.

  "Not a trick upon you. Upon the woman who has imprisoned you here."

  Yusharisp calmed down, but a score of his eyes were darting from side to side, crossing in an alarming manner.

  "And what (roar) then? Where will you take, skree, me?"

  "To Mongrove's. He sympathises with your plight. He wishes to listen to all you have to say. He is perhaps the one person on the planet (apart, of course, from myself ) who really understands what you are trying to do."

  Perhaps, thought Jherek, he was not deceiving the alien, after all. It was quite likely that Mongrove would want to help Yusharisp when he heard the whole of the little fellow's story. "Now —" Jherek fiddled with one of his rings. "If you will allow me…"

  "Very well," said the alien, seeming to slump in resignation. "After all, there is, skree, nothing more (roar) to lose, is there?"

  "Jherek! Sweet child. Child of nature. Son of the Earth! Over here!"

  My Lady Charlotina, surrounded by many of her guests, including the Iron Orchid and Lord Jagged of Canaria (who were both working hard to keep her attention) waved to Jherek.

  Jherek and Yusharisp (his body restructured to resemble that of an apeman) moved through a throng of laughing guests in one of the main caverns, close to the Gateway in the Water through which Jherek hoped to make his escape.

  This cavern had glowing golden walls and a roof and floor of mirrored silver so that it seemed that everything took place simultaneously a hundred times upon the floor and the ceiling of the cavern. My Lady Charlotina floated in a force-hammock while the dwarfish scientist, Brannart Morphail, lay gasping between her knees. Morphail was perhaps the last true scientist on Earth, experimenting in the only possible field left for such a person — the field of time-manipulation. Morphail raised his head as My Lady Charlotina signalled Jherek. Morphail peered through ragged tufts of white, yellow and blue hair.

  He licked red lips surrounded by a tattered beard of orange and black. His dark eyes glowered, as if he blamed Jherek for the interrupted intercourse.

  Jherek had to acknowledge her. He bowed, smiled and tried to think of some polite phrase on which to leave.

  My Lady Charlotina was naked. All four of her latest breasts were tinted gold with silver nipples to match her cavern's décor. Her body was rose-pink and radiated softness and comfort. Her long, thin face, with its sharp nose and pointed chin, was embroidered in threads of scintillating light-thread which shifted colour constantly and sometimes appeared to alter the whole outline of her features.

  Jherek, with the alien clinging nervously to him with one of its feet, tried to move on but then had to pause to instruct the alien, in a whisper, to use one of the upper appendages if it wished to hold to him at all. He was afraid My Lady Charlotina had already detected his theft.

  Yusharisp looked as if he were about to bolt now. Jherek laid a restraining hand on the alien's new body.

  "Who is that with you?"

  My Lady Charlotina's embroidered face was, for a moment, scarlet all over.

  "Is that a time-traveller?" Her force-hammock began to drift towards Jherek and Yusharisp. The sudden motion threw Brannart Morphail to the floor of the cavern. Moodily, he lay where he had fallen, looking at himself in the mirrored surface and refusing the proffered hands of both Lord Jagged of Canaria and the Iron Orchid. They stood near him, trying not to look at Jherek who, in turn, tried to ignore them. An exchange of glances at this stage might easily make My Lady Charlotina that much more suspicious.

  "Yes," said Jherek quickly. "A time-traveller."

  At this, Brannart Morphail looked up.

  "He recently arrived. I found him. He'll
be the basis of what will be my new collection."

  "Oh, so you are to vie with me? I must watch you, Jherek. You're so clever."

  "Yes, you must watch. My collection, though, will never match yours, my charming Charlotina."

  "Have you seen my new space-traveller?" She cast her eyes over the alien as she spoke.

  "Yes. Yesterday, I think. Or the day before. Very fine."

  "Thank you. This is an odd specimen. Are you sure it's genuine, dear?"

  "Oh, yes. Absolutely."

  Jherek had given him the form of a pre-10th century, or Piltdown, Man. He was apelike, somewhat shaggy and inclined (because of Yusharisp's normal method of perambulation) to drop to all fours. He was dressed in animal skins and (an authentic touch) carried a pistol (a club with a metal handle and a blunt, wooden end).

  "He didn't, surely, come in his own machine?" said My Lady Charlotina.

  Jherek looked about for his mother and Lord Jagged, but both had slipped away. Only Brannart Morphail was left, slowly rising from the floor.

  "No," said Jherek. "A machine from some other age must have brought him. A temporal accident no doubt. Some poor time-traveller plunged into the past, dragged back to his present without his machine.

  The primitive gets in, pushes a button or two and — heigh-ho — here he is!"

  "He told you this, juicy Jherek?"

  "Speculation. He is, of course, not intelligent, as we understand it. An interesting mixture of human and animal though."

  "Can he speak?"

  "In grunts," said Jherek, nodding furiously for no real reason. "He can communicate in grunts." He looked hard at the alien, warning him not to speak. The alien was a fool. He could easily ruin the whole thing. But Yusharisp remained silent.

  "What a shame. Well, it's a start to a collection, I suppose, dear," she added kindly.

  Brannart Morphail was now on his feet. He hobbled over to join them. He did not need to have a hump-back and a club-foot, but he was a traditionalist in almost everything and he knew that once all true scientists had looked as he did now. He was touchily proud of his appearance and had not changed it for centuries.

  "What machine did he come in?" queried Brannart Morphail. "I ask because it could not be one of the four or five basic kinds which have been invented and re-invented through the course of our history."

  "And why could it not be?" Jherek was beginning to feel disturbed. Morphail knew everything there was to know about time. Perhaps he should have concocted a slightly better story. Still, it was too late now to change it.

  "Because I should have detected it in my laboratories. My scanners are constantly checking the chronowaves. Any object such as a time machine is immediately registered on its arrival in our time."

  "Ah." Jherek was at a loss for an explanation.

  "So I should like to see the time machine in which your specimen arrived," said Brannart Morphail.

  "It must be a new type. To us, that is."

  "Tomorrow," said Jherek Carnelian wildly, guiding his charge forward and away from My Lady Charlotina and Brannart Morphail. "You must visit me tomorrow."

  "I will."

  "Jherek. Are you leaving my party?" My Lady Charlotina seemed offended. "After all, weren't you one of the people who thought of it? Really, my tulip, you should stay a little longer."

  "I am sorry." Jherek felt trapped. He adjusted the animal skin to cover as much of Yusharisp's body as possible. He had not had time to adjust the skin colour, which was still pretty much the same, a muddy brown with green flecks in it. "You see, my specimen must be, um, fed."

  "Fed? We can feed him here."

  "Special food," said Jherek. "Only I know the recipe."

  "But we pride ourselves on our cuisine at my menagerie," said My Lady Charlotina. "Let me know what he eats and it shall be prepared instantly."

  "Oh," said Jherek.

  My Lady Charlotina laughed and her embroidery went through a sudden and starting series of colours. "Jherek. You are looking positively shifty. What on earth are you planning?"

  "Planning? Nothing." He felt miserable and wished deeply that he had not embarked upon this scheme.

  "Your time-traveller. Did you really acquire him as you said, or is there some secret? Have you been back in time yourself?"

  "No. No." His lips were dry. He adjusted his body moisture. It didn't seem to make much difference.

  "Or did you make the time-traveller yourself, as I suspected? Could he be a fake?"

  She was getting altogether too close. Jherek fixed his eye on the exit and murmured to Yusharisp.

  "That is the way to freedom. We must…"

  My Lady Charlotina drifted closer, bent forward to peer at the disguised alien. Her perfume was so strong that Jherek felt faint. She addressed Yusharisp, her eyes narrowing:

  "What's your name?" she said.

  "He doesn't speak —" Jherek's voice cracked.

  "Skree," said Yusharisp.

  "His name is Skree," said Jherek, pushing the space-traveller forward with the flat of his hand. The space-traveller fell forward and, upon all fours, began to skitter in the direction of one of several tunnels leading from the cavern. His club lay gleaming on the floor behind him.

  Lady Charlotina's brows drew closer together as an expression of dawning suspicion gradually spread over her embroidered face.

  "I'll see you tomorrow, then," said Brannart Morphail briskly, unaware of any other level of conversation taking place. "About the time machine." He turned to My Lady Charlotina, who had risen on one elbow in her force-hammock and was staring, open-mouthed, as Jherek sped away after the alien.

  "Exciting," said Brannart Morphail. "A new form of time-travel, evidently."

  "Or a new form of affectation," said My Lady Charlotina grimly. However, her voice was more melodramatic than sincere as she called, on a fading note: "Jherek! Jherek!"

  Jherek kept running. But he turned, shouting: "My alien — I mean my time-traveller — he's escaping. Must catch him. Wonderful party. Farewell, coruscating Charlotina, for now!"

  "Oh, oh, Jherek!"

  And he fled after Yusharisp, through the tunnels to the Gateway in the Water — a tube of energy pushed up from the bottom of the lake to the surface — and thence to where his little locomotive hovered, awaiting him.

  Jherek shot into the sky, dragging the alien (who had no antigravity ring) with him.

  "Into the aircar!" Jherek panted, floating towards the locomotive.

  Together they tumbled in and collapsed on the plush and ermine couch.

  Jherek pulled the whistle cord.

  "Mongrove's," he said, watching the lake for signs of pursuit, "and speedily."

  With a wild hoot, the locomotive chugged rapidly towards the East, letting out great clouds of scarlet steam.

  Looking back and down Jherek saw My Lady Charlotina emerge with a gush from the shimmering lake and, still in her force-hammock, still raised on one elbow, shout after him as he disappeared into the evening sky.

  Jherek strained to catch the words, for she was using no form of projection. He hoped, too, she would be sporting enough not to use any kind of tracer on his aircar, or a traction beam to haul him back to Below-the-Lake. Possibly she still didn't realise what he had done.

  But he heard the words clearly enough. "Stop," she called theatrically, languidly. "Stop thief!"

  And Jherek felt his legs grow weak. He experienced one of the most exquisite thrills of his entire life. Even certain experiences of his adolescence hadn't done this for him. He sighed with pleasure.

  "Stop," he murmured to himself as the locomotive moved rapidly towards Mongrove's. "Stop thief!

  Oh! Ah! Thief, thief, thief! " His breathing became heavier. He felt dizzy. "Stop thief!"

  Yusharisp, who had been practising how to sit on the couch, gave up and sat on the floor. "Will there be trouble?" he said.

  "I expect so," said Jherek, hugging himself. "Yes. Trouble." His eyes were glassy. He stared through the
alien.

  Yusharisp was touched by what he interpreted as Jherek's nobility. "Why are you risking so much, then, for a stranger like myself?"

  "For love!" whispered Jherek, and another shudder of pleasure ran through him. "For love! "

  "You are a great-hearted, skree, creature," said Yusharisp tenderly. He rose on his hands and knees and looked up at Jherek, his eyes shining. "Greater, skree, skree, skree, love, as we (roar) say on my planet, hath skree, skree, no man skree, ryof chio lar, oof." He stopped in embarrassment. "It must skree, be untranslatable."

  "I'd better change you back into your proper shape before we get to Mongrove's," said Jherek, his tone becoming business-like.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Promise from Mrs. Amelia Underwood: A Mystery

  Mongrove had been delighted to receive Yusharisp. He had embraced, and almost smothered, the little round space-traveller, beginning immediately to question him on all aspects of his message of doom.

  The space-traveller had been pleased by the reception, though he was still under the impression that he was soon to be helped to leave the planet. That was why Jherek Carnelian had made the transaction as quickly as possible and left with his new treasure while Mongrove and Yusharisp were still deep in conversation.

  Mrs. Amelia Underwood had been stiffened for easy transportation (without her realising that she was to belong to Jherek now) and shipped aboard the locomotive.

  Jherek had lost no time in returning to his ranch and there depositing Mrs. Underwood in what in ancient times had always been the most important section of the house, the cellar. The cellar was immediately above his bedroom and contained towering transparent tanks of carnelian- and pearl-coloured wine. It was also the prettiest room in the house and he felt Mrs. Underwood would be pleased to wake up in such lovely surroundings.

  Laying her upon an ottoman bed in the exact centre of the room, Jherek adjusted Mrs. Underwood so that she would sleep and awake slowly and naturally the following morning.

  He then went to his own bedroom, impatient to prepare himself for when he next encountered her, determined that he should this time make a good impression. Though it was still many hours until morning, he began to make his plans. He intended to wear something ordinary and give up trying to please her by imitation, since she had made no comment on his earlier costume. He made a solid holograph of himself and dressed it in several different styles, making the holograph move about the room wearing the styles until he was satisfied and had selected the one he wanted.