The Doomfarers of Coramonde by Brian Daley Page B

developed was more difficult than I
can tell you; you’ll pardon me, I’m sure, but you simply don’t have the
vocabulary. I built a device to permit access to the perhaps infinite universes
which coexist with our own—if, indeed, you and I are from precisely the same
one. To put it another way. I had—hmm, let me see if I can put this in terms
you can follow—yes, isolated a technique for translating the Reality of one
cosmos into a form perceptible in another. Call it a kind of transportation if
you will, or the creation of a contiguity between universes. That’s no more or
less accurate than calling it a translation.
    The first model
was rudimentary, a sort of framework which served as the contiguous point. I
searched through a number of different universes, once with almost disastrous
results, and never seeing any that looked at all inviting, until at last on a
Friday evening I looked out at this one, at an empty field in Coramonde, this
place where we are now. I don’t remember actually stepping through the contiguity.
All at once I was standing on the other side, my hands in my pockets and my
cigar still in my teeth. The breeze that came up was… intoxicating. I felt full
and at peace for the first time in years. In the distance I could see a small
village, lit by torches and candlelight. The air was clean, with no hint of
city or machine. In a way I cannot explain, it was as if I’d come home.
    When I
returned, my assistant, nearly hysterical, was plucking up the courage to come
through after me, although he’d been able to watch me the entire time through
the contiguity. He did not share my enthusiasm for exploration, for personal
involvement in research.
    But the few
minutes I’d spent in Coramonde had changed me irrevocably. I had been given a
last-minute reprieve from the barren life that I’d accumulated around myself. I
had no one to consider; my ex-wives were well off and my children—a daughter by
each marriage—thought even less of me than I did of them.
    I monitored the
contiguity for days, watched the shape and pace of life in Coramonde, and
decided that it was for me—though it wasn’t until later that I ran afoul of its
rather exotic natural laws.
    Of course, it
was impossible to sneak the entire machine out of the Grossen, which was my
first impulse; I didn’t intend to enter another world and another life only to
be followed in time by the people I’d come to despise. My world weariness had
become a sort of spiritual impotence, yet here was the extraordinary chance to
change my entire life, an out, and I didn’t want to risk having it spoiled
through the interference of others. So I compromised by removing two essential
components from the contiguity apparatus and smuggling them out in my
briefcase. I then destroyed all my notes and tapes, erased my computer runs
from the banks and in general concealed my research as well as I could. I left
the components I’d taken in the keeping of my assistant, who agreed to keep
silence of a sort. In the meantime I was preparing a second contiguity
generator at home; it is not as hard when you’ve conquered the basic problem of
what it is you’re building. The second-generation model was a platform which
would transport itself along with its cargo. I equipped myself with a rifle and
some gear and, four months after my first trip to Coramonde, left that world
for good. I’d used up all the cash and credit I could lay my hands on in
building the second apparatus, but what did I care? I’ve no intention of
returning. If Coramonde begins to pall, well, I’ve universes waiting.
    My preliminary
experiences in this cosmos are not important at this time, but I met Andre and
Gabrielle. Unfortunately, I took the contiguity generator to Earthfast—that is,
when I met the local ruler and proposed some political revisions—and it was
impounded when we were forced to take hurried departure. I believe Yardiff
Bey—an agent of our enemy—has it now.
    I