stared into the darkness for a long time, breathing hard. Finally he sank back against the bedding again with a sigh.
So, there was no magical, negentropic chimpanzee after all. But the
first
part of the dream was true. He was in jail on a strange world. A bunch of cavemen who hadn’t the slightest idea they were cavemen had him prisoner. He was at least fifty miles from the shattered zievatron, on a world where the most basic physical laws he had been brought up to believe were queerly twisted.
It was night. Snores echoed through the prisoners’ shed. Dennis lay unmoving in the dimness until he realized that someone sat on the next cot, watching him. He turned his head and met the look of a large, well-muscled man with dark, curly hair.
“You had a bad dream,” the prisoner said quietly.
“I was delirious,” Dennis corrected. He peered. “You look familiar. Were you one of the men I shouted at while I was raving? One of the … the
clothes practicers
?”
The tall man nodded. “Yes. My name is Stivyung Sigel. I heard you say that you had met my son.”
Dennis nodded. “Tomosh. A very good boy. You should be proud.”
Sigel helped Dennis sit up. “Is Tomosh all right?” He asked. His voice was anxious.
“You needn’t worry. He was just fine last I saw.”
Sigel bowed his head in gratitude. “Did you meet my wife, Surah?”
Dennis frowned. He found it hard to remember what he had been told. It all seemed so long ago and had been mentioned only in passing. He didn’t want to distress Sigel.
On the other hand, the man deserved to be told whatever he knew. “Umm, Tomosh is staying with his Aunt Biss. Shetold me something about your wife going off to ask help … from somebody or something called Latoof? Likoff?”
The other man’s face paled. “The L’Toff!” he whispered. “She should not have done so. The wilderness is dangerous, and things are not yet so desperate!”
Sigel stood up and started pacing at the foot of Dennis’s bed. “I must get out of here. I
must
!”
Dennis had already begun thinking along the same lines. Now that he knew there were no native scientists to help him, he had to be getting back to the zievatron to try putting a new return mechanism together by himself, with or without replacement power buses. Otherwise he would never get off of this crazy world.
Maybe he could turn the Practice Effect to his advantage, though he suspected it would work quite differently for a sophisticated instrument than for an ax or a sled. The very idea was too fresh and disconcerting for the scientist in him to dwell on yet.
All he really knew was that he was getting homesick. And he owed Bernald Brady a punch in the nose.
When he tried to get up, Sigel hurried to his side and helped him. They went to one of the support pillars, where Dennis leaned and looked out at the stockade wall. Two small, bright moons illuminated the grounds.
“I think,” he told the farmer in a low voice, “I might be able to help you get out of here, Stivyung.”
Sigel regarded him. “One of the guards claims you are a wizard. Your actions earlier made us think it might be true. Can you truly arrange an escape from this place?”
Dennis smiled. The score so far was Tatir many, Dennis Nuel nothing. It was his turn now. What, he wondered, might not be wrought from the Practice Effect by a Ph.D. in physics, when these people hadn’t even heard of the wheel?
“It’ll be a piece of cake, Stivyung.”
The farmer looked puzzled by the idiom but he smiled hopefully.
A touch of motion caught Dennis’s eye. He turned and looked up at the layered castle to his right, its walls gleaming in the moonlight.
Three levels up, behind a parapet lined with bars, aslender figure stood alone. The breeze blew a diaphanous garment and a cascade of long blond hair.
She was too far away to discern clearly in the night, but Dennis was struck by the young woman’s loveliness. He also felt sure that somehow he had seen
So, there was no magical, negentropic chimpanzee after all. But the
first
part of the dream was true. He was in jail on a strange world. A bunch of cavemen who hadn’t the slightest idea they were cavemen had him prisoner. He was at least fifty miles from the shattered zievatron, on a world where the most basic physical laws he had been brought up to believe were queerly twisted.
It was night. Snores echoed through the prisoners’ shed. Dennis lay unmoving in the dimness until he realized that someone sat on the next cot, watching him. He turned his head and met the look of a large, well-muscled man with dark, curly hair.
“You had a bad dream,” the prisoner said quietly.
“I was delirious,” Dennis corrected. He peered. “You look familiar. Were you one of the men I shouted at while I was raving? One of the … the
clothes practicers
?”
The tall man nodded. “Yes. My name is Stivyung Sigel. I heard you say that you had met my son.”
Dennis nodded. “Tomosh. A very good boy. You should be proud.”
Sigel helped Dennis sit up. “Is Tomosh all right?” He asked. His voice was anxious.
“You needn’t worry. He was just fine last I saw.”
Sigel bowed his head in gratitude. “Did you meet my wife, Surah?”
Dennis frowned. He found it hard to remember what he had been told. It all seemed so long ago and had been mentioned only in passing. He didn’t want to distress Sigel.
On the other hand, the man deserved to be told whatever he knew. “Umm, Tomosh is staying with his Aunt Biss. Shetold me something about your wife going off to ask help … from somebody or something called Latoof? Likoff?”
The other man’s face paled. “The L’Toff!” he whispered. “She should not have done so. The wilderness is dangerous, and things are not yet so desperate!”
Sigel stood up and started pacing at the foot of Dennis’s bed. “I must get out of here. I
must
!”
Dennis had already begun thinking along the same lines. Now that he knew there were no native scientists to help him, he had to be getting back to the zievatron to try putting a new return mechanism together by himself, with or without replacement power buses. Otherwise he would never get off of this crazy world.
Maybe he could turn the Practice Effect to his advantage, though he suspected it would work quite differently for a sophisticated instrument than for an ax or a sled. The very idea was too fresh and disconcerting for the scientist in him to dwell on yet.
All he really knew was that he was getting homesick. And he owed Bernald Brady a punch in the nose.
When he tried to get up, Sigel hurried to his side and helped him. They went to one of the support pillars, where Dennis leaned and looked out at the stockade wall. Two small, bright moons illuminated the grounds.
“I think,” he told the farmer in a low voice, “I might be able to help you get out of here, Stivyung.”
Sigel regarded him. “One of the guards claims you are a wizard. Your actions earlier made us think it might be true. Can you truly arrange an escape from this place?”
Dennis smiled. The score so far was Tatir many, Dennis Nuel nothing. It was his turn now. What, he wondered, might not be wrought from the Practice Effect by a Ph.D. in physics, when these people hadn’t even heard of the wheel?
“It’ll be a piece of cake, Stivyung.”
The farmer looked puzzled by the idiom but he smiled hopefully.
A touch of motion caught Dennis’s eye. He turned and looked up at the layered castle to his right, its walls gleaming in the moonlight.
Three levels up, behind a parapet lined with bars, aslender figure stood alone. The breeze blew a diaphanous garment and a cascade of long blond hair.
She was too far away to discern clearly in the night, but Dennis was struck by the young woman’s loveliness. He also felt sure that somehow he had seen
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