Out of This World. Lawrence Watt-Evans
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together a wagon for my daughter,” Pel explained, a little impatiently. “She just turned six, and we had a party for her yesterday. Now would you go on with your story about the Shadow, and what you’re doing here?”
“Indeed,” Raven said. “And gladly will I speak, an it be that my words can sway. That thing we call Shadow has conquered all my world, now; the darkness is everywhere. From one edge to the other it is supreme, and only in isolated pockets do a few of us still resist its dominion. In truth, we can do little ‘gainst it. And having thus triumphed, ‘twould seem that the evil seeks new challenge; our surviving free mages, working in secret, spied upon Shadow, and learned that it had sought new worlds to conquer—and had in fact found them.”
“Earth, you mean?” Pel asked.
Raven stared blankly at him. “Earth?”
“This world, I mean,” Pel explained.
“Oh,” Raven said, with a glance out through the glass of the sliding door. “You call this Earth? How odd.” He shook his head. “’Tis no matter, though. No, ‘twas not this world Shadow found, but another, the realm of the Imperials.”
“Oh. Okay, who are they?” The tale, Pel thought, was getting unnecessarily long and complicated, and he wished that Raven would get to the point.
“They are men, like us,” Raven told him, “and they rule not one world, but many. Not worlds that are reached by magical portals, such as the one that brought me hither, but worlds that float separately in the sky, among the stars, and that can be sailed to in special flying ships—or so I am told. I do not pretend to understand it, not having been there. They call all the worlds gathered under their rule the Galactic Empire, though I know not whence the name derives.”
“The Galactic Empire?” Pel objected. “Aren’t you mixing genres?”
“What?” Raven asked. His confusion was beginning to have a constant visible admixture of anger, and Pel decided not to provoke him with explanations of the difference between science fiction and fantasy.
“Never mind,” Pel replied. “Go on.”
“As you will,” Raven said, calming. He continued, “When ‘twas learned that Shadow sought these other realms, certain mages among those who strove ‘gainst the darkness took careful study and discovered the secrets of the spells Shadow had used in its researches—Elani was one such. Those mages then opened portals to the worlds of the Galactic Empire, that they might forewarn the Imperials, and thereby gain their aid in fighting Shadow. However, those who passed through these portals found that the Empire was strange beyond our understanding, and was perhaps itself no better than the lesser of two evils. Some, my group among them, therefore resolved not to trust the Imperials, but to proceed on our own.”
“So you looked for another, better world, and you found us?” Pel asked.
“No,” Raven answered. “The Imperials did that. Once they learned that one other reality existed, and that ‘twas ruled by a hostile force, they set about finding another, in hopes of acquiring an ally in their coming battle against Shadow. They have no mages, but they have men and women who can hear the thoughts of others...”
“Telepaths?” Pel suggested.
“Aye, telepaths, the very word they use!” Raven agreed, startled.
Pel nodded. For once he’d guessed right about something in Raven’s tale. “Go on,” he said.
Raven continued, “’Twould seem that these telepaths had sometimes found traces of thought for which they could not account. Some, it seemed, had leaked through from my own native realm—but some, so it chanced, came from your world. Thus, they sought out your reality, and attempted to send messages to a few receptive individuals therein. When that yielded no useful results, they devised a means of transporting one of their sky-ships into whatsoever other realities they might find, and sent that ship hither, to your land. This morning it arrived, and if Elani’s spell be sound, not far from here. My group learned about these plans, and our mages opened a portal, that we might communicate with your people—this, that you might have some contact with our realm other than through the Imperials, and that, perhaps, we, too, might benefit from whatever your people can teach us.” He frowned. “We had hoped that our messenger might bespeak your rulers ere the ship of the Imperials came, but alas, Grummetty’s illness cut short our first attempt, and ‘twas not until some hours after the ship was sent that we made another.”
Raven spread his hands.
“And here I am,” he said, just as Pel heard the whir of the garage door opener.
* * * *
Amy Jewell watched as the last of the crewmen from the spaceship—if that’s what it was—climbed reluctantly into the police van.
“What’s going to happen to them?” she asked.
The plainclothes cop beside her looked up from his notepad. “Them?” he said, pointing his pen at the van.
Amy nodded.
The cop shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said. “I never heard of anything like this before. If it’s a publicity stunt I expect the movie company will bail them out tomorrow morning—not today, because it’s Sunday and the judge won’t be in, but probably first thing tomorrow. If it’s for a movie. And they didn’t resist arrest or give us any trouble at all—hell, you probably heard them, they were asking to talk to the authorities—so even if they don’t get bailed out we may not be able to hold them.”
Amy nodded again. “I see,” she said, though she wasn’t sure she did.
“You worried about them?” the cop asked, giving her a shrewd glance.
Amy grimaced. “Not really,” she said.
The cop didn’t answer.
“What about the airpl... the shi... that thing?” Amy asked, pointing. “How are you going to get it off my lawn?”
The cop frowned. Then he sighed. “I don’t know, lady,” he said. “That’s not my job. I’m sorry, but it’s not police business. Either you can move it, because it’s your yard, or they can move it, because it’s their ship. Either way, they’re liable, but you’ll probably need to sue them to collect.” He glanced at the huge purple object. “The FAA people are supposed to be on their way out here now, you know, Sunday or not—they want to look at the thing and figure out how it got here. You probably shouldn’t touch anything until they get here.”
A siren started up, then cut off abruptly; a white pumper truck with GAITHERSBURG-WASHINGTON GROVE FIRE DEPARTMENT lettered on the doors in gold pulled away, engine roaring and the tires spitting gravel from the roadside. Amy and the cop watched it go.
“I’ve gotta say,” the plainclothesman remarked, “that this is the weirdest damn thing I ever heard of.”
Amy nodded.
“If worse comes to worst,” he suggested, “you could sell tickets and run tours.”
“I suppose so,” Amy said, unenthusiastically. She wasn’t really very interested in the idea; she wanted her yard back, not a tourist trap. She didn’t really need so dubious a source of additional income.
As she watched the pumper depart she spotted a blue sedan creeping up the road. She thought it looked as if it had writing on the door, but at that angle and distance she couldn’t make it out.
“That’s the FAA boys now,” the cop said. “I’ll be going along. If you could come to the station tomorrow and let us know whether you want to press charges or anything, we’d appreciate it.”
“All right,” Amy said distractedly.
“That’s it, then,” the cop said, closing his notepad. “Have a nice day.”
He turned and ambled toward the remaining county police cruiser as the van pulled away and the blue sedan