Alice's World Page 5

  Cat said, “Do you have any better ideas?”

  He hesitated. “Well…perhaps not. But I’m not going to take this lying down. Look, you’ve been around as much as I have, and you know what devilish tricks alien life can play on you. This smells so fishy it chokes me!”

  Cat rose from her chair and went over to the airlock. She leaned against the curved wall and looked out. “But this isn’t alien,” she said over her shoulder. “This is Earth.”

  “Sure.” He watched her reflection on the screen, superimposed on the wavering picture of the cavern. “Sure. Earth. But Earth hasn’t been visited for fifty thousand years, and that’s a mighty long time. Do you think everyone that stayed behind dropped dead when the Empire left? I’d say no. Anything could have happened since then.” He frowned. “There are a lot of things that can make humans or aliens exert themselves, but in the end it all comes down to the old bellyful, nothing else. They might be cannibals, for all I know, and this might be the way to their bloody kitchen.”

  Cat’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you really believe in that?”

  “I believe in nothing. I’m just trying to get along with this whole madness.”

  He rose from the chair, disconnecting the screen with a flick of his hand. The picture shrank to a brilliant dot of light and disappeared. “We’re getting out,” he said.

  She turned slowly around toward him. “How?”

  “What do you think?” He was rummaging through a small closet set in the wall, throwing things out on the floor at his feet. He straightened up with two ultrawave transceivers in his hands. He threw one of them to her; she caught it deftly and hung it over her shoulder.

  “Hallucination or not, there’s only one way out of this place—the good, old, unscientific method.”

  He checked his transceiver as he talked. Then he walked past her through the airlock and jumped down on the outside. He pointed to the far end of the immense cavern. Far away, new caverns opened up, burning with petrified light.

  “Walking!”

  They left the trapped scoutship behind. Frozen waterfalls sprang into view, bridges leading from nowhere to nowhere, sculptured from stone and dripping water for millennia—or seconds of inexplicable creation. Monteyiller didn’t want to guess; and deep inside, he knew with chilling conviction that he was afraid of finding the answers.

  They entered a petrified forest where mighty trees rose up toward the distant roof, their roots embraced by bushes and undergrowth of cold gleaming stone, stout branches reaching out in the air, still bearing petrified leaves, the bushes still bearing flowers in glowing crystalline colors, the grass frozen, bowing for a wind that died out a million years ago. A narrow trail wound between the imposing trees, paralleled by a brook with clear, guttering water. It rushed down in miniature waterfalls, sending sprays of cool water up in the air, washing the smooth stones along its banks to a silver luster. No other sound was heard except that of the water, echoing between trees and bushes and grass of unmoving, beautiful stone. They walked carefully down the meandering trail. The ground was hard and brittle and crunched under their feet. The forest was still and silent as death.

  “It’s impressive as hell,” Monteyiller said, pausing to mop his perspiring forehead. “Nothing like this back home.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Cat agreed.

  “It gives me the jitters,” Monteyiller said. “I hate it.”

  “Well, it’s certainly a—Mon, look!”

  He reacted without thinking, automatic reflexes taking over his body: his left arm pushed Cat back with a force that almost sent her sprawling on the ground, and his right hand closed around the cool butt of his gun, drawing and aiming it with a single smooth movement. At the same time he threw himself sideways, standing slightly crouched and looking up at a giant of a man who suddenly had stepped out before them. He regarded them with small, bloodshot eyes, as he casually leaned on an awe-inspiring truncheon of remarkable dimensions. He seemed to be nearly seven feet tall, and his body bulged with muscles. He was clad only in a loincloth made from an animal hide, and his face was framed by a magnificent black beard which, in combination with the broad nose and the long black hair that spilled down over his immense shoulders, gave him an appearance of unbridled ferocity.

  “What’s that?” Cat breathed.

  “One of the natives, apparently.” Monteyiller eyed the man with grudging respect. “Thorein, he’s big!”

  The man peered at them from under bushy eyebrows, a quizzical look at his small eyes. Then, suddenly, the broad face split in a wide grin.

  “Ho, little people!” he roared. “You dare to enter this vile place, do you? Don’t you know where this path leads, small ones?” He searched their tense faces. “No, I see you don’t. And who’s that skinny goat you carry with you, little man? Your woman?” He leaned toward Cat on his truncheon, absently scratching his backside.

  Monteyiller tightly clenched the gun in his hand, looking up at the colossus of a man who towered before him. “Who’re you?” he asked.

  The man leaned down over him, a surprised look in his eyes. “You ask me who I am? Are you mad, little man, don’t you know who I am? Is there more than one Heracles in the world, eh? Don’t try my patience, my temper is short. Give me some food, and quick because I’m starved, and then I might like to use that woman of yours, skinny as she is. I haven’t been with a woman since I came down into this accursed place.”

  “Where we come from,” Monteyiller said, “women choose their own bed-fellows.” He tensed, holding the gun ready for immediate use. Heracles didn’t seem to notice.

  “You must come from a mighty strange country,” he said evenly. “And you’re taking a very strange tone against Heracles as well. You’re lucky I’m in a good mood. Keep your woman, then, if she’s so dear to you; she’d only give me gall-sores anyway.” He grinned again, but not unkindly. “And how about the food you mentioned? I’m hungry!”

  He sat down abruptly on the ground, belched and slapped an enormous hand against his stomach.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Where is it? Don’t you see that Heracles is hungry?”

  “We don’t carry any food,” Monteyiller said, relaxing.

  “You’re the strangest travelers I ever met,” grumbled Heracles. “Well, then, I’m not yet hungry enough to long for human flesh—though the time might come if I don’t get my stomach filled soon enough. Who are you? And what are you doing in this poisoned place? Don’t you know what this is?” He looked up at them, thoughtfully scratching his backside. “No, by Zeus! You don’t know! Cods! None but the mighty Heracles would dare to descend into the abyss, knowing where it leads. Little man, don’t you see the dead forest?” He suddenly laughed, slapping his thigh with obvious delight. “Zeus! This trail leads down to the river Acheron where old Charon waits to ferry all good men over to Hades—provided the hellhound Cerberus doesn’t disapprove, which he certainly would do if he saw you. That is where this trail leads, little man, and what are you doing here?”

  It was lucky, Monteyiller realized, that Heracles was in an affable mood. He listened through the whole story, only occasionally interrupting it with a thunderous laugh. When the story was finished, he grinned broadly at them.

  “You must be a mighty strange people,” he chuckled, “to come back like this. And you met the Sphinx, too? A vicious beast, that one, a nuisance if there ever was one. I should have killed her long ago, if it hadn’t been for the damned labors that the ten-times-damned King Eurystheus—may he rot alive, the swine—has lain upon me as penance for a trifle I did, a mere nothing—I killed my wife and my children. Fetch this, do that, get me this, get rid of that, no time for anything except running errands, damn him! So she gave your friends her cursed riddle, did she? And they could not solve it?” He laughed again. “I don’t wonder, I could never solve it myself, and if I can’t, who else could?”

  He rose to his feet and flung the truncheon over his shoulder. “Now, do you still want to go down into t
he abyss? If so, I might permit you to follow me, because I’m in a good mood and your sorry looks make me laugh. You may even take your woman with you, though I can’t understand what good she’ll do. Myself, I prefer full-grown women.” He turned around and walked down the trail with long strides, his booming laugh echoing through the forest. Monteyiller stared after him, then put the gun back and followed the giant He was obviously mad, but he seemed friendly enough, indeed seemed to have taken a liking to them, and as things stood they would need every friend they could get.

  “You heard what he said?” he muttered. “Hades! He’s on his way down to Hades! What kind of place is this?”

  Cat smiled. “It’s an ancient tale, Heracles and his Twelve Labors—he’s on his way down to Hades to fetch Cerberus. We’ve stumbled right into one of the old hero-sagas!”

  “The hero-saga!” roared Heracles without looking at them. “The only real hero-saga, hear! There is but one Heracles, so how can there be more than one hero-saga, I ask you?” He snorted angrily. “I’m a man of peace, but lies make me furious. Besides, you two talk too much. You make my ears sore with your babble!” He swore lustily and marched on, kicking out at the petrified branches.

  “You seem to be a very modest and unassuming man,” Cat said, smiling.

  “I am,” Heracles assured her. “That’s one of my numerous good traits, and not one of the smallest, either. And now keep quiet so I can get a word in between your babble, or my good mood might disappear!”

  The caverns became smaller as they went deeper, the roofs lower, the stalactites fewer and smaller. Occasionally they had to crawl on hands and knees through narrow passages, twisting and turning, their ears assaulted by Heracles’ never-ending stream of complaints and abuses as he fought to get his enormous body past the obstacles.

  “By the wrath of Zeus!” he swore. “What kind of men do they expect to go down to Hades? This cursed way is hardly fit for a child, much less for a full-grown man! And crawling on one’s stomach like a worm! This is no way for Heracles to enter the Kingdom of Death.”

  For what seemed like an eternity they tramped along behind the broad back of the giant, following the steep passage. Monteyiller glared at the never-varying rock that surrounded them, scowling.

  “I’d give a lot to know where this passage ends,” he muttered.

  “If he’s telling the truth, probably at the center of the planet,” Cat said.

  “He’s mad,” Monteyiller said. He turned to her. “We must get out of this, and quick too, before anything happens to Martha up there.” He made a vile grimace. “A fine pair of rescuers we are!”

  He was interrupted by a loud exclamation from Heracles. He looked up.

  The passage took a sharp turn to the left in front of them, and from this new direction pale gray light streamed in, the light of rain and clouds and early dawn. The sound of slow waves could be heard in the distance, and there was the smell of water. From the mouth of the passage they looked out over an endless gray sea.

  Cat said, “Acheron?”

  Heracles shook his head, a puzzled expression spreading over his face.

  “By Zeus,” he said, “no!”

  10

  On the beach of the Central Sea: The cliffs rose from the sand where minerals and petrified prehistoric life lay like strange flowers in the pale subterranean light; they formed a vast cupola in the dim heights, so impossibly high up that clouds, hovering motionless, obscured the roof from view.

  There was the murmur of waves, the smell of salt. The sea rolled leadenly under the luminous sky, silent and dead. The beach curved in an unbroken line from horizon to horizon, featureless except for a group of uniformed men standing in front of the mouth of the passage. They were armed.

  In the sea off the beach, a sleek black hull rose above the water. There was a tower, a mast, an open man-hole. There were more men standing around the man-hole, dressed in dark blue with crimson signs on their breasts, leaning against the gleaming handrail that circled the black tower. Standing in front of his men, was a tall bearded man dressed in black, his face lined and weary. His voice was low, but strong, a voice used to command. Even Heracles was strangely subdued, frowning when the cool eyes indifferently passed over him.

  Behind the man stood a small, yellow-haired girl, her bright blue dress the only spot of color on the endless gray beach. She cradled a multicolored ball in her hands, staring at Monteyiller with unaverted, deeply blue eyes.

  Monteyiller took a step forward, conscious of the gleaming weapons that were leveled at him.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked harshly. “Who are you?”

  “You might call me Nemo,” the man said. Behind him, the girl laughed.

  11

  Captain Nemo was quiet, serious and aloof. He led the way down into the interior of the black submarine, preceded by the yellow-haired girl, who still clutched her ball, her eyes sparkling with mischievous joy. The taciturn crew came in the rear. None of them spoke. The man-hole closed behind them with a loud metallic crash, followed by a faint gurgling of rising water. Heracles, still strangely subdued, muttered sullenly under his breath, his eyes roving suspiciously over the steel bulkheads where gleaming dials registered increasing water pressure on the hull. There were flashing signal lights, muted buzzers and the distant sound of water sluicing into huge ballast tanks. The floor trembled slightly. The ship sank down through the still water, trailed by a glittering flow of air bubbles, slowly rising up toward the immobile surface of the Central Sea. The beach, briefly visited, was deserted again, with only a line of footprints left in the smooth sand.

  They halted before an imposing mahogany door, decorated with various sea animals in high relief. Captain Nemo touched the gilded handle and turned around, facing them.

  “I bid you welcome to the Nautilus,” he said. His voice was low and cultivated; and he spoke the language of the Confederation without the slightest accent. “Consider yourselves my guests.” There was a suggestion of a smile on his thin lips.

  Monteyiller cast a glance over his shoulder. The uniformed men stood silently behind him, hands resting casually on the butts of gleaming weapons. “You have a strange way of inviting your guests,” he said dryly, “with guns in their backs.”

  The captain bowed slightly. “As captain, I have the right to choose my own ways. Nevertheless, you are my guests.”

  “Yes,” Monteyiller said, “the right of a savage, a barbarian, but not of a civilized man.”

  Captain Nemo met his glance. “I am not what you call a civilized man! I have separated myself from the society of man, and that for reasons known only to me. I obey no laws of man, and I ask you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

  Cat said slowly, “Why are you doing this?”

  “How should I know?” He smiled briefly. “I was there, you were there—a whim, nothing else. And besides”—he bowed slightly, his lips parting in a smile that never reached his eyes—“who would not be happy to show hospitality to such a charming woman as you?”

  Cat was not impressed. “We could force you to set us free.”

  “Force me? Here? In my own ship, a hundred fathoms under the Central Sea?” He was smiling openly at her, a trace of amusement coloring his cool eyes. “Even with the aid of your weapons, which I don’t fear sufficiently enough to have removed from you, you can’t do anything to me, unless you’re willing to take the consequences and die with us all. A submarine is very, very vulnerable, as you perhaps know. I really believe you’ll be reasonable, my dear.”

  He made a gesture to one of his men and spoke rapidly to him in an unknown language. Then he turned to Heracles and Cat.

  “Food will be served to you in your cabins. The steward will show you the way. And you, Captain Monteyiller, perhaps will do me the honor of dining with me. This way, please.”

  He opened the mahogany door without waiting for the affirmative. Monteyiller caught Cat’s eyes, shrugged, and followed. The door closed silently behind
him.

  The dining room was large and exquisitely furnished in a style that indicated an ancient palace rather than a submarine. There were heavy draperies, mahogany paneling, magnificent oil paintings in massive gilded frames, statues, a small fountain. There were rows of books in the far end of the room, easychairs and a fireplace. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ornamented roof, filling the room with a warm, flickering light In the center of the room, a long oak table was set for three. There were crystal glasses, bottles, bowls. The porcelain was thin, exquisite, museum pieces, treasures from an ancient past In a far comer, white-clad servants waited.

  Monteyiller was shown his place at the end of the table, facing the captain over gleaming crystal, porcelain, silver and gold. The little girl crawled up in a chair by the long side and sat there, humming with delight and kicking her feet in the air.

  Monteyiller said, “You have a remarkable talent for luxury. But why only me? Why not my friends as well?”

  Captain Nemo was thoughtfully sipping a glass of red wine, letting it roll around in his mouth. Satisfied, he gave the servant an approving nod and watched him fill the glass. Then he looked up.

  “It’s a question of manners,” he said. “You and I might be considered equals, as far as rank is concerned. You command a ship, and you do that under conditions that are quite similar to those that prevail here. Your friends’ places are in the crew’s quarters or in their own cabins, I’m afraid.”

  “But the woman—” Monteyiller began, only to be interrupted.

  “Is a woman,” Captain Nemo said coolly. “She has been given a cabin of her own. I trust she will find it suitable for all her needs.”

  The discussion was obviously closed. Monteyiller grudgingly followed Captain Nemo’s example, and turned to the food. It was as exquisite as everything else in this strange place, but he didn’t feel hungry.

  Afterward, liqueur was served by the fireplace while silent servants took away the remains of the dinner. Monteyiller gingerly held a priceless glass in his cupped hands, gazing through the amber-colored liquid at the flaming fire.