To the Vanishing Point

9

Not far beyond the Hulton he pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be the biggest hotel around. Four metal and glass wings protruded from the crown of the immense cylindrical tower. Each wing contained a huge glass-bottomed pool in which guests were invited to swim. Their distance from the ground eliminated any temptation anyone in the motor home might have felt to do so.

The reservations manager was as human as they were, especially when it came to his attitude toward money. As he’d feared, Frank found that his credit cards and cash were utterly useless.

Or as the manager put it, "If you’re trying to pull some kind of gag, my friend, this is the wrong place to do it." He wore a one-piece powder-blue jumpsuit with an exotic white and black flower sprouting from the buttonhole. His shaven skull was elaborately painted. The composition continued down both sides of his neck to vanish beneath the jumpsuit’s shoulder straps.

"What about this?" Burnfingers fumbled inside his leather pouch and extracted a Spanish piece of eight. Frank didn’t get a good look at it, but it gleamed like new.

The manager held it up to the light. "Pretty, but malleable. Not worth much, I’m afraid."

A discouraged Frank turned away from the desk. "So we’re stuck. We’ll have to sleep in the motor home after all."

"Wait." The manager’s eyes narrowed. "What’s that noise?"

Since the lobby fronting the desk was active with people and other creatures coming and going, not to mention the din rising from the nearby casino, his query could have stimulated several different answers. Except that he was looking straight at Wendy, who was standing behind her parents rocking to the sounds from her Walkman. Evidently the manager’s hearing was more than acute.

Sometimes, Frank thought, it helps to be experienced in commerce.

"Just some of my daughter’s music."

The manager listened a moment longer, licking his lips. "Could I hear closer?" he finally asked hesitantly.

"Sure." Frank turned to yell at his daughter. "Wendy!"

She made a face, slipped off the earphones. "What’s up, Pops?"

"Let our friend here have a listen."

She looked dubious but passed over the Walkman and phones. The manager slipped them on carefully. A look of pure bliss transformed his face. Frank was becoming impatient when the man finally removed the phones. He looked around to make sure none of his fellow employees was near, leaned over the counter. He wore avarice like a cheap cologne.

"How much do you want for this?"

"Now wait a minute, Pops. That’s my Walkman," Wendy protested.

The two men ignored her as Frank showed the manager how the little machine operated. He nudged the eject tape and the cover popped open.

"The music is recorded on this strip of plastic material?" The manager ran a finger over an inch of tape.

"That’s right."

"This is wonderful. The archaic melodies, the astonishingly primitive rhythmic arrangements, the pure tone-deafness of the singers, not to mention the exquisite inanity of the vocals. Where did you buy it?" He looked up from the Walkman, studying their appearance, their attire. "Where are you people from, anyway? Canatolia? Marsecap? Notil?"

"Just tell me what it’s worth to you."

"I don’t know. This is just a hobby of mine." He swallowed. "Do you have more tapes like this one?"

"Yeah. There’s a whole bunch out in the mot — out in our vehicle."

"How many is a whole bunch?"

"Beats me." He turned. "Wendy?"

"C’mon, Pops," she protested. "You can’t."

"Never mind. I’ll buy you a whole new setup when we get home. Anything you want. Then you can spend a whole day shopping at Tower Records. All the tapes you can carry."

She still sounded reluctant. "Well — okay. But only if we have to."

"We have to."

"I guess," she mumbled, not looking at the desk manager, "I brought a couple dozen."

"A couple of dozen?" The man’s eyes widened. Sensing he was overreacting, he tried to appear disinterested. "I guess we could trade. I could let you stay for a little while, maybe throw in a meal or two if you’re hungry."

Frank hadn’t become a major player in the sporting goods business by selling himself short. "Forget it." He reached for the Walkman. "We’ll try somewhere else."

The manager’s hand jerked forward to stay him. "Okay, okay. I just wanted to see if you knew what you had here." He glanced uncertainly at Wendy. "Several dozen, you say? All different?"

"All different," Wendy admitted.

"I’ll give you a suite." The man was whispering now. "One of the best in the house. Not the best. I just can’t. Those are strictly for the high rollers who come in from the major worlds. But you’ll be comfortable, I guarantee it. And I’ll give you an open line of credit to in-house services. Food and miscellaneous."

"What about shows?"

"Included. Anything at the hotel."

"And gambling," said Alicia suddenly, "we’ll want to do some gambling."

The manager winced. "All right," he muttered after a moment’s hesitation. He eyed Frank calculatingly. His subject managed to appear bored and indifferent. "I’ll give you a ten-thousand credit line. No more. You aren’t professionals, are you?"

"Professionals? Professional what?" asked Alicia.

"Gamblers."

"Heavens, no."

That satisfied him. "Fine. You’ll lose it all back by morning, then. It’s all I can do. I have a lot of discretion where food and board is concerned, but not actual credit. You understand?"

Frank didn’t know how much ten thousand credits was, but he wasn’t going to argue about it. "Deal. I don’t think we’ll be staying here more than a day or so anyway."

"Then we are agreed." The man looked relieved, as though he’d just pulled off a grand coup but was trying to conceal his elation. "Give me a minute and we’ll register you. I’ll do it myself." He winked. "Can’t have you formally signing in, now can we?" He wore the smile of someone who’d just bought the Hope diamond for twenty bucks and a handful of subway tokens.

Let him celebrate, Frank thought. They’d had the better end of the deal. Tonight — today, rather — they’d sleep in a real bed and eat well. They’d have their vacation, if only for a day. Much longer than that and Mouse would be nagging at them to move on.

As soon as their surreptitious registration had been completed, the manager turned his duties over to an assistant and took them up to the room himself. The elevator they entered was cylindrical instead of rectangular. There was no sense of motion as it ascended, only unattached numbers crawling through the air where the door had been a moment earlier. As they rose, the manager enthusiastically recited a list of celebrities currently appearing at the hotel. Frank and Alicia recognized none of them.

Wendy continuously bemoaned the loss of her Walkman. "I said I’d buy you a new one," her father reminded her. "Soon as we get back to L.A."

"Yeah. If we ever get back to L.A."

Alicia put an arm around her daughter. "Of course we’re going to get home. Aren’t we, Frank?"

He nodded as their eyes met, and he could see the concern there.

Both of them felt better the instant they entered the expansive room.

"This is more like it," he murmured. "Maybe we ought to stay on this thread for a while."

"Frank!"

He grinned at his wife. "Just kiddin', hon."

"I am going to lie down for a while." Mouse’s voice was wispier than usual. "I must conserve my strength for singing."

"Sure, go ahead," Frank told her magnanimously.

A quick survey revealed two sleeping rooms located off the main sitting area. Mouse crawled onto the first bed she encountered and was instantly asleep.

As for the rest of them, they could have spent the whole morning learning about the remarkable room, but Frank planned on seeing as much of Pass Regulus and their hotel as possible. So after several hours' sleep he roused his family and prepared to go exploring.

Controls on a round table in the center of the sitting room generated three-dimensional images a yard above the polished, mirrorlike surface. By late afternoon Steven and Wendy were fighting over the buttons as naturally as they would over those of a television set.

"What about you, Burnfingers?" Frank inquired of their tall companion. "What are you going to do?"

"Guess I’ll go downstairs and have a look around. No telling when I might find my way back to this part of wherever it is we happen to be."

"My feelings exactly. You kids watch it, you hear me?"

Neither bothered to look up. An eagle and a girl were dancing in the air above the center table. They moved in response to the children’s commands.

Frank shrugged, went through the door with Alicia in tow. Burnfingers Begay followed close behind.

The hall was a tube lined with zigzagging neon lights. No, not neon. Closer inspection revealed that the lights hung by themselves in the air, dark as wine and quite tubeless. Frank passed his hand through one, certain no hotel would place dangerous lasers where a careless guest could stumble into them. He felt nothing, not even a tingling. The amazingly intense light was perfectly harmless.

The elevator took them back to the ground floor, deposited them in the casino. They found themselves surrounded by alien sights, smells, and sounds. None of the games being played was recognizable, though a couple came close. At one table, guests were playing something like craps with half a dozen dice suspended in midair. Nearby were intersecting wheels that juggled tiny arrowheads and fragments of script. As they looked on, one of the arrowheads collided with a drifting letter. There was a flash of light followed by a cheer from the spectators down front.

"This might not be as much fun as I’d hoped." Frank tried to find something they could play. "We’ve got credit, but we don’t know how any of these games operate."

Alicia put her arm through his. "We don’t have to gamble. Let’s find a show." Reluctantly, he followed her lead.

A hotel employee directed them to an auditorium. It was tastelessly decorated in velour and crushed velvet, but considering its proximity to the casino it was astonishingly quiet inside. An assortment of nearly nude creatures was cavorting on the distant stage. Some of them were human. Frank found the display of alien anatomy less intriguing than the acrobatics the troupe was performing. Since several of the aliens possessed more than feet and hands to work with, some of the results were spectacular, especially when they interacted with their human counterparts. Frank and Alicia were properly enthralled.

"You were right to come down here." Alicia’s eyes were shining. "It’s wonderful! What a shame no one will believe any of it."

"Maybe they’d believe Burnfingers. What about that, Burnfingers?" Frank turned, frowning. There was no sign of their friend. He’d been standing close behind them only a moment earlier.

Straining on tiptoes, Frank barely caught a glimpse of him over the top of the crowd. He was being led away by three huge aliens in dark attire. Frank couldn’t be sure, but he thought Begay was resisting the convoy.

"Hey, somebody’s taking Burnfingers."

"Taking? He’s probably just going to talk with some people he met."

"I don’t think so."

"Well, it isn’t our problem," she said determinedly.

He eyed her in surprise, "What do you mean it isn’t our problem, sweets? If it wasn’t for him we’d still be stuck back in Hell. Permanently, maybe."

She looked up at him. "This isn’t Hell, and we’re free to leave anytime."

Frank hesitated, tried for another glimpse of Burnfingers. A door opened in the side of the auditorium and the trio of aliens hustled him through. The Indian was definitely putting up a fight. He started toward the doorway.

Alicia tugged on his arm. "Frank, he can take care of himself."

"Sorry, hon. I have to check it out."

She was pleading now. "Please, Frank. Don’t risk your life, don’t risk all our lives, for a crazy man."

Burnfingers was no longer in view. If he didn’t go after him immediately, Frank knew, he probably wouldn’t be able to locate him again. Would that matter so much? Would it matter even to Burnfingers Begay? If he was half as crazy as he claimed to be, by tomorrow he might well have forgotten the Sonderbergs. Trouble was, Frank wouldn’t forget him.

Though not a particularly brave man, and certainly not a foolhardy one, Frank had never shied from a fight. As much as anything, he was curious why anyone in this place would want to talk to Burnfingers, why they would single out a stranger in a crowd. Of course, Begay confessed to having been around some. Had he been here before, too, wherever here was? Or had he been truthful up in the room when he’d claimed he didn’t know where they were?

What it came down to was not where they were, but what kind of people they were.

"I’ve got to see what’s going on, sweets. Got to see if I can help."

"No, you don’t. It’s probably friends of his, or some kind of minor misunderstanding."

He gently disengaged himself. "You wait here. Or go back to the room and check on the kids. I’ll be back in a minute. I just want to find out what’s going on. I’m not going to do anything stupid. You know me better than that."

She nodded slowly. "I know that tone. But I’m not staying here and I’m not going upstairs. I’m coming with you. If there’s no danger then there’s no harm in it."

He didn’t want to waste any more time arguing. "Come on, then." He turned and led the way through the crowd, oblivious to the fact that more than half of them weren’t remotely human.

They left the raucous cheering of the auditorium for the comparative quiet of a circular lobby. Frank just managed to glimpse one alien and black hair turning, up another hallway. Several corridors connected with the lobby like the spokes of a wheel.

"There they go!"

"Shouldn’t we notify security or something?" Alicia’s reluctance hadn’t abated.

"Not until we find out what this is all about. Security might make things worse for Burnfingers."

They hurried across the lobby and into the hallway opposite — only to find themselves confronting a dead end. There were no doors lining the cul-de-sac, only inscriptions on the walls. Frank tentatively brushed a hand across the wall beneath one such label. The script above glowed briefly, but no entrance appeared.

Alicia hung back. "I don’t know about this, Frank. Following’s one thing. Breaking and entering’s another."

"I’m not going to break anything," he assured her impatiently.

There couldn’t be more than three doors off the dead end, he suspected. It was too small for more than that. One on each side and another at the far end. He began feeling his way slowly around the hallway wall, paying particular attention to the spaces beneath the inscriptions. It made no difference. The walls remained inviolate.

"They must’ve gone through here somewhere," he muttered under his breath. "We saw 'em come down here."

"You tried your best, dear. I’m sure Mr. Begay can take care of himself, wherever he is." She didn’t entirely believe that, but what else could they do? They had their own troubles and children to worry about. Burnfingers had been a friend and good company, but she wouldn’t be wholly displeased to see him fall by the wayside. It was feeling crowded in the motor home.

Frank didn’t like the idea of giving up, but there didn’t seem anything more he could do, unless he took Alicia’s suggestion and notified hotel security. As he stood there debating how to proceed, there was a rush of air and a door-sized opening materialized just to his left. A second later bodies filled the gap, arms and legs pinwheeling around the flailing form of Burnfingers Begay as he fought with his three abductors. Alicia gasped as the pinwheel sucked up Frank. Despite the beer belly he’d acquired over the years, he still knew how to fight. He began kicking and punching wildly, realizing he had a three-in-four chance of hitting someone beside Burnfingers.

The combative quintet slammed into the far wall and came apart under the impact, which dazed two of Burnfingers’s attackers. Frank extricated himself, bruised but unbowed, while the Indian wrestled with his remaining assailant. The two trying to rise from the floor and rejoin the fight owned ugly faces, short sharp teeth, pointy ears, and a fringe of porcupinish spines that presently lay back flat atop their heads. Frank became aware that Burnfingers was shouting at him.

"Go get Mouse and the children! Warm up the motor home. And do not forget my luggage!" His fist impacted on a blunt snout and his attacker fell limp. One of the two rising from the floor was trying to extract a steel whip from a pocket.

Frank stood paralyzed, puffing hard, realizing he was ill-suited for this sort of activity but unwilling to flee. "You heard him, hon! Get the kids and our stuff into the Winnebago!"

"But you — ?"

"Go on, now!"

With a last helpless glance in Burnfingers’s direction she whirled and raced for the elevators.

The thing without the whip weighed at least three hundred pounds. It threw itself on Begay’s back. Burnfingers executed a deft little move and threw the monster into the far wall. As its companion raised the thin steel, Frank hopped forward and kicked it in the groin. That part of its anatomy was apparently analogous enough, because it promptly collapsed to the floor.

Burnfingers put an arm around Frank’s shoulder and launched him down the short hallway. "Come on, my friend!"

"Call — hotel security!" Frank managed to gasp.

"Cannot. We can’t stay here any longer, not even to answer helpful questions. Still got that credit with you?"

"The stuff the manager gave us?" He pulled out a spool of quarter-inch gold tape. "Yeah, right here, but — "

Burnfingers yanked it away. Glancing back, Frank saw two of the massive abductors pounding hard after them. Abruptly he realized how out of shape he was, wheezing and struggling to maintain the pace.

They charged into the casino, their pursuers closing the distance with every stride. Drawing startled looks and oaths in a dozen languages, Burnfingers leaped atop a gaming table. Before anyone could pull him down he unwound the secure end of the spool and threw it as far into the crowd as he was able. The gold tape trailed its spool like a berserk kite string, glinting in the lights.

Shouts and squeals of excitement filled the air as the gamblers and tourists scrambled for pieces of the tape. The crowd packed in tightly, rendering the aisles between gaming tables impassable, a living wave that smashed up against the pair of thugs and carried them backward.

Burnfingers was grinning as he jumped down from the table. "That ought to slow them down for a while. Let us leave now, before security does indeed put in an appearance. They would want to question us, and I don’t want to be questioned." Grabbing Frank, he half led, half dragged him through the mob.

"Where are we going?"

"To the motor home, which your fine woman will hopefully have warmed up and awaiting us outside."

"What if she’s late?"

"I think your woman is more resourceful than that. I don’t think we will have to wait for her."

Whistles and sirens filled the room as the hotel’s security forces finally put in an appearance. The effort required to try to control a crowd battling for possession of pieces of a ten-thousand-credit tape left them no time for chasing fleeing tourists like Frank and Burnfingers Begay.

"What’s the deal, anyway? What’d those guys want with you?" Frank found it hard to run and talk simultaneously. Fortunately, whenever he slowed down, his companion all but carried him along.

"They wanted my gold, of course."

Frank’s gaze rose to the backpack that bounced on the bigger man’s back. "They didn’t get it?"

"Of course not. Do you think I would wander around a place like this with a load of gold in my backpack? I may be crazy, but I am not stupid."

"Then where is it? The gold, I mean?"

"I thought your luggage would be the safest place. I switched it when you were showing the children how to work the dimensional projector. I knew you would not mind."

"Me, mind? Why should I mind? So the gold’s with Alicia and the kids?"

Begay nodded. Frank wanted to tell the Indian what he thought of him for placing Alicia in such danger, but he couldn’t spare the wind and right now he was more interested in leaving Begay’s assailants far behind. He didn’t ease off until they’d left the auditorium-casino section.

"Wait a minute. How could anybody here know about your gold?"

"They sensed it, because it is special. It has the odor of history upon it. Other things besides wine can improve with age. There is a mystique to old gold that has been much handled. An aura, a sense of power; call it what you will." He nodded back the way they’d come. "They sensed it."

Frank didn’t understand. "You mean they wanted your stash because it has antique value?"

Burnfingers shook his head. "No. They wanted to prevent me from making something of it."

Something still didn’t make sense. "Why should they or anyone else care if you want to make some bracelets or watchbands out of the stuff?"

Burnfingers smiled at a private thought. "Perhaps they are afraid I may make something out of it besides a bracelet or watchband." He gestured. "We made it. There is an exit."

As they plunged through the emergency door, Frank forgot to ask Burnfingers who they might be.

He seemed to know exactly where they were going. As they ran around the side of the hotel and entered the main parking area, Frank bent over and rested his palms on his knees.

"Gonna have to slow down. Fast walking’s about all the exercise I get anymore. Spent the last ten years behind a desk. Remember, I don’t use jogging shoes. I just sell 'em."

"It’s all right, my friend. We are nearly there. See?" Burnfingers pointed. The motor home stood out like an iceberg among the sea of leaner, sleeker vehicles in the parking lot. Lights blazed within and a slim figure stood silhouetted in the door.

"Hello, Mousewoman," Burnfingers said in greeting as he helped Frank stagger the rest of the way.

"Hello, Burnfingers Begay." She was eyeing him strangely. "Alicia told me you ran into some trouble."

"All over now. Everyone here?"

"Yes." Alicia pushed Mouse aside. "What happened? Why were those thugs beating up on you?"

"Tell you all about it later. Are the children all right?" He tried to peer past her into the motor home as Frank pulled himself through the door.

"They’re fine. Confused, like the rest of us, but fine. They weren’t happy about leaving in such a hurry."

"I am not happy about it, either. You brought all the luggage?"

"Naturally we brought all our luggage."

He smiled, relieved. "That’s very good." He followed Frank inside.

Alicia closed the door behind them. Frank stood fighting for breath, paused as Burnfingers strode past him and took up residence in the driver’s seat. He extended an open hand.

"Give me the keys, Frank."

"No. No way." He shook his head, exhausted by the long run. "I’ve gone along with you far enough. I risked my life to look for you."

"I appreciate that. I will explain everything eventually, but we cannot hang around here. Those unpleasant people will find us. Give me the keys."

Frank fumbled through his pockets, finally produced the handful of metal. He held them a foot from Burnfingers’s outstretched hand. "Why should I let you drive? A crazy man?"

"I am a good driver, Frank. On the reservation, every day is demolition-derby day. We count coup in pickups now instead of on pony back. Compared to that, highway driving is a snap." He nodded toward the far window. "You better make up your mind quick."

Frank joined his wife in staring through the glass. The three near-humans who’d been fighting with Begay were standing in the brightly lit main entrance of the hotel. Even at a distance Frank could tell they were searching intently.

"In moments they will locate us," Burnfingers was saying. "Then they will shoot to disable our transportation. Hopefully they will not kill anyone in the process." Frank handed him the keys. "Thank you."

Burnfingers started the engine, raced it once, then pulled slowly out of the parking lot, heading for the main drag. Frank shifted his attention to the side window. As they pulled out into the street he thought he saw the three figures vanish into the lot.

Horns blared, whistles screeched, sirens wailed as the big motor home made room for itself amid the traffic. As they headed out of town and gained room to maneuver, Burnfingers accelerated, weaving around the remaining vehicles in front of them. Frank sat down next to him.

"Better slow up or you’ll wreck us."

"No way, my friend." He kept his eyes on the road ahead, grinning. "You’ve done most all the driving so far. Now it is my turn."

Steven was whining because no one was listening to him. Wendy sat morosely off to one side, obviously frustrated by their precipitate departure. Alicia and Mouse were all the way in back, staring through the wide rear window.

"I think someone’s following us!" Alicia shouted, raising her voice so she would be heard up at the front. "There’s a big van or something back there and it’s weaving in and out of traffic just like we are."

Burnfingers glanced at his sideview mirrors. "I see them. Don’t worry. We’ll lose them."

"In this tank?" said Frank worriedly. "This ain’t no Corvette, you know."

"Don’t worry." Burnfingers winked at him. "I once had to lose two busloads of tourists in Monument Valley." He continued to accelerate, recklessly disregarding the presence of the other cars on the road ahead. Frank moaned and closed his eyes, but they didn’t hit anybody. Burnfingers handled the motor home like a Jeep, until they’d left the last of the city traffic far behind.

"They’re still back there!" Alicia declared in a high voice. Her announcement was followed by a faint whooshing noise as something like a runaway skyrocket shot past overhead. It vanished into the night.

"Shooting at us," Burnfingers announced imperturbably. "I thought they would hold off a while longer." He swung the motor home hard left.

Frank stared forward. "Why’d you turn off?" The road ahead was two lanes, narrow but paved, like a snake’s tongue leading out into the desert. The main highway quickly fell behind. Dark mountains loomed against the night. "If they catch us out here they won’t have to worry about witnesses."

"They won’t catch us." Burnfingers spoke with assurance, staring straight ahead and holding on to the wheel with both hands. Occasionally he stole a glance at the rearview.

Another light flashed by, off to the right this time, fading into the darkness like fluorescent cola.

"If they’ve got a full tank they can just run us down." Frank was peering at the mirror on the passenger’s side, barely able to make out the lights of the van pursuing them. "We’ll run out of gas out in the middle of nowhere!"

"I thought this road angled right about here." Burnfingers was talking to himself, not Frank. "Ah." His face broke into a wide smile.

Frank’s pupils became as big as grapes.

Everything they’d encountered so far — the incredible creatures, the impossible places — paled to insignificance alongside what happened next. Burnfingers shoved the accelerator to the floor and the motor home leaped forward. Steven stopped whining and raced to the nearest window, staring out.

"Oh, wow!"

"Steven! Steven, you come away from there!" Alicia hurried forward to put her arms around the boy. When she saw what he was looking at, her hands dropped slowly to her sides. Wendy had moved over to stand close to her mother, while Mouse stood behind them, saying nothing.

The road had become a pale, thin ribbon stretching across void. A soft pink light emanated from the pavement, a strip of cellophane trimmed with glowing fiber optics. Theirs was the only vehicle traveling the fairy road. Mountains, cacti, the barbed-wire fences that had lined both sides of the pavement: all had disappeared.

All that remained was the pure perfect night, and the myriad of stars overhead. Also to left and right. Also below.

They could clearly see radiant nebulae and supergiants, bright clusters and comets, through the semitransparent surface of the road.