'Shore wish we had our tools,' Luster said, 'if we're gonna have t' fix 'er agin.'
'They would come in handy,' Jeremy agreed.
'You can use the tools in the ship's emergency tool kit,' Isis said.
'What tool kit is that?' Jeremy asked.
'There is a very small compartment on the port side of the undercarriage, near the secondary positron generator,' Isis said. 'That's it.'
'Is that whut that is?' Luster said, surprised. 'Ah opened that up oncet, and there was all these funny-looking rods and things in there.'
'Well, they're tools for alien hands,' Isis said, continuing to work as she talked. 'This ship wasn't built by human beings, you know.'
'Wull, ah figgered that's whut they was, but ah don't rightly know iffen we can use 'em.'
'Unfortunately, Luster dear, they're all we have to work with.'
Lester chuckled. 'Wull, in that case, ma'am, ah figger we ain't got no choice but t' try and use 'em.'
'That's the spirit, Luster. Oh, dear.' Jeremy said, 'What's up?'
Isis clucked and shook her head. 'I'm afraid it's a hardware glitch, Jeremy dear. We'll have to put down and make repairs.'
'Rats. I hate it when this happens.' 'Worse things could happen, Jeremy.'
'We didn't even want to go out into the universes. We just wanted to get away from that nut stuff back at the castle. We wouldn't even have-'
'Major malfunction!' Isis was peering intently at a cluster of red lights that had just come on.
Jeremy tried to peer around Isis's head. 'What now?' 'Jeremy, honey, we just lost the main graviton flux inducer.'
'There's a backup, maybe?'
'Afraid not. This craft never had one installed.' Melanie asked, 'What does a graviton flux thingee do?' The craft began to pitch forward. The horizon crawled up the view port:
'A graviton flux inducer is the thing that generates the antigravity field,' Jeremy said. 'And that's what keeps the ship up in the air.'
Melanie's heart did a flip-flop. 'And that means we're going to…?'
'Crash,' Jeremy said, scowling. 'Boy, I hate it when this happens.'
KEEP — LOWEST LEVELS
There was much clink and clash of steel against steel in the sitting room-or what was left of the sitting room. The fancy furniture lay overturned. Glass shelves were shattered, their objets d'art strewn over the carpet or smashed against stone. Tapestries lay trampled across the floorboards.
Gene swung mightily, connected, and sent his opponent's banged-up shield flying. Unprotected, the gladiator braced to parry Gene's next assault, but mistook a low feint for the real thing. For a penalty he lost his head, which Gene took off cleanly at the shoulders with one whistling cut.
The severed head left a bloody trail across a Persian throw rug before disappearing.
Gene looked over his shoulder in time to see Snowclaw skewer his adversary, who promptly disappeared.
Linda came out from behind an overturned highboy. 'Yuck! I know they're not real, but I can't stand the gore. I'm getting ill.'
'It's not doing my stomach any good, either,' Gene said as he sheathed his weapon, 'but the whole phenomenon is getting kind of shaky.'
'Meaning what?'
'Meaning these guys didn't have much fight in them. Much weaker than the spooks I first tussled with.'
'What do you think's going on? Spell exhaustion?'
'I think that's a good bet.'
Linda nodded. 'Stands to reason. All this magic, all so overdone. You reach a point of diminishing returns with any spell.'
'Right. So maybe the whole shebang will just play itself out?'
'I dunno,' Linda said. 'A weakened spell can go on for the longest time. It can still be a nuisance.'
'I was just hoping we didn't have to go through with this. I'm tired as hell. You tired, Snowy?'
'No. Bored.'
'Know what you mean. Okay, you want to try the next level down?'
'Might as well,' Linda said. 'Stairs?'
'Let's try an elevator. I think there's a shaft near here.'
'Take a shortcut to the source of this nonsense. Right, let's be off.'
They walked out of the sitting room and down the hall, threading through a thicket of activity. Variety had begun to evidence itself. The entertainment theme no longer prevailed. Strange and not-so-strange apparitions of many a flavor and stripe came into view. They passed a pair of sailors, a group of women in chadors and veils, several men in conservative suits carrying attache cases, a motorcycle gang, a man and woman in khakis and pith helmets swishing butterfly nets, a troupe of clowns, six tonsured monks, half-a-dozen state militiamen, an overnight-message delivery woman, several used car salesmen in plaid sports coats, white bucks, and green trousers with white belts, several English bobbies, a tribe of Uzbeks, a gang of stevedores with grappling hooks, a bemedaled officer of the Woman Textile Workers Union of Novocherkassk, a male ballet dancer flouncing about with a nosegay of nasturtiums, a man in a tartan kilt dancing a strathspey, three whirling dervishes, a Maytag repairman, a pride of surgeons in green operating gowns, and a dozen fez-headed Shriners in search of a convention.
These were only the human representatives. Also scurrying about the hallways were orangutans, chimps, gibbons, lemurs, and one gorilla. Flitting through the air came birds of every description, from nuthatches to herons, from waxwings to hummingbirds.
'Hello, hello,' Gene said, greeting people amiably.
'Things are getting even more nutsy,' Linda said nervously. 'Who are these people?'
'You got me. Hello, there! Nice day, isn't it?'
A Tibetan monk passed, bowing. Following him was a Jain holy man, stark naked and distributing handbills. Proffering one he asked, 'You read literature?'
'Jain err,' Gene told the man, waving him off.
A cloud of multicolored butterflies swarmed overhead. Farther on, black butterflies congregated.
There were a few musicians left. A man bowing a rebec strolled past, followed by a woman playing an oboe d'amore. A small girl blowing an ocarina skipped by.
More animals: two ocelots, three servals, and a small herd of springbok. A pack of Dalmatians ran by, yipping and yelping.
'What weird-looking animals these are,' Snowclaw said.
Gene regarded him curiously, but said nothing.
More Dalmatians dashed by.
'This is getting to be Dalmatian Alley,' Linda said.
'Good book, terrible movie,' Gene said off-handedly.
'Hey, pal, got a light?'
It was a man in historically accurate medieval Hungarian armor, holding an unlit cigarette to his lips.
Gene stopped and searched his pockets. He shook his head.
Linda held out a flaming Zippo. The man lit his cigarette and puffed.
'Thanks,' the man said.
'Say,' Gene said, 'are you in this book?'
'No, I'm just taking a shortcut to the next Steve Brust novel.'
'Oh.'
The man winked. 'See you around.'
