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the fan, the sergeant reflected, the spec-four never balked or asked dumb
questions. Demands of violence pushed aside all rivalry and debate.
What s the problem? Pomorski asked mildly.
Gil sat down, trading off the .45 for Shorty. This dude and the redheaded
babe and one or two others are the ones who got us here, I think I don t know
how yet with the idea of making us do something or other for them. Your man
here got nasty about explaining details and got kind of, you know,
high-strung, so I invited him over for some Nine-Mob hospitality. I don t
think the adoring public outside will give us any trouble for the time being,
as long as this one s not messed up too much. He thought for a moment. Al?
Yeah, Mac? answered Woods from the cupola.
Are the gates locked? If so, d you think we could bust out of this brick
barn?
The gates are barred, Mac. We might be able to crash through, but it seems
to me we d come down hard on that old bridge; might go right through it into
the ditch outside. I don t know that we could climb out again.
The sergeant bit his lip. Van Duyn was sitting up, watching them and
listening to the interplay. Gil glared at him for a second, ready to speak,
but Van Duyn began first.
MacDonald, I appear to have misjudged you seriously, at least as far as
temper and tractability go. Rather than lose all chance of your cooperation,
I m prepared to try to explain to you all that I can. I warn you though; it
won t be easy to accept or, for that matter, to express.
Pomorski snorted, and said, A while ago a Dink with a rocket launcher was
going to smoke us, had us dead to rights. Then we roll through a gray fog bank
and we re in Fantasyland. I ll be real surprised if the explanation is
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anythingbut loony.
Van Duyn considered this. Quite so, he decided. Very well, I ll ask you
not to interrupt until I ve finished, and kindly to suspend your doubts for
the duration of my story. If you find yourselves outraged from a commonsense
standpoint, I suggest that you examine your surroundings; that should make you
receptive.
Gil nodded. You three stay at the guns, he told Woods, Handelman and
Olivier, and let us know if you can t hear what s being said. Mr. Van Duyn,
the floor is yours.
Chapter Nine
What is now proved was once only imagin d.
William Blake
Despite his request, his story was subject to frequent interruptions for
questions and comments. But as his quiet, composed voice continued, the
Nine-Mob listened with grudging, growing credulity:
* * * *
My name is Edward Van Duyn. I hold degrees in a number of fields, some earned
and some honorary, but they are of little importance to me now, here, as they
are part of a life I no longer wish to live. They are of no further use or
interest to me.
You see, I come from the same Reality as you gentlemen do. But I had long
since grown bored and frustrated with my existence before leaving there. I had
fallen prey to ennui; never saw it coming or felt it arrive, but one day there
it was.
I had essayed to do some teaching, but one must sort through so much gravel
for the gems. And then what is their attitude? Teach me; it s my right. I
tell you, there is a surfeit of left-handed monkey wrenches in the world
compared to the supply of worthwhile students.
So, I restricted my activities to pure research. It was for this reason that
I accepted a position with the think-tank center called the Grossen Institute.
I don t suppose you ve heard of it? A foundation supported by sizable
governmental and industrial endowments for abstract projects of scientific
inquiry. I was not specializing in any one field. I was responsible, like
several others, for synthesizing, exploring correlations and interfaces
between various areas of research.
About two years ago, I became interested in three studies being done at the
Grossen. One was a rigorous mathematical investigation of the theories of a
plurality of universes, another a new attack on the problem of the
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