Universe Twister - Keith Laumer [148]
It was a fast, noisy, dusty ride in a child-sized subway train that hurtled along the tracks laid through the twisting series of caverns underlying the miles of desert over which O'Leary had flitted so nervously the previous night. Swinehild cuddled next to him in the cramped seat and slept soundly until the car docked at their destination. She oohed and ahhed at the sights as they left the terminus and made their way through vast workshops, foundries, stamping plants, refineries, the odors and tumult of a busy underground manufacturing operation.
"I've always heard about elves toiling away under the mountain," Lafayette confided in his guide as they emerged into the comparative quiet of the admin level. "But I always pictured little fellows with beards pounding out gold arm rings at a hand forge."
"We modernized a while back," Sprawnroyal told him. "Production's up eight hundred percent in the last fiscal century alone."
In the retail-sales department, Swinehild watched in silence as a bustling crew of electronics men rolled out a small, dark-green carpet at Pinchcraft's instruction.
"This is our Mark XII, the latest model," the production chief stated proudly. "Windscreen, air and music, safety belt, and hand-loomed deep pile as soft as goofer feathers."
"It's cute," Swinehild said, "But where do I sit?"
"You can't go," O'Leary said shortly. "Too dangerous."
"I am too going," she came back sharply. "Just try and stop me!"
"You think I'd risk your neck on this contraption? Out of the question!"
"You think I'm going to sit around this marble factory ducking my head under the ceiling while you go off and get yourself killed?"
"Not on your life, lady," Sprawnroyal said. "Fitzbloomer, roll out a Mark XIII—a two-seater." He gave O'Leary a challenging look. "Anybody thinks I'm going to get myself saddled with the care and feeding of a broad two feet higher'n me's got wrong ideas."
"Well . . . in that case," O'Leary subsided.
It was the work of ten minutes to check circuits, carry the Mark XIII to a launching platform on the face of the cliff, and balance out the lift system for a smooth, level ride.
"Contraption, eh?" Pinchcraft snorted under his breath. "She'll handle like an ocean liner. Just hold her under sixty for the first few miles, until you get the feel of her."
"Sure," Lafayette said, tucking his fur-lined blackout cloak around him against the bitter night wind. Swinehild settled herself behind him, with her arms around his waist.
"Here we go," O'Leary said. There was the familiar lifting surge, a vertiginous moment as the rug oriented itself on the correct course line. Then the wind was whistling past their faces as the lights of the Ajax Specialty Works receded behind them.
"I hope you ain't mad at me for coming along," Swinehild whispered in Lafayette's rapidly numbing ear.
"No, not really," O'Leary called over his shoulder. "Just don't get in my way when the action starts to hot up. Krupkin beat it because he was afraid I'd realize who he was and unleash my psychic energies on him." He gave a humorless chuckle. "I recognized him, all right—but what he doesn't know is that I haven't got a psychic erg to my name anymore."
"You've got luck," Swinehild pointed out. "Like finding that door into the tunnel just when you did. That's just about as good, I guess."
"There's something strange about my luck," O'Leary said. "It's either unbelievably bad, or unbelievably good. Like finding that disguise in the park—and before that, in the boat, coming up with a knife just when I need it: sometimes it's almost as if my psychic energies were back at work. But then I try again, and draw a goose egg. It's very unsettling."
"Don't worry bout it, Lafe. Just take it as it comes. That's what I do—and somehow I always get by."
"That's all very well for you," O'Leary countered. "All you're interested in is getting to the big town and living high; as for me—there are times when I almost wish I was still back at Mrs. MacGlint's, with nothing to worry about but earning