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chamber. That is, if the chamber was in a building and not in some desert pocket universe. If, however,
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the Lord should be away, then he might return too late to keep his prisoner imprisoned.
He had no exact idea of how much time passed, but he estimated that it was about four hours later
when the tray appeared on the table. It held Earth food, a steak medium well done, a salad of lettuce,
carrots, onions, and a garlic dressing, three pieces of brown European bread with genuine butter, and a
dish of chocolate ice cream.
He felt much better when he finished, indeed, almost grateful to his captor. He did not waste any time
after swallowing the last spoonful of ice cream, however. He climbed onto the top of the table, the
beamer held on his shoulder with the strap, and the tray in his hands. He then bent over and, balancing on
one leg, set the tray down and then stepped onto it. He reasoned that the gate might be activated by the
tray and dishes and not by a certain mass. He was betting his life that the influence of the gate would
extend upward enough to include him in it. If it did not, somebody on the other end was going to be
surprised by half a corpse. If it did, somebody was still going to be surprised and even more
unpleasantly.
Suddenly, he was on a table inside a closet lit by one overhead light. If he had not been crouching, he
would have been deprived of his head by the ceiling as he materialized.
He got down off the table and swung the door open and stepped out into a very large kitchen. A man
was standing with his back to him, but he must have heard the door moving because he wheeled around.
His mouth was open, his eyes were wide, and he said, "What the . . . ?"
Kickaha's foot caught him on the point of the chin, and he fell backward, unconscious, onto the floor.
After listening to make sure that the noise of the man's fall had not disturbed anyone, Kickaha searched
the man's clothes.
He came up with a sawed-off Smith & Wesson .38 in a shoulder holster and a wallet with a hundred
and ten dollars in bills, two driver's licenses, the omnipresent credit cards, and a business card. The man's
name was Robert di Angelo.
Kickaha put the gun in his belt after checking it and then inspected the kitchen. It was so large that it
had to be in a mansion of a wealthy man. He quickly found a small control board behind a sliding panel in
the wall which was half open. Several lights were blinking on it.
The fact that di Angelo had sent down a meal to him showed that the dwellers of this house knew
they had a prisoner. Or, at least, that the Lord knew it. His men might not be cognizant of gates, but they
would have been told to report to Red Orc if the lights on this panel and others flashed out and,
undoubtedly, sound alarms were activated. The latter would have been turned off by now, of course.
There must be a visual monitor of the prison, so the Lord, Urthona, in this case, must know whom he
held. Why hadn't Urthona at once taken steps to question his captive? He must surely be burning to
know how Kickaha had gotten in there.
He ran water into a glass and dashed it in the face of the man on the floor. Di Angelo started and
rolled his head and his eyes opened. He jerked again when he saw Kickaha over him and felt the point of
the knife at his throat.
"Where is your boss?" Kickaha said. Di Angelo said, "I don't know."
"Ignorance isn't bliss in your case," Kickaha said. He pushed the knife in so that blood trickled out
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from the side of the neck.
The man's eyes widened, and he said, "Take it easy," and then, "What difference does it make? You
haven't got a chance. Here's what happened . . ."
Di Angelo was the cook, but he was also aware of what was going on in the lower echelons. He had
been told long ago to inform the boss, whom he called Mr. Callister, if the alarms were activated in the
kitchen. Until tonight, they had been dormant. When they did go off, startling him, he had called Mr.
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