Craig Shaw Gardner - Cineverse 1 - Slaves of the Volcano God

This book is an Ace original edition, and has never been previously published.

SLAVES OF THE VOLCANO GOD

by Craig Shaw Gardner

Reel One of the Cineverse Cycle

An Ace Book/published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace edition/October 1989

Cover art by Walter Velez.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,

by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.

For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

ISBN: 0-441-76977-2

Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

200 Madison Avenue, New York, New York 10016.

The name "ACE" and the "A" logo are trademarks

belonging to Charter Communications, Inc.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

THIS BOOK IS FOR THE TWO TOMS;

COUNT VON EINS BIS ZWEI

AND

THE OTHER BAD MOVIE COMMANDO.

CHAPTER

^^ 1 ^^

Roger thought he should be able to deal with anything. He worked in public relations,

after all. He prided himself on facing crises.

"I told you not to move," the man in the trench coat reiterated. The man's voice was

almost theatrically gruff. Roger might have found this whole thing funny if the man

had not been waving such a large gun in Roger's direction. And he had been waving

that gun for an awfully long time. Some crises, Roger reflected, were worse than

others.

Perhaps if he worked in public relations out in the business world, rather than in a

cloistered university setting, he might be better able to cope with a gun. Still, he didn't

think guns showed up in the world of business public relations either. At least, not

very often.

The whole thing had, of course, begun with Delores. Ah, Delores! Just thinking of her

slim form and long, blond hair, her full lips, her eyes as blue as the Caribbean, Roger

wanted to swoon.

He stopped himself immediately. Swooning, as far as Roger knew, was a form of

moving. The man with the gun was not too keen on moving. He had mentioned this to

Roger, many times. Could something go on this long and still be considered a crisis?

"Oh, Roger," Delores had said in her husky voice, as distinctive in its way as the

voice of the man with the trench coat. Then Delores had kissed him—the kind of kiss

that starts on the lips but somehow manages to work its way down to the toes. "My

Roger," she had said as she tousled his sandy brown hair, and with those words, he

had known his fate was sealed. He was "her Roger," and he knew what happened

when Delores really wanted something. After all, if she hadn't attacked that vending

machine, he never would have met her in the first place.

What really surprised Roger, however, was the equal certainty that he considered this

woman "his Delores." After what had happened to him with Susan, he had never

thought he could feel this way about a woman again. Heaven knows, he never felt the

same way when he walked into a supermarket. But somehow, supermarkets no longer

seemed important. They were "her Roger" and "his Delores"; that was what was

important. And that was it, no matter what.

"No moving," the man in the trench coat said again. He paused. "Well, I suppose you

can smile. I mean, we all have to move some, don't we? You can't help but blink your

eyes. That sort of thing. But no big movements. I think that's what the guys meant. I

wonder what's taking them so long?"

"Guys?" Roger asked. Somehow, this was all beginning to seem like some

particularly bad film noir.

"No talking now!" The man in the trench coat waved the gun even more in Roger's

direction than he had before. "Smiling's okay, but talking's definitely out. Talking is

moving, and then some! I know my orders. You tell Big Louie to do something, he

does it!"

Big Louie? The guy with the gun wasn't any more than five foot four, and one time

when the floor-length trench coat swung open, Roger could have sworn he glimpsed

elevator shoes. Just what was going on here?

"Just what's going on here?" the little man in the trench coat whined as if he had read

Roger's mind. "Those guys should be here by now. I mean, this is where Delores

lives, isn't it?"

Roger cleared his throat. "Well—" he began.

Roger found the gun pressed against his nose.

"What did I say about talking?" Big Louie hissed. He frowned and removed the gun

from Roger's nostril. "Well, I suppose you can talk if you're answering a question.

That's only fair, isn't it?" The gunman shrugged. "I'm a little new at this. I hope it isn't

too obvious."

The gunman lapsed into silence, and Roger once again thought about Delores. So

beautiful, so witty, so full of life. There had to be a catch. That's one thing Roger had

learned in his thirty-two years upon this Earth. There was always a catch.

"There's always a catch," Big Louie mumbled, more to himself than to Roger. "Hey,

they say to me, you want a chance at the big time? Sure, I says. Okay, they say, we

got a job for you, a piece of cake. I'll do it, I says, but I have to have a gang-type

name. What's wrong with Seymour? they ask. Hey, I says, if I'm gonna do gang

things, I gotta fit the part. What's wrong with Seymour? they ask. Seymour, they

continue, is a perfectly good name. You know the type. They never understand the

important things!" Louie came out of his slouch to stand as tall as he was able. Yes,

he was definitely wearing elevator shoes. "I want to be called Big Something, I says.

Like Big Seymour? they ask." Big Louie sighed. "You know the type. They never

understand." The gunman slouched again, lapsing into gloomy silence.

Roger wondered if he could risk saying something. He had given up trying to

overcome the short gunman—heck, he had even given up thinking about it—

approximately ten seconds after Big Louie had arrived. The short fellow was too

quick, and, even worse, too nervous. Plus, this gangster had caught Roger in his

jogging suit.

There was something about wearing a set of navy blue sweats, even the fancy kind

with the white stripes down the pants. Whether it was that he was caught without a

belt, or that—he had to admit it—his stomach wasn't quite as flat as it should be,

being in a jogging suit made Roger feel somehow—how should he put it?—

particularly vulnerable. Especially when he was looking into the barrel of a gun.

Roger had to face it: He was a runner, not a fighter.

He paused for a long moment, waiting for the man in the trench coat to make a move,

but Big Louie did nothing but sigh and stare moodily at his gun.

"Did you want me to answer a question?" Roger asked at last.

"What?" Big Louie started, gun at the ready. "What did I tell you—oh, that's right—I

did. Yeah. I guess so. I mean, with the guys not showing up and all, I guess we have

to change the rules a little." He lowered his weapon. "So, let me ask you. Just where

is Delores?"

Roger told him she had left half an hour before.

"What?" The little guy shook his gun in disbelief. "You mean she's already gone?

That would be just like those guys. A piece of cake, they say." The small man shook

with fury. He pointed his revolver straight at Roger's stomach. His knuckles were

white where he held his gun.

"There's only one thing I want to know," Big Louie whispered between clenched

teeth. "What am I waiting around here for?"

The gunman vanished in a puff of blue smoke.

Roger blinked.

Did this mean the crisis was over?

−−−−−

The first thing Roger was aware of was lips. And what lips! Only one woman in the

world kissed like that.

"Delores!" Roger gasped when she let him come up for air. At least she was safe! He

had been so worried about her after the short gunman had shown up. It was only natu-

ral, after all, especially since that incident between Roger and Dierdre—although in

that case it had been a rifle, not a revolver. And there had been that overripe avocado,

too. But he had promised himself he wasn't going to think about Dierdre anymore, or

Susan, or Wanda, or—well, he especially wasn't going to think about Phyllis! All that

sort of thing was over, now that he'd met Delores.

But Delores hadn't told him where she was going. She was like that. Roger really

thought she enjoyed being mysterious. This time, though, her sense of mystery might

have been fatal. Even if he had known whether or not he should warn her about Big

Louie, there was no way he could have gotten in touch with her.

So eventually he had exchanged his jogging suit for a pair of striped pajama pants and

crawled into bed. Even more eventually, he had fallen asleep. None of his real dreams

had come close to Big Louie. That had worried him even more. Just what was Delores

mixed up in?

She put a finger to her lips. His dreams had gone away, replaced by Delores'

magnificent reality.

"Have they been here?" she whispered. Roger always had to be careful not to shiver

when she whispered.

He nodded.

"I was afraid of that." Delores frowned. "I really didn't want to get you mixed up in

this, Roger." She sighed wistfully. Roger loved it when she sighed wistfully. "It's a

little late for that now, though."

She stroked his bare shoulder tentatively. "I think I should tell you everything. But I

will have to hurry. I don't think we have much time."

She looked around the room, as if she expected someone to pop out of nowhere at any

second. Roger remembered Big Louie and the blue smoke. Satisfied that they were

alone for the moment, Delores reached into the pocket of her black vinyl jump suit

and took out a small, shiny object. She pressed the object into Roger's hand.

"This is what they were after," she said.

Roger studied the strangely familiar object in the bedroom's dim light. He held a

hollow silver-colored oval, made of some lightweight plastic, with an insignia

attached to one end. It looked like nothing so much as a Captain Crusader Decoder

Ring.

Roger remembered Captain Crusader Decoder Rings from his childhood. You got one

whenever you bought a box of Nut Crunchies. You needed them to understand the

messages written in Captain Crusader's secret codes that always appeared on the back

of the box.

He could still remember decoding those messages on his breakfast napkins: "Civic

Responsibility is everybody's business." "Every day starts better with a smile."

"Always look both ways before you cross the street." Roger had always wondered

what was so special about those messages that they had to be written in code. Still,

anything that came for free in a box of Nut Crunchies was worth saving, and Roger

would always keep the rings. At one time, he had had seven.

He looked back at the object in his hand. "What is it?" he asked, afraid in his heart she

would tell him it was a Captain Crusader Decoder Ring.

"This," Delores intoned solemnly, "is the key to the universe."

"Oh," Roger replied. Actually, he didn't like that answer much more than the one he

had anticipated. This tiny, cheap, plastic thing was the key to the universe? He turned

on his overhead reading light to better study the small, silver-colored band. It still

looked just like a Captain Crusader Decoder Ring.

"Actually," Delores confessed, "it's a Captain Crusader Decoder Ring." She smiled

one of her dazzling Delores smiles. "But the people at Nut Crunchies never realized

what they had wrought with the invention of this little marvel." She winked at Roger.

"You see, you can use this little ring to go anywhere you want in the Cineverse, to

any one of those uncounted million worlds—"

"Hold it!" Roger cried. This was all too complicated. After that mess he had gotten in

with Vicki, Roger had sworn off complicated relationships once and for all. At least

he thought he had.

"Whatever is going on here," Roger continued, "you have to start your explanation

from the beginning." He pointed at the piece of plastic in his other hand. "I do not

believe a Captain Crusader Decoder Ring qualifies as a beginning."

Delores pouted. "Well, it is." Lord, Roger thought, Delores was beautiful when she

pouted! "At least," she continued, "it is in a way. Well, actually, it's a very

complicated beginning. Maybe there's some other way I can explain."

Her frown only lasted a few seconds. She snapped her fingers and smiled.

"Roger," she said, "you really like to go to the movies, don't you?"

Roger looked at her in astonishment. That was like asking him if he liked to breathe.

Just the night before, he had taken Delores to see a triple feature of jungle action pic-

tures at the local revival house: Zabana, Prince of the Jungle, Zabana Versus the Nazi

Death Ray, and Zabana Goes to Hollywood. And she asked him if he liked movies!

"Well, yes," he answered after a moment's pause.

With that, Delores once again showed her fabulous smile. "I know you do, darling.

Your love of movies is a big part of why we're involved. That surprises you, doesn't

it? I suppose I should have told you about all this sooner. Still, our romance was so

perfect." Her cool fingers ran across his knuckles. She chuckled ruefully. "It was

almost like a movie."

Her touch sent waves of chill excitement down Roger's spine. Maybe he was being

too hard on Delores. After all, complications had a way of sneaking up on you,

especially in relationships. There was nothing Delores and he couldn't work out

somehow. Especially when they were alone together. Somehow, as Delores spoke,

she seemed closer and closer to him, and Big Louie and the blue smoke seemed

farther and farther in the distance.

"Not now, Roger!" Delores gently pushed him away. "Oh, I want to, too, but we don't

have time when the fate of the universe is at stake!"

Her frown deepened as she continued to speak: "You know quite a bit about movies,

films made thirty, forty, even fifty years ago." She paused again, and bit her lip.

"Well, what if I were to tell you that those movies were more than just movies?"

"What?" Roger asked. Somehow, the more Delores explained, the more confusing

this became.

Delores took a deep breath. "Let me tell you the whole thing. I think that would be

best. Please don't interrupt. You can ask me questions when I'm done."

She sat down next to him on the bed. "There are many other worlds, Roger, worlds

not so different from the one that contains this room, this bed, and the two of us.

Actually, Roger, you would find these other worlds strangely familiar. For you have

seen these worlds in the movies!"

"In the movies?" Roger whispered.

"Roger," Delores reprimanded, "your interjections are not helping. Just listen." She

nodded her head emphatically. "That's right. For a time, Hollywood, U.S.A. had

managed to tap into the universal subconscious, and was showing this world—your

world, Roger, not mine— glimpses of the Cineverse."

"The Cineverse?" Roger queried.

Delores' lovely frown deepened. "Roger. Please. I am trying to use terms that you will

comprehend. I'm talking about the almost infinite number of worlds that occupy this

same space in all the many universes. That was what Hollywood had keyed into, at

least until the Change!"

"The Change?" Roger inquired.

She nodded emphatically. "Yes. The Change. It must have been obvious, especially to

someone with a background like yours. I mean, you must have noticed that movies

aren't as good as they used to be."

Roger paused. She was right. Movies weren't as good as they used to be. He felt a

chill at the pit of his stomach. Maybe there was really some truth to all this stuff she

was spouting!

"Now, this is all serious enough, but I haven't told you about the real danger." Her

frown deepened. Three worry lines creased her lovely forehead. "I know this must be

confusing to you. Maybe it would be better to show you. Roger, could I please have

the ring?"

Roger handed it over in silence.

"Here," she said, squeezing Roger's hand as she took the ring away. "Let me show

you how to open a window to the beyond." She held the ring under the light. "First,

you turn the Captain Crusader Decoder Dial—"

There was a puff of blue smoke, accompanied by the usual low-key explosion.

Delores leapt to her feet and screamed.

"Heeheeheehahahaha!"

The room was filled with hideous laughter. A voice cried: "We knew you'd have to

activate that thing eventually!"

The smoke took some time to clear. When Roger stopped coughing, he saw they had

been joined by four figures. One of them was Big Louie. He and two others were

wearing double-breasted suits straight out of some bad Prohibition era film.

But the other man's costume was something else altogether. He was wearing long

robes—and hat to match—of the deepest black, made more striking still by the bright

red stitching upon the sleeves, stitching that formed shapes that almost—but not

quite—looked like letters or words. For an instant, Roger wondered if these shapes

might be ancient symbols of some long-dead language. Then again, perhaps they were

only letters and words attempted by someone who wasn't very good at embroidery.

The red squiggles danced around the hat as well, a circular cap that came to a point at

the top, except the point was a bit askew, as if the hat might have been sat on once or

twice. Roger stared at the hat and discovered that if he squinted, the symbols there

looked even more like words. He frowned as he concentrated on the embroidered

scrawl, forming the syllables silently with his lips as he read:

DAD'S... THE... CHEF

"What do you mean, 'Dad's the Chef?" the fellow in black demanded, his frown

accentuated by a severely trimmed mustache. "Unless..."

His frown deepened as he glanced down at his apparel.

And, what, Roger wondered, was the meaning of that apparel? The fellow's

companions were all dressed as 1930's gangsters, but the man in the black costume

came from another era entirely. Roger could swear he had seen that kind of conical

cap before somewhere. Wasn't it the sort of thing schoolchildren were forced to wear

when they sat in corners after they misbehaved? Yes, it did look rather like a dunce

cap. Except the rest of the costume didn't look schoolboyish at all. The robes looked

more like the fellow had stepped out of a low budget King Arthur movie. That was it!

All he needed was a magic wand, and he'd look just like—

Roger shook his head. A wizard? Could it be possible? The fellow had thrown his

hands over his chest, as if he might hide the robes behind them. From this guy's

behavior so far, Roger decided he would vote for the dunce theory over the wizard

any day.

"Oops," the man in the maybe-a-wizard's outfit apologized as he waved distractedly at

his garb. "What am I doing in this? It's totally inappropriate." The fellow's smile was

the slightest bit sheepish. "They must have made some sort of mistake in Central

Casting. Excuse me, won't you? I shan't be a minute!"

The blue smoke showed up again as the man-who-shouldn't-have-been-a-wizard

disappeared. Unfortunately, Big Louie and the other two chose to stick around,

menacing Delores and Roger with their snub-nosed .38's.

And then there was another of those all-too-frequent explosions. The voice began to

speak even before the blue smoke cleared:

"Sorry for the delay. Now where were we? Oh, yes."

The voice cleared its throat.

"Heeheeheehahahaha!"

The room was once again filled with hideous laughter as the smoke dissipated, and

the formerly-dressed-in-black fellow stood before them again, in a costume Roger

thought looked even stranger than the last one.

The laugher wore a loose green garment, sort of like an oversize smoking jacket made

of some shiny, almost metallic material, with pants to match. The jacket had a large

blood-red D embroidered on the lapel. And the laughter upon his lips was now

replaced by a sardonic smile as he spoke again:

"And now," he began slowly, "we shall get down to what—ahem—really matters."

The man in green removed something from his head that looked vaguely like a space

helmet. Actually, Roger reflected, what it most looked like was a fish bowl with a

television antenna stuck on top.

"De-lor-ess," the man in green hissed. "You didn't really think fleeing to Earth would

save you?" His smile broadened as he examined the woman's form, from blond hair to

jump suit to dark black boots. His eyes seemed to glint evilly, but perhaps that was

just the reflection of his metallic green suit. He threw his head back to laugh again.

Delores stared angrily at the man in green. "I had no thought of being saved," she

whispered between clenched teeth. "What is happening to our worlds is more

important than either you or I!"

One of the green man's henchmen spoke up: "What should we do with them, Doctor

Dread?"

The green man's smile grew even wider than before. "We will—heh, heh, heh—deal

with both of them, if you get my meaning."

The henchman smiled. "Yeah, Doctor Dread. I get your meaning."

Roger was afraid that he got the man in green's meaning as well. Especially since two

of the henchpeople were using this opportunity to brandish their large, nasty-looking

guns in Delores's and his general direction.

A moment later Big Louie glanced at his fellows and hastily began to wave his gun as

well.

It was then that Roger remembered he was only wearing his pajama pants. He felt

even more vulnerable than he had in his jogging suit. He sucked his stomach in. How

could he possibly save Delores if he wasn't dressed for it? He wondered if he should

at least start by getting out of bed. He took another look at the revolvers. He thought

better of it.

"Delores," Doctor Dread murmured. Roger couldn't take his eyes off the man's suit.

When the light hit it just right, it looked like snakeskin. "Pretty, pretty Delores," he

continued. "You will of course be coming with us." His smile broadened again. "But

then, I know how much you like to"—he paused meaningfully—"travel."

"Yeah," one of the henchpeople smiled. "Travel!"

"You idiot!" Delores replied. "How can you think of your own petty plans at a time

Craig Shaw Gardner - Cineverse 1 - Slaves of the Volcano God

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