Archive of Our Own

Snake Plissken was wearing iron again. The metal chafed at his wrists and pinched boot leather against his ankles, cutting off circulation to his feet. Worse than that, he was on his way back to Manhattan Island — in style this time — travelling in one of Hauk's helicopters, piloted by one of Hauk's dogs and supervised by the inescapable Hauk himself. Plissken sighed, not loudly enough to be heard over the steady whup-whup of the 'copter's rotors. His throbbing head, bloodied at the base of his skull, rested uncomfortably against the constantly vibrating panel separating the main compartment from the engine. He had tried holding his head upright, or bent forward with his chin on his chest; but both positions pulled against the swelling lump given him by a dedicated officer of the law.

The pain helped to keep him focussed, although why he still felt the need, he wasn't sure. Hauk had not favored him with a glance since being the last person to board the 'copter. After giving the pilot a few terse instructions inaudible to Plissken, Hauk had taken the co-pilot’s seat, and they had lifted off. If he hadn't hurt so much, Plissken might have paid closer attention. But since suffering the brutality of an overzealous blackbelly, things had been hazy and disconnected.

Not that it mattered: Hauk could exact all the vengeance he liked. And not the beatings, nor the bindings cutting into his flesh, not even the vicious headache threatening to peel off the top of his skull made any difference.

In that last moment when Hauk had demanded the tape before allowing Cronenberg to neutralize the explosives planted in his arteries, Plissken had known which way he would go. Not that Hauk could appreciate his choice — Plissken only barely understood it himself. By taking away the President's “weapon for lasting peace,” he had consigned the world to certain death. Without the threat of something strong enough to forestall them, the missiles would fly, and they would fly soon.

Plissken didn't care.

He had half killed himself, gone up against unbeatable odds, lost people who had somehow, inexplicably, come to matter to him — only to throw it all away at the last instant, simply for the pleasure of getting some of his own back.

And now? Well, he had been more than a little surprised to find himself alive in Cronenberg's infirmary. The President had not struck him as a particularly forgiving man. Summary execution seemed more his style. It had occurred to Plissken that maybe he had bought himself a one-way trip to the experimental lab — they could always use a live guinea pig to refine their latest tricks.

But apparently they had something more interesting in mind, something totally unexpected, and probably far less to his liking.

He had been taken out in chains before dawn this morning and loaded into the police 'copter. When Hauk himself had come aboard, Plissken kept his questions to himself, not really wanting to be told that he was being taken out for a very long fall.

Streaks of burnt orange lit the eastern sky as the helicopter set down in Central Park. The pilot shifted in his seat, facing Hauk, and for the first time Plissken saw that it was Rehme, Hauk's right-hand man. Rehme gave Plissken a brief unreadable glance before turning his gaze back to Hauk.

“Good enough?”

“Yeah,” the chief replied. He climbed out with the agility of a man half his age, then reached back to slide open the main door.

“End of the line, Plissken,” Hauk said.

Staring into the sharp, reptilian eyes, Plissken wondered if he should take his words literally. He followed awkwardly, finding that movement added a wicked kick to the wholesale excavation taking place inside his head. At least it distracted him from the waves of pain emanating from the wound in his thigh.

Outside the helicopter he hesitated until Hauk motioned him away, using his pistol for emphasis. The older man was uncharacteristically patient as Plissken hobbled to the spot indicated.

They finally stood in a small area enclosed by low, nondescript shrubs a few yards from the helicopter. Plissken stopped as instructed, his legs braced apart to keep himself upright.

The police commissioner regarded him dispassionately, his expression concealing any frustration or fury he may have felt. “You're a real asshole, Plissken.” A hint of admiration took some of the bite out of Hauk’s words.

“Tell me about it,” Plissken replied huskily.

“Last of the great tough guys, aren't you?” Hauk snorted. “Y'know, Plissken, I think I know why you did it. Doesn't change the fact that it was probably the most stupid thing you could've done. But I really do think I understand why.”

“Get it over with, Hauk.” Plissken began to sway, his last reserves running out of him like rats jumping ship.

Hauk laughed. “I didn't bring you here to kill you. In fact, I've brought you to the one place the President can't reach you.”

That broke through Plissken’s self-absorption. “Now, why would you do that?”

“Let's just say I don't think much of him either.”

“He'll find out.”

Hauk's lips split into a feral grin. “I know. That's why Rehme and I are on our way to Canada.”

Plissken's good eye widened fractionally, the most he would concede to utter astonishment. “You?” he breathed aloud.

“Yeah. I'd take you, too, Plissken, if I could trust you. But I can't. At least here you'll be free until everything goes to hell. Who knows — maybe you'll slither out of this one, too.”

“Right, Hauk.”

Hauk shook his head. “You never will learn, will you, Plissken?” Turning on heel, he struck off toward the helicopter.

Plissken called, “Hauk!”

The older man half-turned, a brow raised.

With silent entreaty, Plissken lifted his manacled hands, the same gesture he had used nearly 36 hours before.

Hauk patted his coat pocket and resumed walking. “I'll leave the key between the runners,” he called over his shoulder. “I told you, Plissken: I'm not a fool.”

There was nothing Plissken could do but watch and wait. He wondered briefly if Hauk had made retribution more elegant by returning to the simpler methods: Without the freedom of his hands and feet, he would be torn to pieces before nightfall by the denizens of New York. Yet he remained silent, his face lacking all expression.

He didn't realize he was holding his breath until Hauk stretched inside the door of the 'copter, then tossed something more sizable than a key between the runners. He partly straightened up, mindful of the restarted rotor, then paused, meeting Plissken's gaze. It was only an instant, but a voluble one. Plissken almost wished he had time to speak.

A moment later, Hauk and Rehme disappeared into the flat, grey sky, leaving Plissken staring emptily after them.

A spasm of pain reminded him of the vulnerability of his position, and he shuffled toward the dark object nestled in the dew-wet grass. As he drew nearer, he recognized it as a small carry-bag. Forced to pick it up with both hands, he nearly lost his balance at its unexpected weight. Suddenly wary, he considered throwing it as far away as possible. After all, Hauk owed him nothing and had been the agent of some very nasty surprises before. Then again, it may be just what he had claimed it was, weighted with rocks, maybe, to prevent the wind of the rotor from disturbing it. Plissken shrugged to himself. Well, if he were going to be blasted to bits — and in view of what he had done to the President, the possibility was no longer remote — it may as well happen now as later.

Despite his resolve, his fingers were loath to cooperate as he drew the zipper open. Peering inside he found the key immediately — no rocks, no bomb. Instead, directly beneath the small piece of metal was a slip of fabric. Plissken palmed the key and pulled the material away to learn what lay beneath. At sight of it, the corners of his mouth drew up into a disbelieving smile. His laughter low and guttural, he lifted out a USPF pistol. Its flat, squared-off muzzle was a welcome sight, as were the three — no, four — fully loaded magazines which accompanied it.

He turned the weapon over, wondering how he could have misjudged Hauk so badly. This could still be an elaborate scam, of course. The pistol might be missing the firing pin; the bullet casings could be empty of lead.

Frustrated because he couldn't examine the weapon with his hands held apart by his restraints, he growled out loud. The sound of his own voice reminded him that here he was exposed. It was time he found shelter.

A few minutes later, he had backed himself into a large, resin-scented shrub and was enclosed in its dense, prickling foliage. Hollowed out by previous inhabitants, it offered ample room for him so long as he kept his knees and elbows in close proximity to his body. He needed them close, in any case, to work out a way to unlock the metal binders. One hand could not help the other, and the lock was on the underside, farthest away from his teeth, so they couldn't be called upon to assist, either. That left only the use of his feet — and he had serious doubts regarding their skill as substitute hands. Nevertheless, after unlocking the braces at his ankles and skinning off his shinguard, he stripped off his right boot and a badly worn sock. With the key positioned between his big toe and its mate, he guided the lock down onto it and slowly rotated his hands until the key held. Then gradually, in painstaking stages, he shifted the angle of the lock and the placing of his foot until the brace at last snapped open.

Drenched with sweat despite the cool air, Plissken sank inside his hollow and rested. His heart thudded heavily and fast against his ribs. Is this the man who beat the odds in New York? he thought caustically.

Yet as he lay there, he noticed how very still it was, and how different from the concrete battlements of the city. Here his only disturbance was a breeze sifting through the leaves, cooling his face and neck, stroking him with a gentleness that belied the fact that it was still contaminated with chemicals — and soon would carry something more immediately lethal than that.

Some time later, his pulse dropped nearer to normal although the ache and throb of his wounds seemed to increase. He wondered if he were developing a fever. A fever meant infection, and he didn't want to think about that — especially as he was fairly certain that he was concussed. Death alone did not frighten him. Being unable to resist was another matter altogether.

Plissken pulled himself upright and doggedly opened the kitbag. He drew forth Hauk's parting gift. The pistol felt good in his palm. Not quite as powerful as he liked, but the fact that it was an automatic and a solid weapon lent it considerable value.

He drew back the slide and locked it in place. Empty. Backending the weapon, he peered down the bore. Clean and dry. He released the slide and pressed the trigger. The solid click reassured him. The magazines were in good operating order. He jammed one into the butt of the pistol and once more racked the slide, chambering a round. He left the safety off.

There was one thing more in the bottom of the carry-bag. “Thought of everything, didn't you, Texas Bob?” he murmured, lifting out an official police-issue protein bar.

It wasn't much — Plissken could have eaten a dozen without causing a stir in the empty cavern inside him — but it was more than he had expected. He leaned back in his bed of roots and dirt and made a meal of it, chewing slowly and determinedly. A glass of water — no, a full pitcher of water — would have made his repast perfection. In place of it, he tongued dew off the spiny needles of his “walls,” knowing full well it was loaded with pollutants that would kill him — if he lived long enough.

When he was done, he thought about putting his boot back on. His foot shone palely through patches of grime. He was tired, and it hurt to bend forward; for that matter, it hurt to breathe. And it would hurt to put that boot on. Melting further into his hollow, Plissken turned his cheek into a thatch of crabgrass and tried to think beyond the pain.

Not far away another outcast appeared in the park. Unlike Plissken, she was not alone and her mode of arrival was far less conventional than the helicopter which had brought him. Tall and lean with tawny hair, she wore clothing made of animal skins. Her name was Leela, and she was a warrior of the Sevateem. She stood a moment in the clearing in which she and her dog-shaped metal companion K-9 had materialized, caution mingled with interest in her eyes. So far so good. This was not Gallifrey, and that cheered her. She would never go back to Gallifrey; she ought not to have stayed there in the first place.

“Do you know where we are, K-9?” she asked in a low voice, caution her first and second nature.

“Sol Three, Mistress,” the reedy, mechanical voice of the robot responded. “Earth.”

“Earth! We’ve been here before.”

“You were here, Mistress,” K-9 reminded her without resentment. “I was disassembled inside the TARDIS.”

Leela squatted down beside him, swinging a heavy leather bag off her shoulder to set it on the damp grass. She patted K-9's head. “This is better than Gallifrey, K-9.”

“Perhaps, Mistress.”

Leela's eye was caught by the golden band encircling her wrist. One very like it surrounded K-9's neck, beneath the colorful collar given him long ago by the Doctor.

The Doctor. Funny that she should think of him. It was he, after all, who had taken her from her native world — with her willing assistance, of course. He was a renegade Time Lord, one of the very few ever to escape the suffocating formality of his people to roam the universe in his stolen time and space craft, the TARDIS. It was he who had brought the peoples of her planet — all descendants of this Earth — back together after a centuries-long technological split which he himself originally, and entirely unwittingly, had created. Leela, a mere savage when the Doctor found her, represented those of her planet's population who were hunters, a people capable of surviving extreme hardship, a people brave and adventuresome to a fault.

And she had been ambitious. In the Doctor, with his seemingly magical abilities and devices, she had seen a means of leaving what had become a too narrow existence. So she had stowed away with him — or more accurately, she had hijacked his TARDIS — and the Universe had been thrown open to her.

Eventually, they had returned to Gallifrey, the Doctor's home planet. There she had met Andred, the Commander of the Chancellory Guard, the closest thing to a warrior among the Doctor's people. With him she had chosen to remain. The Doctor, though ambushed by her decision, had wished her well and had even understood when K-9, acquired on one of their many adventures, had stated his wish to stay at his Mistress' side.

Andred was dead now. His murderer, owing to Gallifreyan internal politics, had gone unpunished, and Andred's death unavenged. Leela had rectified that. The Time Lords, of course, had been appalled, it being outside their experience that anyone should kill another with a knife thrust to the heart, no matter how warranted the action. They preferred their killings clean; though of course, they liked not killing best of all. Borusa, the Lord High Chancellor and President Pro Tem, had championed her cause — at least to the extent of arguing banishment rather than execution. After days of impassioned debate, he had finally persuaded the others to send Leela away.

Leela and K-9 had been provisioned for journeying, and given Time Rings specially fabricated to transport the users to life-supporting planets and times. Were the rings to go unused for 168 hours (deemed ample time to decide whether a place met with one's approval), they would cease to function, and shortly thereafter cease to exist altogether.

Leela raised her head and carefully scoured the hedges and fields surrounding them. The sun was not high in the sky — and the grass smelled of morning dew.

“Earth, K-9,” she mused aloud. “Perhaps we will stay here.”

“Preliminary tests not promising, Mistress.”

“Why not? What's wrong?”

“My sensors indicate a heavy chemical residue.”

“From what?”

“Organized conflict, possibly.”

“Or an accident?”

“Possible, also. Not enough data to form an hypothesis.”

“Well, then, let's gather a little more data.”

Leela struck off across the clearing, headed for the comparative cover of shrubs and trees. K-9 followed close behind. Thanks to various modifications, he was now able to traverse thick, tangled ground cover with ease.

“It was strange, wasn't it?” Leela mused.

“Subject of query, Mistress?”

She gazed down at him blankly. “Oh. The Vortex. Being in the Vortex was strange. Don’t you think so?”

“I have no sensory recollection. The non-state of the Vortex scrambled my input.”

Leela smiled. “And mine, really.” She raised her free arm with sudden exhilaration, sucking in the fresh, morning air, savoring the absence of Gallifrey. “It's good to be free again. I did not know how much —”

“Warning, Mistress,” K-9 interrupted.

Becoming instantly alert, Leela crouched low beside the mechanical dog. “What is it?”

“Two life forms approaching from the northwest.”

“Life forms?”

“Conform to human configuration.”

Shooting a quick look around her, Leela laid the kitbag silently on the ground. “That way is northwest, yes?”

K-9 oriented himself to match her pointing finger. With a bob of his head, he agreed, “That way, Mistress.”

Two men appeared only instants later, emerging from an overgrown hedge. They froze at sight of her, then took in her appearance, her solitariness, and started forward once more. The knife, the last thing returned to her before their departure from Gallifrey, flashed in Leela’s hand as she gained her full height.

The men appeared to take no notice of her weapon, their grinning attention focused on her alone. Both were thin and lightly dressed, their hair bound at the forehead and base of the skull. Leela noted critically that they resembled pictures of Amerindians she had seen in one of the Doctor's myriad books. Had she and K-9 arrived in Earth's past again?

One of the men tugged at a strap on his shoulder. From behind his back he brought forth a massive crossbow, not unlike the one that had belonged to Leela on her home world.

“K-9,” she whispered, “I will have no chance against that. Not with two of them.”

“Understood, Mistress,” K-9 replied, his voice equally attenuated.

“When I say.”

“Understood.”

Leela moved slowly, not backing away, but maneuvering so that the sun was full behind her. The two men stepped a few feet apart and began to circle around. Leela concentrated on the man with the crossbow. She could see their faces clearly now; in fact, she could smell them, rank with sweat and filth. One glanced at the other, his smirk widening — and at that instant, Leela took action. With a heart-stopping shriek, she charged the man she feared most, her eyes on his narrow face, watching for that instant when he would betray his intention. When it came, her knife was in the air and she was twisting mid-stride. The bolt came very close, the quarrel singeing her left upper arm with the heat of its passing as she threw herself aside.

Impossibly, her knife missed its target. Leela could not believe it; she had thrown true. Triumphantly, the man thumped his chest — it made a solid sound. There was something, some sort of armor beneath his shirt.

Leela retreated several steps. K-9 would have to end this fray. A long blade appeared in the fist of the man behind her; Crossbow picked hers up out of the grass.

“K-9, n—” she began, only for her voice to be drowned out by a terrifying explosion that came from behind. She threw herself down, flattening her entire body against the earth. Surely nothing so loud would discriminate between victims.

Crossbow was lifted off his feet and slammed down a foot away. His companion bolted toward the hedgerow for protection. Still some distance from safety, he was brought down also, his spasming body crumpling to stillness before the last echoes of the second blast faded away.

The ensuing silence was almost as disconcerting as the roar that had preceded it. Hands splayed wide on the ground before her, Leela apprehensively looked back, seeking the source of destruction.

A third man, one eye covered with a black patch, stood half in and half out of a large shrub a few yards away. He was pale, his face dark with the beginnings of a coarse beard. In his hand he held a still-smoking pistol. His one brilliantly blue eye studied Leela without expression.

Snake Plissken tilted his head slightly to one side, his face twitching a little as if he were in pain. “A little falling out with your friends?” he rasped.

“They were not my friends.” If she were to die here, it would not be as a coward. Leela climbed to her feet. Chin raised, she took the man’s measure in turn.

He gestured toward her. “You're dressed like them.”

Leela looked down in surprise. “Am I?”

He frowned. “Yeah.” Then he reeled, the barrel of the pistol describing a gentle arc in front of him. The crossbow bolt had landed almost in his lap, producing a surge of adrenaline that would have powered a train engine. For a short time he had actually forgotten the twin flames burning in his thigh and the back of his head, as well as the newly acquired feverishness. But it was rapidly coming back to him, carried on a wave of numbness that started in his spine and flowed too quickly outward into his legs and arms.

“You are hurt,” Leela said.

He sketched a nod. “But I still have the gun.”

“I would not hurt you,” she retorted. “You saved my life.”

Plissken almost smiled. “Maybe I didn't do you any favors.”

She spoke — her lips moved — but her words, whatever they were, batted at his ears like moths. “What?” Plissken said.

“Where — is — your — other — shoe?” she repeated loudly.

Mouth open, he tried to answer; but suddenly, he was crashing onto his knees, the numbness now in his face and tongue. Pitching forward, he hissed, “Damn.”

Leela could not move quickly enough to break his fall. Once beside him, she eased his arms and legs into a less awkward position, encountering an egg-sized lump on the back of his head as she pulled him into the crook of her arm. His skin was hot despite a profusion of gooseflesh, and his heart leapt up to meet her palm where she pressed it against his chest.

K-9 rolled up beside her. “Mistress?”

“We'll have to move him,” she muttered, gauging the man's weight against her own. He would not last long out here. Injured and ill, he would be prime prey to marauders like those who had tried to attack her.

“Mistress, my sensors indicate imminent precipitation.”

“You mean it's going to rain.” Out of necessity, Leela had spent many hours studying in order to narrow, if only a little, the communication gap between K-9 and herself. Because she had been a willing and bright student, she had made great advancement. In fact, the Doctor would have been very proud of her.

“Of course,” K-9 said.

“We must get him to safety. People who have pistols must have shelters.”

“Hypothesis sound,” K-9 stated. “But the nearest available shelter may be a great distance from here.”

“He'll die otherwise, K-9. For that matter —” She brushed the matted hair from Plissken's hot forehead. “—he may die anyway.” The man badly needed a wash and clean clothing. Besides the knot on his head, his right thigh had been wrapped in a stained and still wet field bandage. “Use your sensors to determine how serious his injuries are.”

“Yes, Mistress. And, Mistress —”

“What is it, K-9?”

“Your arm. You are injured also.”

“This?” The bolt had scored the skin just above the left elbow. It smarted a little, but she had suffered far worse. “It is nothing, K-9. See to the man.”

“Yes, Mistress.” As K-9 began to hum, Leela searched for the man's gun. She found it half-beneath him, and decided that he had been lucky it had not gone off. Its weight was impressive; it seemed entirely too small to have been the agent of such devastation. Eyeing it with a warrior's eye, she considered firing it herself, drawn to the notion of creating thunder. Then she remembered the shotgun she had used against the fendahleen and the way it had spit fire and bucked against her shoulder. She had ached for days afterward.

Carefully laying the man flat on the grass, she jumped up to fetch her kitbag. “What can you tell?” she asked.

“His myoneural functions are badly strained. He has a puncture wound in the right upper leg which is infected. The swelling in the occipital region is the result of trauma produced by a blunt object. He is suffering a minor concussion, fever, and incipient malnutrition.”

Translation: He's wounded, bruised, spent, hungry, and ill. Leela kept it to herself.

As she removed the medpack from her kitbag, she mentally reviewed Surgeon Gomer's instructions. Peeling open a packet of diagnostic strips, she chose one and laid it upon the man's right wrist. Within seconds the strip changed color. She placed it against the reader on the back of the pack then matched the name of the medication with an appropriately labelled envelope of melt-tabs. She gently pried open the man's mouth and slipped one under his tongue. He came to with a violent start.

Leela lurched backward, mindful of his well-muscled arms and rough appearance. For all that he had saved her life, she was not so naive as to presume that his intentions had been unselfish.

He surged onto one forearm. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he fixed her with an angry eye. “What — was that?” The blood drained from his face. He took a shuddering breath.

“Something to make you feel better,” she replied, carefully drawing the medpack closed.

The man scowled up at her. “Something like what?”

“You wouldn't recognize the name if I told you.” If I could pronounce it, Leela added wryly to herself. “The Time Lords gave it to me. It will speed your recovery.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I am Leela. Who are you?”

She had the impression that the question surprised him. “Plissken,” he replied, his voice a harsh whisper. With great care he pushed himself into a sitting position. “Snake Plissken.”

“Snake!” she blurted. “That is no name for a man!”

He regarded her coldly. “I don't — remember asking your opinion.” Another deep breath set off a fit of coughing. By the time he had regained control several seconds had passed and involuntary tears wet his lashes and one stubbled cheek.

Leela knew better than to offer sympathy. “No, you did not.” A thought occurred to her. “Perhaps it is a good name here.”

“Good enough — for me.”

“Then I shall not question it,” she decided. “You need some place to heal. Although I did not ask it of you, you saved my life. I will help you until you can take care of yourself.”

Plissken’s eye widened with sardonic disbelief. “You don't owe me anything.”

“Then why did you kill those men?”

“They needed it,” he said flatly. “Where's my gun?”

Leela had tucked it under one of the straps attached to the kitbag. She slipped it loose and extended it to him without hesitation.

He snatched it out of her hand. Fascinated by the man’s caution, Leela smiled to herself. He must be a great warrior.

As he snapped the magazine out of the pistol butt and drew back the slide to check the chamber, Leela unfastened her water pouch. Her eyes travelled to the dead men who were even now attracting scavenging insects. Their presence brought Andred to mind, although it was not the way of Time Lords to allow their dead the natural processes of decay.

Andred—

She took a swig from the pouch, drinking only enough to moisten the inside of her mouth. Feeling Plissken’s eye on her, she loosely capped the faux leather container and held it out to him. When he hesitated, she pointedly set it on the ground near his knee. Scanning the clearing around them, she left him in K-9's care.

It was the crossbow that drew her, and she found it a few feet away from its former owner. Very like the one she had made on her home world, this weapon was by far more powerful. She examined the mechanism and the metal fittings. It had been crudely pieced together, and without pride. A little reworking, however, would make it a fine weapon. She slung it over her shoulder and appropriated the nearly full quiver. Then she went in search of her knife.

As she quartered the grass with her eyes, she wondered what sort of time she and K-9 had stumbled upon. Although her studies had taught her that Earth's history had never ceased to be violent and bloody, their reception had disheartened her.

There. Reverently, she plucked the knife out of the grass. The blade was neither blunted nor bent. Pleased, she returned it to its sheath.

Plissken, she saw, was studying the pouch, his face a picture of perplexity. Grinning a little to herself, Leela made her way to the shrub from which he had appeared. There, as she guessed, was his boot, a tattered and very smelly sock, and a metal shinguard. Glinting amidst the undergrowth was a strongly built set of manacles as well. Considering the implications, she retrieved Plissken’s footgear and a small but unusually heavy carry-bag found beneath the shinguard, and started back.

A large drop of water splashed upon the back of her wrist. “Right again, K-9,” she commented. She placed Plissken’s things on the ground before him.

“What?” Plissken asked. He selected the sock from the pile and with some difficulty tugged it onto his bare toes, his fingers trembling. The chatter of his teeth was clearly audible.

“K-9 said it would rain,” Leela said.

“Canine?” He glanced at her robot companion. “Your toy?”

“He is not a toy,” Leela said mildly.

“No?”

“He is a computer — and my friend.”

Plissken gave a grating laugh. “Just asking.” He succeeded in pulling the sock on, then started on the boot. It was no use. Needing a moment to recover himself, he folded his arms round himself, aware that his shivering was growing more violent with each breath.

“Then ask him yourself next time,” she suggested. “He is quite capable of answering.” She knelt down and took hold of Plissken’s boot. “Push.”

Two drops of water, cold and large, fell wetly onto Plissken’s neck. “That right?” With a shove, his foot was once more encased in leather.

“Yes, Plissken,” K-9 replied.

The man's hand dove to his waist and tightened spasmodically round the butt of the pistol. “How did you do that?” The one eye sparked with warning.

Tossing her head, Leela said, “I did nothing. Are you so ill that you distrust your own ears?”

Shifting uneasily, Plissken growled, “I don't like games.” As Leela started to apply his shinguard, a hand, hurtful in its strength, closed round her wrist.

“Games are necessary for a healthy adult psyche,” K-9 stated pedantically. “Mistress, we should find shelter before the storm hits in full force.”

“Right you are, K-9,” Leela bit her lip to keep from laughing at the man's dismayed expression. “Well, Plissken, shall I finish helping you, or would you rather remain here in the rain?” When he wavered, she added coolly, “In any case, let go of my hand or I shall forget that you saved our lives.”

His fingers slowly opened. “Finish helping me.”

She gave her wrist an experimental roll; in those few seconds it had begun to go numb. “That is a good grip for someone who can’t get his boot on.”

Solemnly, Plissken remarked, “You’re not as hard — as my boot.”

Leela arched a brow, but said nothing in return.

Snake Plissken was miserable. He sat hunched forward, head hanging between his knees, his entire body racked by unrelenting chills. They had been caught in a violent cloudburst inside the park, thirty minutes from the nearest empty building. Thoroughly drenched and frozen to the core, his strength had given out long before the rain had stopped pelting down. Leela had half-carried, half-dragged him the rest of the way, refusing to leave him behind. He wished now, as then, that she had; he could no longer tell where he ended and the pain and nausea began.

Engrossed in his suffering, he had not even questioned her choice of shelters. Not that he knew much more about this place than she. It was just lucky for them that life in Manhattan had come to depend on groups for survival. They staked out their territories and lived at a main headquarters — leaving thousands of abandoned places to rot. Places like this one.

A shadow moved across him, and Plissken instinctively brought his head up. In the next instant he was swallowed by a wave of nausea that threatened to carry him away.

A firm hand forced his head back down. Leela's voice came to him in garbled, disjointed spurts of sound. It was a while before the rushing in his ears faded so that he could hear properly again. He understood what she had been trying to tell him only when something clingy settled around his shoulders.

“Can you remove your clothing?” Leela asked.

“For what?” he gasped.

“Plissken,” Leela ordered,“ take off your clothes.”

Lip curled, he gave her a blistering look, his expression promising retribution if she did anything not to his liking. And then he shrugged off the thin, but impressively warm coverlet, and began to strip off.

Leela waited quietly while he struggled out of his boots and the belt now festooned with several, heavy leather cases that Plissken had succinctly identified as “ammo,” and most of the way out of his shirt and trousers. His sleeveless top, once past the knot at the back of his head, came off easily enough — eliciting a startled sound from her when his tattoo was revealed — but the trousers, once down to his thighs, proved impossible.

He stiffened as she reached round him for the thermal blanket. But there was nothing of duplicity in her actions. She enveloped him in the voluminous folds of the coverlet, then pressed the ends into his hands. Only then did she complete the removal of his skintight trousers, the wet fabric disinclined to relinquish him. At last his legs and feet were bared to the frigid air. Before Plissken could object, Leela folded the lower portion of the blanket closely round his knees and calves, then tucked the bottom under his soles.

He sagged against the wall, too ill at that moment to take any interest in whether he died or not. He was disturbed briefly when Leela forced something under his tongue again, blocking his mouth until it dissolved. A moment later, she choked him with an odd-tasting drink hot enough to scald his mouth and chin, stirring only the briefest of considerations as to how she might have warmed it. Then she redressed the wound in his thigh as well as cleaning up the lump at the back of his skull, her touch competent yet unexpectedly gentle.

At last she left him alone. Immediately, he slid into a deep, cloying sleep. It was the first time in more than 36 hours that he had done so without a blow to the head.

Leela sank back on her heels with a sigh.

“Shall I read his vital signs, Mistress?” K-9 queried.

She gave her head a shake. “No point, K-9. We've done all we can for him. If he lives, he lives.” Despite her philosophical calm, she was frustrated. If the Doctor were here, he would know what to do. But the Doctor was not here — and never would be again. She concentrated on repacking the medical kit and stowing it in her bag.

What she had seen of Earth and its people so far did not encourage her. She must know — and soon — if this place and time could serve as their new home. Resolved, she took to her feet. “I'm going out, K-9. Stay here and take care of Plissken.”

“Mistress —!”

Leela threw out a hand. “Don't argue, K-9. I'll be all right.” She slipped out of the room like a wraith, closing the door behind her without a whisper.

K-9 cogitated a moment, then wheeled noiselessly into position between Plissken and the door. Despite the fact that in essence he was a computer, K-9 was imbued with a keen sense of loyalty. He did not like this place where he and his mistress had arrived — recent experience was basis enough for that. Yet he knew that Leela was by no means defenseless, and at the moment this man was. K-9 would obey.

It was cold outside and still damp from the rain. Leela shuddered, reminded that she too was rain-soaked, her hair beading a little at the tips. But it was only an inconvenience. If she were to survive in this strange place of savage people and crumbling buildings, she must complement her supplies with more than those she had brought along. Once Plissken recovered, he would move on, she was quite certain. And that was just as well, for she did not trust him. But until he was well enough to leave, she must be able to care for them both.

With the stealth of a hunter and the survival instinct of the hunted, Leela darted through the grey, decaying streets of Manhattan. Now that the rain had stopped, the occupants of the city had begun to emerge, singly and in small groups. Keeping to shadow and with the crossbow cocked, Leela watched them. There were no others like Snake Plissken, although there were many as ill-looking or worse. In these people the spark of life had been quenched, despite the fact that they breathed and moved as though animate. None of them exhibited the confidence of the fearless. They flitted and crouched like creatures afraid of the light — and of each other. So many people sick and afraid, scavenging for their existence. How had such a thing come to pass on Earth? What had happened to the civilization which the Doctor so greatly admired?

Perhaps Plissken could tell her — if he lived.

She stole through old, unused buildings stretching endlessly in all directions. Unless her senses betrayed her, it would rain again soon, and Leela's tunic had yet to dry from the last storm. But despite her discomfort, she was fascinated by the discoveries she made in each building. Obviously something devastating had befallen this place — and not long ago. People had been able to take the bulk of their belongings with them. Yet there were pieces of old furniture, most of which were rotting and in shreds. A scurry of little feet preceded her into every room she entered, another sign of the depths to which these people had sunk. Vermin were everywhere, on the walls, underfoot, in the wretched clumps of bedding left behind.

The city’s two-legged inhabitants had left their spoor as well. The scavengers here were not very efficient. Everywhere, she saw bones — recent and old — and tatters of clothing, the ashes of dead fires, empty bottles and tins, and decomposing filth. In such foulness and corruption people must lead desperate, brief lives, cut short by disease and pestilence if not one another.

Lost in her musings, Leela sensed danger only at the last moment.

There were three of them, backed by two more in the hall. They filled the door of the long, narrow ground level room into which she had crept. Purposely she had shunned the upper levels to avoid a trap should someone follow her — and someone obviously had.

A quick glimpse at their scraggly features and ragged clothing was sufficient for Leela to judge their intent. The Doctor would have castigated her for such swift and damning analysis, proclaiming it biased and unfair.

But Leela could not afford the luxury of trust. A finger pulled reflexively on the crossbow's trigger and she was at the window three feet away before the air split with the cry of the unlucky victim. She swung the unwieldy crossbow up, smashing it against the already broken pane of glass. The remaining shards gave way with little resistance, falling noisily to the ground below as Leela dove through. She hit the pavement, rolled on her shoulder, gained her feet, then was running, running, tearing around the edge of the building and down a previously reconnoitered alley before any of her pursuers could catch up to her.

She did not falter, knowing that her only advantage was in the distance she could put between them. Leaving the narrow confines of the alley, her leather boots thudding in the slimy stream running seemingly everywhere, she turned into a main street, her hair flying and knees pumping, well aware that she must reach her self-appointed sanctuary before anyone else saw her.

Snake Plissken woke from an uneasy sleep. The room had gone dark and cold; he shuddered despite the warmth of the wrap given him by the woman. A muted, scraping noise rustled near his feet. Plissken rolled over, pistol instantly in hand.

K-9 came to a stop, the red panel of his “eyes” glowing out of the gloom.

“Don't do that,” Plissken exclaimed in a gravelly whisper. He drew himself up against the wall, clutching the folds of the wrap about his shoulders. His head felt as if it were in a vise. He ached everywhere and his thigh burned as if it had been painted with acid.

You're dying, boy, he thought, the prospect no longer in the least intimidating. Snake Plissken had engaged in many battles in his life, all minor compared with the struggle to stay alive and free. Why had he bothered? Maybe he had not known how not to.

The dog-shaped thing rolled up to his side and extruded a small cup on the end of a long extender. Plissken coiled, his first impulse to snap the instrument off and kick the weird metal nuisance across the room.

“What do you want?”

“To check your functions,” K-9 replied. “If you will lower your head —”

Plissken closed his eye, his lips compressed. “Go away.“

“As you wish.” K-9 retracted the probe. Beyond that, he made no further effort to obey, sitting quietly beside the man.

Resigned, Plissken muttered, “Where's your owner?”

“She is away.”

“Away? It's dark. What time is it?”

“By the solar plane and using the timekeeping method of old Earth: 7.33 pm.”

Some of the glassiness left Plissken's eye. “How long has she been gone?”

“Eleven hours, 35 minutes, 42 seconds.”

Plissken let his head rest back against the wall. He had slept longer than he’d thought. “She's dead, dog.”

K-9's muzzle came up abruptly. “You are wrong, Plissken.”

“I doubt it.”

“My knowledge is fact.”

Plissken gave the mechanical creature, which, though he would not admit it, intrigued him, a scathing once-over. “Maybe it is. I never saw anything like you before. Are you another of Hauk's toys?”

“I am no one's toy. The name Hauk is not included in my memory files.”

“He'd've wiped it.”

“I know who my creator was,” K-9 rejoined. “His name was Professor Marius. Of course, others more skilled and capable have since added improvements and necessary modifications.”

“And where does the woman come in?”

“Leela is my mistress. I protect her.”

“Not doing a very good job of it right now, are you?”

K-9's head drooped. “My mistress said I must guard you.” For all that K-9's voice was electronically generated and incapable of subtle nuance, Plissken yet sensed reproach.

“But you know she's alive,” he said mockingly. “What are you worried about?”

“Your Twentieth Century is a primitive and dangerous time. My mistress is predisposed to act impulsively.”

“What do you mean, my Twentieth Century?” Plissken asked.

“It is not mine,” K-9 responded almost querulously.

“Look, dog, you may be rare around here, but you're not from another time — if that's what you're claiming.”

“A fact is a fact.”

“And an asshole is an asshole,” Plissken snapped.

“Explain the correlation,” K-9 requested.

Groaning, Plissken closed his eye. The pain, fleetingly forgotten, once more threatened to consume him. “Figure it out yourself, dog.”

In fact, Leela was very much alive. She was also uncomfortable, cold, and hungry. She had been attached to a ladder inside the opening of the sewer for nearly the length of time that K-9 had reported her gone. Quick peeks from beneath the metal cover had given evidence of too much unsavory traffic for her to consider abandoning this hiding place. Not that she felt safe here. As her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she had gotten an impression of seething movement in the vast, noisome space below, and a sense of something living, as if one massive creature were breathing, its exhalations fetid and wet. From time to time she heard indications of stirring, accompanied by animal-like snarls and hisses.

Those sounds had grown louder in the last hour. Leela knew she must move soon or risk facing something which had begun to frighten her more than even Magnus Greel's rat.

The decision was made for her when sudden roiling activity began to swarm near the base of the ladder some distance below. Leela thrust upward, regardless of what she might confront on the street. Somehow she knew now that whatever shared her sanctuary constituted a more immediate and loathsome threat than that she had met in the morning.

The absence of light came as a surprise; she had not ventured a look outside for a long time. Yet compared to the blackness of the pit, it seemed almost bright.

There was no one waiting for her. Leela dropped the manhole cover back into place and fled for the nearest alley. While she had memorized her way, she had not expected to return after nightfall. Landmarks committed to memory in the morning had lost their distinction amid all the grey, shadowed structures.

Forced to go slowly, Leela held the crossbow at ready and avoided any building or opening that might offer access to the underground. The night had brought with it a piercing cold, far worse than the clammy, unnatural warmth of the sewer. Still, the air was heady in its comparative purity and Leela reveled in a renewed sense of freedom.

And then she noticed a curious vibration which seemed to come up from the very concrete beneath her feet. It was as if a massive animal were suddenly moving, shaking off the vestiges of slumber. The thing in the sewer! she thought, struck clean through with terror.

Driven by a fear beyond reasoning, Leela raced the remaining distance to the door of the building they had taken shelter in earlier in the day, pausing outside only long enough to whisper, “K-9! It's me!”

She burst into the room, spun round, and hurriedly — but as quietly as possible — shoved the door closed behind her. Breathing hard, she fell forward against it as if her weight could keep out the night horrors.

“No, Plissken!”

Leela whirled — and found the man's pistol aimed at her heart. His eye was shot wide with startlement and the shock of shattered sleep.

He exhaled raggedly.

“Don't do that,” K-9 told Leela helpfully.

Plissken breathed, “So you are alive.” He slid back against the wall, his expression unfriendly.

“You are all right?” K-9 asked Leela.

She dropped down beside him, casting one furtive glance over her shoulder toward the door. “Yes.” She shakily stroked his muzzle. “Were you safe here?”

“We have been undisturbed.”

Leela raked her fingers through her hair. “I found nothing, K-9. Worse, I was chased, then had to hide underground all day!”

Plissken perked up at that. “Where?”

“Below the street, where the filth is carried. Though here, often as not, it is in the street as well.”

He stared at her with strained patience. “It's the sewer. And here it's dangerous.”

Leela nodded her understanding. “There was something in it. Something that moved and breathed with a dreadful breath —”

“A lot of somethings,” Plissken corrected with grim amusement. “They used to be people.”

“People? But they were living there!”

He sighed. “They're called crazies. If you'd gone in two days ago they'd have eaten you.”

Leela's features went slack. “Why two days ago but not now?”

“Because they were fed two days ago,” Plissken replied shortly. “Don't you know anything?”

“Not nearly enough,” Leela said, refusing to be baited. Rising, she strode across the room to her kitbag. Plissken's clothes, draped over the remains of a long counter, were dry now. Leela took out some food tablets and the water pouch and carried them, along with his things, back to where he rested.

Eye narrowed, he watched her approach. She dropped his clothes into his lap and he caught them, recoiling slightly when she held out her hand. Uncurling her fingers, she displayed the tablets cupped in her palm.

“Food tablets.” As he doubtfully took a few, she admonished, “Chew them well.”

Plissken lifted one between finger and thumb. Leela left the water pouch with him and went across to the window. She gazed out unhappily.

“Stay away from the openings,” Plissken cautioned. “They sense movement.”

“The crazies?”

“Yeah.” He popped one of the tablets into his mouth, frowning at her as he began to chew. “These aren't too bad. Where'd you get them?”

“Gallifrey.”

“Wherever that is.” With a hand at the back of his neck, he carefully moved his head from side to side. “How come they let you bring all of this stuff in with you?”

“The Time Lords? They gave it to me.”

“No. The blackbellies. You know, the USPF.”

“I do not know.”

“The United States Police Force,” K-9 explained. “A governmental agency that held control of the country for a short time at the end of the Twentieth Century.”

“Police Force?” Leela repeated. “They brought you here?” She recalled the manacles in the shrubs where she had found Plissken’s boot.

The hard curve of his lips held nothing of humor. “I sure as hell didn't come here by choice.”

“You are a criminal, then,” Leela said. “I saw the chains where you had left your boot.”

“Yeah,” Plissken admitted. “And if you're here, you're one, too. Or you're one of those assholes who stayed behind when the island was turned into a prison.” He added to himself, “Although I don't see how you could've lasted that long.”

Ignoring his musings, Leela insisted, “This place, this whole terrible place is a prison?”

“Manhattan Island.” Plissken smothered a yawn. “Did you get cracked on the head or something?”

Turning toward K-9, Leela whispered, “K-9, is that possible?”

“Available data is sketchy, Mistress. Experience seems to support his statement.”

“A prison.”

Plissken watched her with mild interest. “Where's Gallifrey?” he asked suddenly.

Leela focused on him with some difficulty. “Another planet.” She flicked her hand in dismissal, knowing he would not believe her. “Where the Time Lords live.”

Plissken drawled, “Right.”

“It doesn't matter whether you believe me or not,” Leela said frostily. “You have taken Time Lord medicine and water, and eaten food of their making. That blanket is from their planet. Have you ever seen anything like it on Earth?”

Plissken had been rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He let it go. “Shit,” he scoffed.

“Your vocabulary is very limited.” Standing in shadow, Leela returned her attention to the bleak world beyond the window.

K-9 traversed the short distance separating them. “Mistress?”

“Do you think it was a trick?” She swallowed against the sudden constriction in her throat. “Do you think Borusa sent us here deliberately? To a prison island?”

Pondering the question with his usual thoroughness, K-9 was slow to answer. “There is no way of knowing, Mistress. Borusa is a politician, although the Doctor thought him honorable. When we leave, we will find out.”

His words brought forth a tiny laugh. K-9 had said when we leave, not if. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

Monitoring this conversation with drowsy amusement, Plissken interjected, “Mind if I ask how you intend to leave?”

“Time Lord technology,” Leela replied. “Something you don't believe in.”

Eyeing her darkly, he muttered, “You came from somewhere, lady.” He rubbed his leg. “But your timing's off.”

“Why?”

“I fixed things,” he said cryptically. “Pretty soon all the prisoners will be free.” Plissken pulled himself to his feet, his face contorted with the effort. He limped out of the room, clutching the blanket close about him, into what once had been a bathroom.

“What does he mean, K-9?” Leela asked.

“This period of Earth history is confused, Mistress.”

“Something might happen, then?”

“Likely. But without adequate reference, I cannot extrapolate a precise moment.”

She hunkered down beside the metal casing and ran a hand over the machine's back and flank. “Sometimes I'd rather not know.”

“Not logical, Mistress. ‘Forewarned is forearmed.’”

“Yes, K-9, but forewarned is not the same as knowing. Besides, I need some sleep. We'll leave tomorrow.”

K-9's tail wagged in agreement.

She rose as Plissken, dressed in his now-dry clothing, returned, holding the blanket draped over one arm. He tossed it to her before resettling on the floor. Arms folded across his chest, he curled on his side, his back to them. Leela covered her own shoulders with the blanket.

It was early yet, but she yawned hugely, thinking sourly that she ought not to be in the least bit sleepy after spending the day in a dark hole. She glanced across at Plissken. He was trembling again. His clothing was no warmer than hers — and his fever had yet to break; she had seen that in his eyes.

She murmured, “Keep watch, K-9.” On silent feet, she padded to where Plissken lay. Dropping onto her heels, she said his name.

He growled, “What do you want?”

“We will share the blanket.” Plissken's head came round at that, and he looked up at her, his features betraying nothing of what he might be thinking. She warned, “If you try anything, I will gut you.”

“Yeah?” he said tiredly. “What makes you think I'd want to?”

“Just so you know.”

He gave a grunt of acknowledgement, remaining completely still as she spread the blanket over them both. She lay down behind him, then molded herself against his back, arranging the blanket once more to suit her. It was not long before Plissken’s tremors abated and eventually stilled altogether. He could use a wash, Leela decided. To distract herself from the insistence of his rankness, she concentrated instead on the lean hardness of his body. At their every point of contact, he was all taut muscle. That pleased her. At least he was a warrior.

As the night deepened, Leela slept, unaware that Plissken, held close in her embrace, stared unblinking into the darkness. A few feet away, K-9 unobtrusively stood guard, saying nothing, seeing everything.

In the small, dilapidated shop, dawn crept through the half-smashed windows, replacing the remnants of night with a sickly grey light. Alone under the blanket, Leela jerked to belated awareness. She rolled over and peered into the dimly lit room.

The time spent on Gallifrey had done more damage than she had feared: sometime during the frozen morning, Plissken had slipped from her side — and she had not noticed his going. It was the cold that had awakened her, a contradictory reminder of his warmth.

A cursory glance around the room assured her that he had taken nothing not belonging to him. The kitbag and crossbow were propped against the wall within reach where she had left them the night before. A few feet away, K-9 stood silent.

“Are you awake, K-9?” she asked, her voice scarcely a whisper.

“I do not sleep, Mistress,” K-9 reminded her.

She drew a face. “Did Plissken say anything when he left?”

“‘Get out of my way, dog.’”

“Only that?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

So. The man must be nearly recovered to go out alone. And if he was well enough to leave, then she had repaid her debt.

She sat up, clasping the coverlet about her with cold fingers. Yes, Gallifrey had weakened her. Too long had she allowed herself to indulge in the ephemeral luxuries of its technology and undemanding way of life. There was a time when bitter weather would have meant nothing to her.

Forsaking her hard, spartan bed, Leela went to the kitbag and drew out the water pouch. At the feel of it in her hand, she smiled to herself. There were some things acquired on Gallifrey that she would rather not give up. And at sight of the band about her wrist her smile widened. Indeed many aspects of Gallifrey were not to be discounted nor discarded out of hand. Grinning ironically now, Leela drank her fill and turned to K-9.

“Time to go, K-9.”

“Mistress?”

“We shall see if these bracelets will indeed take us to another world — a more suitable one.”

“How about something to eat first?”

Leela spun round, knife in hand. The figure standing just inside the doorway was already well known to her. She slowly straightened. “I thought you'd gone,” she stated evenly, unhurriedly sheathing her knife.

“Why rush?” A bulging cloth sack was slung over Plissken’s shoulder. He strode into the room, making a show of swinging his prize onto the counter. “Naw — just went out for some real food. There's plenty to be had right now.”

“You stole it.”

“It's not the sort of thing you borrow,” he conceded. Plissken was in a good mood. For the first time in days he had awakened without pain or lethargy. Yesterday he had believed he would die of his wounds, and now they were all but completely healed.

Not that he had forgotten that he was still on Manhattan Island with no chance of escape, nor that the world as he knew it would soon come to an end altogether. He didn't care. The woman had saved his life; more than that, she had restored his health to him, something he would not have thought possible in this hellish place. There was no question that she, too, was a factor in the improvement of his disposition. Motivated by hunger, he had chosen food as the means by which he might repay her. The fact that in so doing he benefited himself as well, so much the better. The man in the dingy alcove had put up a fierce struggle — Plissken wouldn't have taken his meager stores otherwise: They probably would have been no good. As it was, he had left the man alive and only temporarily incapacitated. And in a gesture he didn't understand himself, he hadn't even taken all of the food.

Under Leela's scrutiny, he produced canned meats and vegetables, even a tin of bread. Glancing down at K-9 who rested motionless a few feet away, he asked, “What about you, dog? Can you use any of this?”

“My system is self-sustaining although I have been modified to utilize crude forms of fodder for systems recharge in event of emergency.”

“Just say you don’t want any, if that’s what you mean.”

“He doesn't need it,” Leela said placatingly.

“And you?” Plissken began to pry the lids off with his knife.

“Did you kill for it?”

“No.”

“But you would have.”

Plissken's single eye flared. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because I didn't need to!” he said with heavy emphasis. “Do you want some or don't you?”

Leela nodded. “Yes.” She remembered one of the Doctor's interminable injunctions. “Thank you.”

Giving his head a shake, Plissken passed the opened tins of meat and bread to her. Leela immediately divided them, handing back a tin containing equal portions of each, reserving the other for herself.

“You keep talking about Time Lord technology,” Plissken remarked casually. “Are you a Time Lord — Lady?”

All too aware of the derisive tone in Plissken's voice, Leela took a bite of bread and chewed. “No.”

“Then how did you get these ‘time rings’ you keep talking about? Did you steal them?”

“No.”

“Then —?”

“I spent a while with a Time Lord.” She said lightly.

“Did he get tired of you?”

That triggered a laugh. “The Doctor was not pleased to have me along,” she said, eyes alight with remembered joy. “At first.”

“You kept him warm at night, too, is that it?” Plissken said slyly.

His question made her blink. “I do not think the Doctor ever considered such things.”

“But he liked you so much he gave you a time ring.”

“No, the Doctor did not —”

“Mistress!”

The door shattered inward. Instinctively, Plissken jerked the pistol out of his waistband and Leela snatched her knife from its sheath. But the quarrels were already on their way, and at that distance even a novice bowman could not miss. Tensed for impact, Plissken staggered when a high-pitched, ear-splitting whine rent the air and an intense beam of light cut before him. A second beam followed the first, and the men wielding crossbows collapsed on the floor, shock fixed on their angry faces.

“Good dog, K-9!” Leela crowed, vaulting across the room to inspect the fallen forms.

Inhaling roughly Plissken eased his grip on the pistol butt. Impossibly, they were still alive.

A smoking puddle of liquid a few feet away drew his attention. He stepped nearer to inspect it, trusting Leela to inform him if their would-be attackers should stir. Even as he crouched down, the substance began to dull and harden. Numb with recognition, he gave a cough of laughter. “Shit!”

“Are they dead?” Leela asked.

“Stunned, Mistress,” K-9 replied. “However they will be unconscious for several hours.”

Leela patted his head. “Well done, K-9.”

According their attackers no more than a glance — one of them was the man from whom he had stolen their food — Plissken said disbelievingly, “The dog did that?”

“Yes,” Leela said with great pride. “He is always very helpful.”

Plissken nodded slowly. “Yeah, I can see that. But how did he do that?”

“I do not understand the workings of it.” Leela gave the mechanical dog a hug. “Ask him.”

Staring intently down at K-9, Plissken regarded him with new respect mingled with distrust. “Dog —”

“Yes, Plissken?”

“You stopped those arrows in mid-flight!”

“Yes.”

A hiss escaped from between Plissken’s lips. “That's not possible!”

“Inaccurate, Plissken,” K-9 responded obdurately. “I did it.”

“I know you did it,” Plissken said sharply. “How?”

“Are you familiar with synergistic energy systems?”

All of a sudden he remembered Hauk, asking him if he had any understanding of nuclear fusion. “Never mind, dog.” Plissken shoved the gun back into his waistband. “But, thanks.”

“You are welcome,” K-9 replied.

Leela’s eyes shone. “They could not know how foolish they were. Why do you think they attacked us?”

“Who knows?” Plissken kicked at the hardened slug, all that was left of the metal tip of the quarrel. It adhered to the floor. “Maybe they wanted our food.”

Drawing a disapproving face, Leela muttered, “There is no honor in a place where people steal food from one another.”

Stung, Plissken countered, “There is no honor in being dead.”

“You did not steal from me.”

“Not even a thug —” He cut himself off. “If you’re looking for honor, lady, you came to the wrong place.”

It was full daylight now, shafts of gold streaking in through the tops of the narrow upper windows. Their lovely food was an unappealing mess on the floor. “It is time to leave,” Leela said.

Plissken chided, “To your better world?”

Leela's lips parted. For an instant she did not speak. “No. Back to the open where we met you.”

“It'll be safer there,” he agreed. “And it is time we cleared out. The city's going to get ugly when the balloon goes up.”

“Balloon?”

Plissken's smile was chilling. “The end of the world.” The phrase seemed to please him.

“You like riddles,” Leela observed reprovingly. “K-9, are you ready?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

After spending a moment gathering her things and storing them in the kitbag, Leela surveyed the room. She would not miss this place. Plissken stood by the door. “It's clear,” he said.

Once away from the narrow streets, they began to relax a little. The sun was warming in spite of the early hour, a gift of Indian summer to soothe after the days of rain; a buffer for the days of snow and frigid winds to come. As yet there was still an abundance of green and, in the trees, the soft chittering of birds.

They saw few people and those they spotted were shadows prowling through the shrubs. None spoke to them, skittering away at their approach. Despite this, both Plissken and Leela kept their weapons in hand, scanning the rolling hills as they neared the thickly treed area once known as The Ramble. Plissken had almost fully recovered from his wounds except for a hardly noticeable limp. He paid it no heed, maintaining a killing pace up and down the low hills. Leela matched her stride to his, enjoying the taste of wet morning air, the breeze through her hair, the warmth of sun on her face. K-9 trailed behind, his sensors open and analyzing.

“Where are we going?” Leela asked at last, growing bored with their haste and seeming lack of destination.

Plissken tipped his head to the left, indicating an area at some distance from the edge of the great stand of trees.

“Why there?”

“It's a good place. Protected.”

“For ‘when the balloon goes up?’ ”

He smiled sardonically.

“And that place will save us from the end of the world?” Leela asked, her eyes filled with scorn.

“Delay the inevitable,” he qualified.

“What is inevitable?” she demanded with irritation. “You expect ‘it’ soon and you have taken responsibility for ‘it’ — but you have not told me what ‘it’ is!”

“More like ‘they,’ ” Plissken said absently. “A whole shitload of Russian missiles.” Accurately interpreting her questioning look, he added, “Nuclear weapons. They blow things up. You don't know about the war, do you? Between us and the Russians.”

Leela was bewildered. “There are no signs of war here! Only abandonment and rot.”

“Chemicals,” he said hoarsely, trying to ignore the twinge in the center of his not-quite-dead eye. “They eat at you from the inside — a little at a time.”

Leela was even more incredulous. “You caused such a war!?”

“Don’t be an idiot. I didn't start the war.”

“But you said —”

“I didn't start it,” he repeated soberly. “But I took away their options. Now they have to end it. No more chemicals. They have to use the big dogs now.”

Shifting the bag on her shoulder, Leela furiously tried to absorb this strange, but obviously important information. “That is the same as the ‘balloon,’ ” she translated.

Impatiently, Plissken replied, “Yeah.”

“This makes no sense, Plissken,” Leela argued. “How could one man — a prisoner — cause a major alteration in a war? A change, according to you, that will end the war!”

His mouth tightened into a predator’s smile. “Just happened to be in the right place at the right time, I guess.”

She was silent a long moment. Then she concluded thoughtfully, “It is a very selfish way to commit suicide.”

He gave her a sharp, sidelong glance. He could not have put it better himself.

If what Plissken said were true, she and K-9 should be on their way — before the missiles rained down upon them. In fact, she wondered why she had not departed this mad world already.

Surreptitiously examining Plissken's profile, believing herself unseen as she walked on his blind side, she wondered about his constantly forbidding expression. There was no doubt but that he was a very angry man, this Snake Plissken. And yet there was something of honor, a kind of decency in him. “Why are you here?” she asked without preamble.

“It’s a long story,” he said.

“But surely what you have done — causing the end of the world — is that not grounds for execution? Or does this world not believe in death for high crimes?”

“Like I said, it’s a long —”

“— story. This war you mentioned. Did you fight in it?”

“What are you getting at?”

“Did you?”

“What do you think?” Plissken’s voice hardened.

“I think you did. I think that is how you lost your eye. But now you are a criminal.”

“Now I am a criminal,” he agreed coldly.

“So you did fight for your people?”

“Yeah. Me and a lot of other assholes.”

“Then, why did you become a crim—?”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

They reached the edge of a shallow ravine that led into a drainage ditch. Shimmering black water reflected sunlight from the bottom, a vaguely unpleasant odor wafting upwards from its surface.

Leela sniffed, her nose wrinkling as she took the smell in. She dropped her kitbag anyway, and sat down without waiting for Plissken's agreement. He had made no complaint, but his limp had worsened and his breathing had become labored. Offering no argument, he stopped a few feet away. K-9 trundled up beside her and Leela touched his head affectionately.

“Guard mode, K-9.” Leaning back on her elbows, she stretched her long legs out in front of her. This was the first time since arriving on Earth that she had come warm all the way through — except for last night; Plissken generated a great deal of warmth. Still, she intended to appreciate this moment.

He interrupted her wool-gathering, his voice unexpectedly close. “Any of those food tablets left?” Plissken asked.

His question reminded her that she, too, was hungry, their aborted breakfast several hours ago and some distance behind them. She reached into her kitbag and pulled out the packet of food stores. After spilling a few into her own hand, she passed the remainder to Plissken.

He gave the packet a skeptical once-over, though the better part of his senses were tuned to their surroundings. They were exposed here and that made him uneasy.

“What if your missiles don't come, Plissken?” Leela asked.

Tapping a couple of the tiny but amazingly filling substances into his palm, Plissken sat down beside her. That possibility had not occurred to him — and for a very good reason: Hauk. A man like that never hedged his bets. The head of the USPF would be damned sure that everything had gone to hell before cutting and running like he had. “They will,” he assured her, raising his hand to his mouth.

Leela said nothing, but her silence was damning.

“Is that why you're still here?” he taunted. “Because you don't believe me?”

“Perhaps.”

“More like, you can't do what you said.”

“How can you say that after what K-9 did this morning?”

Plissken's leg was aching. He eased it out in front of him, rubbing his thigh with the heel of his hand. “I don't know what he did today. But whatever it was, it's hardly the same thing as flying off to another planet.”

To his surprise, Leela smiled. “You're right. K-9 can do many things, but he cannot fly.” She took the food packet back and stored it in the kitbag.

“So you just said that for the hell of it?”

“Oh, no. We do use Time Rings to travel.”

“A bracelet that takes you to another world?” Plissken scoffed.

“Perhaps,” Leela murmured good-naturedly, “I ought to shut up.”

Plissken turned his face toward the hazy, grey-blue sky. The morning's exertions had caught up with him. Despite his uneasiness, he reminded himself that sitting here like this they were almost invisible — and he knew from experience that K-9 more than lived up to his guard dog status. As sunshine soaked through his skin and melted into his bones, he asked, “This doctor of yours — was his name Andred?”

Leela went very still. After a long moment, she said, “No.”

“So who was he — Andred?”

“My mate.” Dismay chased the sunshine from Leela’s eyes. “How —?”

“He dead?”

“Yes.”

“You kill him?”

“No!” Grief surged up inside her, still corrosively painful. "He was murdered."

Plissken considered this. “You kill the guy who did it?”

“It was — necessary.”

Her reply clearly came as no surprise. “So these ‘Time Lords’ of yours gave you a couple of bracelets and sent you here.”

“The bracelets brought us,” Leela said stubbornly. “We were not sent.”

“You so sure about that?”

Dismissing the question out of hand, Leela asked, “How did you learn Andred’s name? K-9, did you tell him?”

“Not I, Mistress.”

Plissken’s gaze cut toward the mechanical dog; he had almost forgotten it was there. “You said it.” He shrugged, almost apologetically. “Last night.”

Leela let out a low groan.

Gliding nearer, K-9 said, “Mistress?”

“I—” She leaned over her companion, letting her long hair shield her face. “Nothing, K-9.”

Plissken lay back on the grass, his thigh brushing lightly against Leela’s hip. She did not draw away nor did she object. Folding his arms behind his head, he announced, “Robbery.”

“What?”

“I robbed a bank.”

“For that you were sent here?”

“It was,” Plissken reminisced with satisfaction, “a big bank.”

He did not stir several minutes later when Leela gathered her feet under her and slowly rose. She gazed down at Plissken’s still pale, sleeping face, marking the change in him. He had not become little-boy innocent with his defenses dropped — Leela doubted there was any of that left within him — but he had become less menacing, less angry. She wondered which demeanor was nearer his unguarded self.

K-9's head came up as she moved. She raised a finger to her lips, a signal K-9 had long ago come to recognize. Setting her kitbag beside him, she said under her breath, “I'm going for a walk. Attend Plissken, K-9.”

“Mistress —”

She hushed him with an upraised hand. “I won't go far. Promise.”

With a low mechanical sigh, K-9 wheeled round, his red “eyes” following her departure. There was nothing he could do but obey. So long as the man was open to attack, K-9's conscience would not allow him to leave. If, however, his mistress were gone too long, there was nothing to prevent him from cutting short the man's sleep cycle.

The day was a good one for a walk. Although Leela shared Plissken's distrust of open places, she needed to be out; to be alone. Something had happened to her here. Somehow this planet, wretched with death and war, had given her a renewed sense of life, breaking through the armor which she had taken on following Andred's death. It was almost as if something physical had released her, allowing her to breathe and move and think freely again.

Regrettably, Plissken was a part of it. His rage echoed hers, creating an intolerable feedback. It had been inevitable that something should give under such tension. But his anger, it appeared, was more durable than hers. She knew now that she was ready to move on, to leave that tragic part of her life behind. And yet still she delayed, and she wasn't sure why.

The trees loomed before her, thickly leaved and forbidding, rustling with suspicious movement. She knew better than to go nearer. Briskly walking away, she found her thoughts returning to the man and the enigma he presented her. He was a criminal by his own admission. A savage, the Doctor would have said, and he would have been right. Perhaps that was the source of kinship she felt for him. Whatever the reason for his bitter resentment and self-destructiveness, he retained, however irrationally, a keen sense of survival — something Leela understood all too well. It would be a waste for such a warrior to die in this unseemly time and place.

She paused, taking her bearings. The sun was in her eyes again; she had gone a considerable distance. Perhaps it was time she returned. K-9 would be growing anxious. Perhaps — But not just yet.

“Where is she?” Plissken asked, his voice deceptively soft.

“Mistress Leela went for a walk,” K-9 replied.

Plissken bared his teeth. “You shouldn’t’ve let her go.”

K-9's muzzle dipped perceptibly. “It was not my choice.”

Pivoting on his heel, Plissken controlled the inclination to connect the toe of his boot with K-9's back end. He was upset because he had slept and upset because the woman had taken off by herself. The idiot! Didn’t she realize that their time was measured? Whatever had postponed the firefall would not hold off much longer. Why wouldn’t she believe him?

On a sudden thought, he asked, “Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, Plissken. She —“ K-9's mechanical burr broke off. He came round until his muzzle faced north.

Spooked, Plissken prompted, “Somewhere out there?”

“Negative. My sensors indicate several objects entering the atmosphere, configuration corresponding to Old Earth ballistic missiles.”

The long awaited moment had come, and Plissken wasn’t ready. Face twisted with helpless rage, he made a low, animal sound. “How long?”

“Sixty-six seconds.”

“Where —?”

“She is 345.3 meters south-southwest.”

Plissken’s eye snapped wider as he looked in that direction. His lungs reminded him painfully that he had forgotten to breathe. “Thanks, dog.” Without warning, he nudged K-9 toward the edge of the ditch then gave a firm shove. As the metal body disappeared over the side, he yelled, “Keep your head down. And cover your — eyes!”

Plissken began to run.

A furious gurgling protest came from the bottom of the ditch, but K-9's complaints rapidly faded behind him. A small clock lit up inside Plissken’s head, ticking off the seconds. He hoped K-9's prediction was accurate because he didn’t want to be caught out in the open. Flashburns were nothing to joke about, even at a distance of several miles. Yet he continued to run, knees pistoning, his thigh ignored if not entirely forgotten, heading south-southwest over the uneven, patchy terrain, driven by a compulsion he did not begin to comprehend. It was like that moment on the bridge, when Maggie had chosen to die with Brain. He had attempted to persuade her to come with him, precious seconds lost in the doing. Not that he had foreseen a future for them, nor had there been a design in wanting to keep her alive. To put it simply, he had liked her. And Brain hadn’t deserved that brand of devotion. It annoyed him, but he was coming to like Leela, too. And maybe, more importantly, he admired the fact that she would kill for the man she loved, rather than die for him.

He was almost out of time and still had not spotted her. It would be a mistake to call out: She would be alarmed and might do something stupid. But her name was on his lips, held back by force.

And then he saw her, topping one of those shallow swales so common in the park, ambling away at a steady pace. Knowing he would pay for it later, he increased his pace, the thud of his feet on the rain-soft surface counting down their final seconds.

She heard him and swung round, fingers grasping the hilt of her knife. He saw her expression change from surprise to recognition to something he might have characterized as welcome — to alarm. When she realized that he wasn’t going to stop, she gathered herself to bolt; but he threw on a killing burst of speed and flung himself at her before she was more than a yard away. They went down hard, tumbling over the gradual slope to the grassy floor at its base. Leela began to struggle at once, but Plissken pinned her arms, holding her still by force and the advantage of weight while he fought to catch his breath.

“Close your eyes!” he gasped. “They’ll be here any second!”

There was a note of real fear in his voice. It broke through Leela’s outrage and fright. Her body ceased its writhing rebellion, and she did as commanded, mindful of another time on this planet when a man had issued a similar warning and she had paid no heed. Though not one to linger before her mirror, she had grown quite fond of her blue eyes. If she disobeyed, what color might they become next?

Not that her complicity was of any great necessity. Plissken wrapped her in his arms until his shoulder blocked her vision as effectively as an executioner’s blindfold. His breathing was inordinately ragged, and he was swimming with sweat. How far had he run? Why had he —?

A shocking burst of light, distressing even to closed, protected eyes, made everything turn red — the color of blood flowing in her eyelids. Her fingers dug into Plissken’s arms and she choked back a cry. He held her tighter, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other a fist caught painfully beneath her right shoulder blade — but an appreciated pain for all that. An instant later, blackness rushed in. Leela feared that she had been blinded once more.

“You can look now,” Plissken said harshly. He had yet to catch his breath. “Just stay down, okay?”

Warily she opened her eyes and normal light rushed in; she could indeed see. ”What was that?”

“Part One. Part Two will be here real soon.”

“Explain!”

Plissken did not answer, though his lips were moving. Not in prayer, Leela guessed, but as if he were counting. Counting what? K-9 was the one who —

“K-9!” she cried out.

Plissken jerked as if shot. “What about him?” he growled dangerously.

“Where is he? He was with you!”

The man’s one eye fixed on her worried face and some of the tension drained out of him. “Not too far away, on the down side of the ditch where you left us. If he’s smart, he’ll stay there.”

“Why? Plissken, what are you waiting for?”

“I told you: Part Two. The blast wave.” He turned his head. “The cloud must be forming over there — behind those trees, luckily for us.” With a gesture, he indicated the area of the park they had passed through earlier in the day. “Otherwise, we’d be able to see it by now.”

She twisted in his arms, straining to see something, anything. “A cloud? But what —?” Her ears seized the sound of a dull rumble that seemed to come from a great distance. It grew in magnitude almost instantly, changing from the milder toll of displaced air to a terrifying roar, like that of a mountainside crashing down. Plissken dragged her close again, tucking her head into the safety of his shoulder, his face pressed into her hair. She did not fight him this time, thankful for his bulk when the winds hit. They came in low, like a huge wave scouring the surface of the earth. For a sickening instant, Leela felt as though she were being crushed — and not because of Plissken’s weight. The sensation soon passed, and all became still again.

“Must’ve been miles away,” Plissken murmured, a hint of exultation in his usually flat tone. He rose all at once, brushing away the smattering of debris that had descended in the wake of the blast.

“That was the end of the world?” Leela asked.

“Not for us. But over there — Look.” Pulled to her feet before she could protest, Leela followed his pointing finger. She fell back at sight of the enormous, swollen cloud rising above the treeline. It billowed upward, widening as it lifted, swiftly obscuring the horizon. “You wouldn’t’ve wanted to be there,” Plissken stated the obvious with some relish. “Must be over the airport. Probably,” he gave it a squinting assessment, “a one-megatonner.”

“What was it? What happened there?”

“An air-burst most likely; the cloud’s pretty clean. No one in a six- or seven-mile radius is feeling too good about now. But at least there won’t be much fallout.”

“Fallout?”

“Junk sucked up into the mushroom. Happens in a ground-burst.”

“And the light? An explosion?”

“A really big explosion. Heat and radiation. Causes ugly burns, sets things on fire. The nail. The hammer was the blast and overpressure. What we felt was nothing compared to what they felt. Won’t be many left after that. And those that are won’t last long.”

“You were responsible for that?”

Plissken’s features lost all animation. “Yeah.”

“Mistress?” A plaintive voice came to them from the crest of the slope above. The blockily built mechanical form came into view.

“K-9, are you all right?” Leela cried, scrambling up to meet him.

“Satisfactory, Mistress.” His metal casing was watermarked almost up to his colorful collar. Bits of sludge dripped off as he moved.

“Where did the others hit, dog?” Plissken asked.

K-9's earlike antennae rotated from side to side. “Southeast and west, approximately 70 to 150 kilometers away.”

Just then a high-pitched, ululating wail pierced the air. Leela searched about wildly, expecting to be confronted by the most horrific of creatures. Unthinkingly, she touched her neck, left shoulder, and left hip with a ritual motion that bespoke its religious origins.

“Plissken!” she gasped. “What is that?”

“Early warning siren,” he answered. “Probably set off by the explosion.”

Leela steadied herself with an effort. “A siren cannot hurt us.”

“No,” Plissken agreed dryly. “No more than it helped us.”

Angry, frightened, bruised — and determined not to betray herself again, Leela stalked off in the direction of the ditch where she had left her kitbag. She had no desire to lose its contents now.

Plissken appeared at her side, his injured leg dragging.

Begrudgingly, she slowed her pace. “Are we safe now?”

“No. There’ll be more.”

“More missiles?”

“I told you: A shitload. Remember?”

She cast him an arch look. “You did not say how many that was.”

“A lot,” he said gravely. “It’s a lot.”

They reached the site of their resting place a few minutes later, their progress hampered by Plissken’s damaged leg. Leela went to her kitbag and dropped to her heels beside it, pulling out the water pouch at once. She drank deeply before handing it over. Plissken raised it to his lips. Incredibly there was more than enough for them both. Idly inspecting it, he paid little attention when the sirens stopped.

Leela exhaled with relief. “What a horrible sound.”

“It was meant to get your attention, not frighten you.” He handed the pouch back to her. “How does that thing work? There’s always fresh wa —”

“Alarm, Mistress!” K-9 declared.

Leela’s hands tightened on the handles of her kitbag. “Yes, K-9?” She tucked the pouch inside, sealed the opening, and stood.

“Incoming missiles. Three with trajectories within a 21-kilometer radius.”

A grimace of pure despair etched stark lines into Plissken’s face. “How long?”

“Fifty-two-point-three seconds to first detonation. Recommend immediate departure, Mistress.”

Defeated, Plissken searched Leela’s face. “Can you really leave?” he asked.

“Of course,” Leela replied.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere safe.”

“Like here?” he said with heavy irony.

“It was safe when we came,” she reminded him. “The Time Rings ensure only that we do not arrive anywhere immediately —” she searched for the correct word, the word Borusa had used “—inimical to life.”

“All right.” Plissken fell back a pace. “Then use ‘em. Do as the dog says.” He jerked his head in the direction of the still looming cloud, now casting an ever encroaching shadow their way. “Before it’s too late.”

Leela hoisted the kitbag onto her shoulder, the crossbow comfortingly to hand. “Activate the sequence, K-9. Complete upon my command.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

With some regret, Plissken met Leela’s clear gaze. She did not belong here. It would be better if she left — if she really could. “Go on,” he said. “Show me.”

“Plissken —”

His composure cracked. “Get out of here!”

“Ten seconds,” K-9 said.

Leela licked her lips. She stretched out a hand. “Come with us.”

Disbelief, wary surprise, and doubt flickered in rapid succession across Plissken’s face. Freedom —?

“Five seconds,” intoned K-9.

“Plissken —!”

What did he have to lose? Feeling an idiot, he stepped forward and engulfed Leela’s hand in his. “Why not?”

“Now, K-9,” Leela breathed.

Nothing happened.

Plissken stared into Leela’s eyes, wanting to believe the serene certainty residing there. “Trust me.” At least he thought she spoke. Her mouth moved, but the words, if there were words, seemed to disassemble mid-air, reaching his ears like badly digitized sound clips. The very atmosphere seemed to decompose around them, shimmering into fragments, terribly bright as the world splintered apart. It was the missiles, of course. His fingers tightened reflexively. He didn’t hold it against her, this lie. Death, as he always imagined it, had come much worse.

As sensation began to slip away, the light went with it. Darkness swallowed them whole, almost palpable in its totality. Maybe they’d taken a direct hit; maybe there was no pain in the heart of a fireball.

And suddenly fear struck him. He was nowhere, the only place that held any real terror for him. What if he stayed here, like this, forever?

“It’s okay,” Leela said. Somehow he seemed to feel her voice rather than hear it. “It will pass. Do not be afraid.”

“I’m not —” But why finish it? He concentrated on that point where their hands should be joined, willing himself to sense flesh amidst the nothingness.

Almost on the thought a suggestion of light pierced the fabric of total darkness like millions of tiny pinpricks. At first he believed it was his imagination, an invention of his need for a return to normalcy. But then the pinpricks grew larger, rays of light pouring through, until the remnants of dark swirled like smudges amidst the glare.

All at once they were whole again. Leela was there before him; at their feet, her mechanical pet. But everything else had changed. They stood in a small clearing surrounded by gnarled, tangled tree-like growths covered with intensely blue petal-like leaves. Beneath their feet flowed a carpet of dark blue grass — or something like grass — cool and pungently scented, and above the thick tree-things spread a sky of pale rose.

Not Earth.

Plissken started at the sound of Leela’s voice. “Where are we?” she asked K-9.

“Aldebaran, Mistress. Fourth planet; no name has been recorded in Time Lord records.”

“Aldebaran?” Plissken echoed.

“Sixty-eight light years from Sol Three.”

Taking in their surroundings with some apprehension, Plissken discovered a huge red sun dominating one portion of the sky.

“Plissken.”

He breathed, “Yeah?”

“My hand — You’re hurting it.”

Not even aware that he still clung to her, Plissken immediately let her go. “Sorry.”

Wriggling her fingers, she explained, “It’s the Vortex. Makes you dizzy.”

The reality of what had happened crowded in upon him. The colors, the shapes, the smells, the feeling and scent of the air itself were all changed. He had no doubts now. Earth was gone: sixty-eight light years gone. Whatever that meant.

Jesus.

What did he feel? Regret? Loss? Had his world, in and of itself, meant anything to him? All the aspects of it he had taken for granted — blue sky, yellow sun, green grass, two-legged people, four-legged dogs, people who spoke his language —

“You speak English,” he blurted.

Leela was unfazed by Plissken’s seemingly nonsensical statement. The Vortex, as she knew from experience, was vastly disorienting. “I am descended of your people,” she reminded him. “And the Time Ring would enable us to understand one another no matter what we spoke.”

“Time Lord stuff, huh?”

“Yes.”

No going back, Plissken. You’re stuck here whether you like it or not.

Just like always.

But not quite like always. Leela was watching him, waiting patiently while he came to terms with this radically new situation. She had known. She could have gone at any time. Instead she had waited — and she had brought him with her.

And then he remembered Texas Bob, and what he had said: “Maybe you’ll slither out of this one, too —”

He grinned, almost unselfconsciously. Leela raised her brows. Absurdly, he said, “Think there’s anything like a hamburger around here? I haven’t had one of those in years.”

“Hamburger?”

“Rare delicacy back on Earth.” See how easily he’d said that? Back on Earth. Rubbing his boot against K-9's sleek side, he added, “Made from dog meat.”

Leela pursed her lips. “I doubt it. But we can look.”

Plissken gave K-9 a gentle push. “Okay, dog. Lead the way.”

The mechanical creature wheeled round, rear antennae bobbing up and down, the circular forward ones rotating. He made toward an opening in the tree-things.

Nonchalantly, Plissken reached out and relieved Leela of the kitbag. “My turn,” he explained.

“All right.” They followed behind K-9 at a sedate pace, absorbing their surroundings with each step. Voice deliberately hushed, Leela said, “Do Earth people really eat dogs?”

“Earth people eat Earth people,” Plissken replied. “What d’you expect?”

“Oh.” She mulled this information for a moment. “And do Earth people also bathe on occasion?”

“They’ve been known to.” He regarded her sidelong. “Don’t like the way I smell?”

“I don’t like the way either of us smells.”

“Okay. A bath and a hamburger.”

Sensing whimsy in her companion for the first time, Leela realized they were both a little punchy with relief. “And if we don’t find them here, we’ll try somewhere else.”

“Maybe —” He caught his breath. “Maybe not right away.”

“Ah— Well, we have 168 hours in which to decide.”

Plissken performed a swift mental calculation. “Seven days. Earth days.” Earth days. Christ.

“Correction, Plissken. Eight days,” K-9 informed him. “The rotation of Aldebaran Four around its sun is 21 hours long.”

“Eight days?” The absurdity of it, the insanity of it made Plissken break out laughing. “O-kay.” The scented breeze caught the sound of his voice and carried it away.

Leela said, “You’ll get used to it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Leela echoed, mimicking Plissken’s pronunciation precisely. ”It was easier for me this time.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” His eye was drawn to the red sun. Aldebaran.

Following his gaze, Leela murmured, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it.”

“Different.” He laughed again. “Just different. Leela —”

She looked up at him inquiringly.

“Thanks.”

“You are welcome — Snake.”

They grinned at each other. It was, Snake Plissken decided, astonishingly good to be alive.