Hell's Gate

broached the hull with your aid and that we would be coming to the cart. We'll hold them off. I think we out-gun them anyway. But get moving as fast as you can.”
        Vic nodded, started for the cart, then went back and shook the Earthman's hand.
        “Maybe when all this is straightened out,” Moog said, “we'll be able to piece together the vacii machines and find out what made them tick. Maybe we'll be able to build a cart for traveling the probabilities. That would be something.”
        “That surely would,” Salsbury said. Then he climbed onto the cart and fiddled with the controls while Moog went to direct the battle with the aliens.
        There was a keyboard on the dash, much like that of a typewriter, except that the symbols made no sense to him. He tried punching them, found they were stiff, like the keys on the locked board of an electric typewriter. He tried all of them, then in desperation snapped down the spacing bar. Instantly, the walls around him faded.
        He flicked from probability line to probability line, heading home. He could see no way to control the cart, no way to make it stop. Perhaps it would go past the probability line from which he had started; more likely, it was set to return to the place from which it had come, the probability line directly before his own. At least he hoped that was the case.
        In the teleportation rooms in each probability line, vacii operators looked up, astonished that a human being was riding without benefit of guards. Some of them tried to reach him before he flicked on to the next line, but that was futile. Others turned toward their master consoles, but were not fast enough to stop him. He continued, fluttering backwards, hopefully toward the world-line where the vacii had first captured him.
        There was nothing to do but think, think about Moog and the others. Would the spunky creature make it, or would he die in the battle? It seemed almost certain the starship would be defeated. But what would that mean to the vacii installations across the worldlines? Would they, cut off from the mother ship, eventually disintegrate? Moog had assured him their connections with the star-ship were essential to their survival. Salsbury hoped so. Because that would mean that they had not just liberated one worldline from the vacii, but many. He thought about his own safety now and the safety of his worldline. If he were taken back to the worldline next to his, he could get through into his own basement. The 810-40.04 could detonate the micro-bombs, and his worldline would be permanently safe, because the destruction of the starship on One Line would ensure an end to vacii expeditions into other worldlines. The future from which he had been sent by desperate men almost without hope, would be different. All the timelines beyond his own which the vacii had conquered after 1970 would also have different futures, for they would never become alien dominions now. He had changed their futures too. But he could not bring himself to feel heroic. He had been built to accomplish much, had been trained in the arts of combat by the computer; Lynda had given him a driving motivation; Moog had saved his life and initiated the final bold plan. He had done his part, nothing more. Anyway, he could not be bothered now with any thoughts but those about Lynda. Green eyes, crooked tooth, healthy, warm body… The only island of reality in this entire affair was her smile, her kiss, the entire marvelous sum of her.
        Abruptly, the cart stopped. The flickering ceased.
        He knew he was in the right place.
        The operator stood against the wall, chewing on a drug stick. Salsbury bolted from the machine, brought a fist into the skinny throat before the vacii could issue alarm. It went down, rolled over, drew its knees up and passed out.
        He left the room and walked to the prober chamber, hesitated at the door, wondering what he would find inside. It was still the same night as when he had entered this worldline, though several hours had passed. It would be getting near dawn. The vacii might very well have discovered the mess in the projection room, might already have invaded his worldline. Lynda might be dead.
        “ Sees tusga ji gasta!” A vacii voice erupted behind.
        He whirled. At the far end of the hall, four vacii stood, one with a pistol. It raised the weapon, fired. The vibrabeam connected with the back of Salsbury's