But his luck held out, and he was able to hail a taxi. The driver did not want to go that far out of Beverly Hills, but Kickaha opened the back door and got into the car. “This is an emergency,” he said. “I got a business appointment which involves a lot of money.”
He leaned forward and handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill from di Angelo’s wallet. “This is yours, over and above the fare and the regular tip. Think you can detour a little?”
“Can do,” the cabbie said.
He let Kickaha off three blocks from the railroad station, since Kickaha did not want him to know where he was going if the police should question him. He walked to the station, removed the ball of gum and the key from the hollow in the tree, and then went inside the station.
He removed the instrument case from the locker without interference or attention, other than a four-year-old girl who stared at him with large deep-blue eyes and then said, “Hello!” He patted her on the head as he went by, causing her mother to pull her away and lecture her in a loud voice about being friendly to strangers.
Kickaha grinned, though he did not really think the incident amusing. During his long years on, he had become used to children being treated as greatly valued and much-loved beings. Since Wolff had put into the waters of that great world a chemical which gave the humans a thousand-year youth but also cut down considerably on the birth rate, he had ensured that children were valued. There were very few cases of child killings, abuses, or deprivation of love. And while this sort of rearing did not keep the children from growing into adults who were quite savage in warfare-but never killed or maltreated children-it did result in people with much fewer neuroses and psychoses than the civilized Earthling. Of course, most societies in Wolff’s world were rather homogenous, small, and technologically primitive, not subject to the many-leveled crisscross current modes of life of Earth’s highly industrial societies.
Kickaha left the station and walked several blocks before coming to a public phone booth in the corner of a large service station area. He dialed Urthona’s number. The phone had rung only once when it was picked up and an unfamiliar voice answered. Kickaha said, “Mr. Callister, please.”
“Who is this?” the rough voice said.
“Di Angelo can describe me,” Kickaha said. “That is, if you’ve found him in the closet.”
There was an exclamation and then, “Just a minute.” A few seconds later, a voice said, “Callister speaking.”
“Otherwise known as Urthona, present Lord of Earth,” Kickaha said. “I am the man who was your prisoner.”
“How did you . . . ?” Urthona said and then stopped, realizing that he was not going to get a description of the escape.
“I’m Kickaha,” Kickaha said. There was no harm in identifying himself, since he was sure that Urthona had gotten both his name and description from Anana. “The Earthling who did what you supposed Lords of Creation could not do. I killed directly, or caused to be killed, all fifty-one of the Bellers. They are no longer a menace. I got out of Red Orc’s house in that other Earth, got through all his traps, and got into your house. If you had been there, I would have captured or killed you. Make no mistake about that.
“But I didn’t call you just to tell you what I have done. I want only to return in peace to Wolff’s world with Wolff, Chryseis, and Anana. You and Red Orc can battle it out here and may the best Lord win. Now that the Beller is dead, there is no reason for us to stay here. Nor for you to keep my friends.”
There was a long silence and then Urthona said, “How do I know that the Beller is dead?”
Kickaha described what had happened, although he left out several details that he did not think Urthona should know.
“So you now know how you can check out my story,” he said. “You can’t follow my original route as I did, since you don’t know where Red Orc’s house is, and I don’t either. But I think that all the gates are two-way, and you can backtrack, starting from that room in which I ended.”