The City looked manufactured; it did not look human. They stopped at the perimeter. Jill had to work to achieve the kind of wariness she knew was appropriate. She had the strangest sense that the City was, simultaneously, both perfectly normal and dismissably unbelievable. Unbelievable because she'd been sure the insects in the desert would be the highest form of life on this planet; it seemed too dry and barren to have created a higher species.

Unbelievable, too, in its surreal flatness. Yet there was also something about the City that seemed familiar-familiar enough to get under her guard. And that was dangerous. "Look at this, Jill. It's as if the red sand had suddenly risen up and . . .hardened in a tremendous heat." She tore her eyes away from the buildings. Nate was trailing his hand along the red perimeter wall. The top of it varied in height from two to four feet, in an irregular, wavy form that was at odds with the straight, orderly lines of the City. As her fingers brushed off its dusting of sand she saw that the wall wasn't rock at all but red gla.s.s. "You're right. I think itis hardened sand. That's weird." Nate went over to the break in the wall, where the street met the desert and abruptly ended. He dug his toe into the sand and then tapped. She didn't need to see it to know that he'd encountered that hard, gla.s.sy surface a few inches down, as if the wall had been there, too, and had been cut away. "It reminds me ofThe Wizard of Oz ," Nate said thoughtfully.

"Nate!" Jill cried in warning. A round metal sphere hurtled toward them, flying down the street of the City. It was two feet in diameter, completely silver, and smooth except for a rectangular opening in one side. It stopped in front of Nate, its opening tilting up and down, regarding him head to foot. He froze.

"Don't move," Jill said in a low voice.

"Don't worry," Nate muttered.

The sphere flew with a zip over to Jill and "sensed" her as well, then zoomed off, disappearing back

into the buildings. "A sentry?" Nate suggested, letting out a relieved breath. "A camera?" "Maybe." "Maybe it's gone to sound the alarm." Jill and Nate looked at each other.He looked wary at least. He looked scared. "I really don't like this place, Jill. Maybe we should get out of here." "They'll have water," she said. "Yeah." The look on his face admitted defeat.

Jill's mouth dredged up saliva at the thought. She shaded her eyes and regarded the City. But it wasn't water that engendered the kernel of excitement in her belly, small and hard, that created that sense of attraction, of destiny. It was as if the City were calling her, as if she were home.

14.4. Thirty-Seventy Aharon Handalman

To reign is worth ambition, though in h.e.l.l: Better to reign in h.e.l.l, than serve in heaven.

-Satan inParadise Lost, by John Milton, 1667 They were carrying him up crude steps. Aharon could see the pitted stone through the coa.r.s.e weave of the blanket that covered him, slung as he was like an anchor over a monstrous freak's back. There was no breath and no room to take it in; his soft stomach was crushed against the thing's shoulder even as he shivered violently from a bone-deep chill. G.o.d help him, he was about to pa.s.s out from the pain! Maybe that would be a mercy.

Doors opened and he was dimly aware that they'd entered a large room. Through the blanket he got blurry glimpses of stone benches and hairy, brutal figures. The room was full of beasts, growling and frothing. His heart slammed in his chest. He could smell them, these . . .creatures: smell sweat and, and musk, and some other stink-dark and earthy and pungent as the dead. On top of his terror, the revolting smell was enough to make him sick. He retched, halfheartedly; then the floor rose up to meet him as he was dumped, head cracking on hard stone. The blanket was yanked off. Aharon cringed as howls and animal screams rose in the room.

He didn't want to-G.o.d, he didn't want to do this!-but he looked; hemade himself look. He still prayed for something, anything, that could allow him to believe that this was not real, that it was all a horrible dream, anything that would let him deny everything that had happened since he'd arrived in this terrible place.

He'd awoken, he had no idea how many hours ago, under a tree in a frozen wilderness of sharp, pitiless rocks and spa.r.s.e, rubbery gra.s.s. He was freezing to death in the dark, and the dark went on and on. At first he'd thought he was dead because of the dark and because of the way he was pinned to the ground. There were a few awful minutes when he was sure he was in his grave. But the frigid wind blew over him, shattering that nightmare. He was definitely not underground.

Next he thought he had been wounded, paralyzed by a bullet, and left to die in the woods of Auschwitz. But when the daylight finally came-dim and insubstantial as watered milk-he saw that he was not in Auschwitz. He might have been on the surface of the moon for all the life around him. There was just that one tree, black and twisted, towering overhead, and rocks, painful rocks. After hours of lying there helpless, growing so cold that his limbs went numb, he'd been picked up by these . . . these demonicthings . They'd shoved him into a cart and jolted him for miles before reaching a crude, nightmarish town-a place so awful, hung with things,b.l.o.o.d.y things, that were so disgusting that he'd kept his eyes squeezed shut even under the blanket. Now he was surrounded by theseanimals . He made himself really look at them, because the truth could be no worse than the terror.

They were like nothing on Earth, but then, he had accepted that fact some time ago. They were loathsome, unclean things-short in height but muscled with great slabs of meat, their necks as thick as their square heads. Their faces bore the hair of beasts even on their temples and noses, making them look like animals. But their bodies were covered with the primitive robes of men. Their hands were wide and their short, thick fingers bowed like an ape's. Strong. Hideous. Demons.

Weapon loosing demons.

Had he, Aharon Handalman, been transported to h.e.l.l? And dear G.o.d, what had he ever done to deserve this?

He blinked up at the ceiling, eyes wide and dry. He wanted to feel nothing, to not even acknowledge this place, but that was impossible. It was a little warmer here, but he was lying on his back, the worst position for his heart. In his chest it thudded and shuddered like a badly tuned engine. He could hear his own panicked panting, the whistling in his throat of a coward.

Lord, where are You? Where have You sent me? Why me?

A few feet away they were fighting over him, yes, like dogs over a sc.r.a.p of meat! Sweat dripped down his face, rolled into his ears. Those pictures from Yad Vashem would not leave him alone. He wanted to believe that G.o.d would keep him safe, that there was a plan, but his fear was rich as cream and his prayer a frail thing.

He tried to turn his head, made an effort. It took a great deal of effort. He was definitely paralyzed, gunned down by the CIA or Mossad or someone like that. His body was made of immobile steel, hugging the floor. But his neckwould move, if he strained.

Across the room he saw the beast that was doing most of the speaking. No, you couldn't call it speech; that would be giving them too much credit. It was barking or snarling. A dense black robe hung from its ma.s.sive shoulders, making its body a squat rectangle. Its face-somewhere between an ape's, a jackal's, and a human's-was flat, impervious, and cruel. Its hair was groomed back from its brow, lips pulled back from its teeth. This animal was snarling at a figure that was seated on a raised platform. The figure . . . it was in a chair of some kind, wooden maybe, and it was taller than the other animals, even sitting down. It wore a blood-purple robe patterned at the neck and hem with gold. Its head was covered by a golden mask that had a short snout, menacing eyes, growling mouth, and golden fangs.

The ferocity of the masked figure, its undeniable position as some kind of leader, sent a fresh wave of mortal dread shuddering through Aharon's body. This wasn't right, that these animals acted like men. It wasn't right! He wouldn't look, wouldn't sully his eyes with such obscenities! He turned his head back to the ceiling, trying to be gentle. It was a bowling ball cranium on a flower stalk neck. The pain! G.o.d help him. Oh, G.o.d help him!

If this is it, if this is what it comes down to, just kill me and have it done with. Only please, Lord, make it quick.The thought of Hannah and the children being widowed, orphaned, sent despair flooding through him. And still, he could not believe where he was.

h.e.l.l. He was in h.e.l.l, some abysmal place of punishment. Somehow, that place, that hole that Kobinski had found with his magic or his mathematics, that awful hole in the world near Auschwitz, had brought him here-not to Heaven, not to a fiery chariot like Ezekiel, but straight to a place of abomination.

The very stars should cry out against this outrage to a righteous man!

There came a pounding that reverberated up from the floor. The creatures carried heavy staffs, and it was these they were using now, the entire a.s.sembly, pounding the staffs on the floor in a jarring rhythm. Aharon tried to sink farther into the stone.

At any moment these jackals would fall on him and rip him to pieces, and he could almost welcome an end to this nightmare, dear merciful G.o.d, if only they would be quick.

Then the room fell silent and he thought he heard . . . he couldswear he was hearing . . .

Hebrew?

"Are you a Jew?" a voice said, in the Hebrew tongue. The sound was awkward, as though the mouth was not used to forming the words.

Aharon froze, listening.

"Are you a Jew!" the voice demanded, louder.

"Yes," Aharon whispered. He made the effort to turn his head again and look up at the masked figure. It was leaning forward in its thronelike chair, bending toward him.

The creature with the flat face walked into his line of sight, barking angrily. The masked one snarled back. Aharon's neck was screaming, sending shock waves of pain, but he ignored it. His ears sifted the air for clues; he didn't dare breathe.

"Tell me who you are and how you got here," the masked figure snapped. "Do it now."

"Who are you?"

"Answer!"

"Aharon . . . Aharon Handalman. From Jerusalem. I . . . I was . . . I have a wife, Hannah. Children. I'm a rabbi." These words brought fresh tears.

"Stop blubbering if you want to live!"

Aharon did stop. He took deep breaths, swallowed. The fear, no longer having an outlet, sent his body into convulsionlike shivers.

Among the crowd there was a growling rumble. The flat-faced one spoke again, loud over the crowd, and again the masked one snarled back. It went on for some time.

Aharon allowed his neck to release his head, swallowing the pain. Hebrew? Would demons be given the power to speak the Hebrew tongue? Yes, certainly. It was an ancient tongue, the tongue of the chosen people. Had angels not spoken to Jacob? Would not the language be known even in h.e.l.l? And yet this answer did not satisfy him. There had been no kindness or sympathy in the voice of the masked creature and yet . . . it was not the voice of a demon, either. Deep inside him, there was a small sparking of hope.

The staves pounded again, insistently. When they fell silent, Aharon heard the slow, heavy fall of footsteps. He cringed but was incapable of moving far. The purple robe appeared in his line of sight, looming over him. He had no choice but to stare up at that hideous face.

"Listen to me carefully, Jew." The voice sounded remote coming from behind the mask. "You must sit up."

Aharon drew in a sharp breath. "Sit? I . . . I cannot. I'm injured."

"You are notinjured . Gravity is heavier here. Moving is difficult, but it can be done. Sit up or die, your choice."

Had he imagined something human in the voice? Nothing human could be so cruel. Aharon believed the threat completely. If he did not sit up he would die. And yet . . . did that mean that if he could sit he wouldlive? He heaved a quivery sigh and tried to gather his strength. The voice said he could move, that he was not paralyzed but only burdened by gravity. The implications of that were too unfathomable to provide any relief, but it did make him try. He strained. It was impossible. Perhaps, if he had been asked when he'd first arrived, before the day of terror and the journey had worn his reserves to nothing, but now . . .

Even as he told himself he couldn't do it, the desire for self-preservation worked miracles. He managed to turn onto one shoulder and press his palms deep into the floor. Grunting like a pig, spittle flying from his lips, he leveraged his upper torso partially off the floor. His arms shook uncontrollably. His heart was going to burst under the strain.

"Now hold it," the voice said.

Aharon didn't, couldn't, answer. He felt veins popping out on his neck. A stab of agony raced from one side of his chest to the other like a warning shot across a bow. The masked figure turned to the a.s.sembly and the crowd shook the roof with their pounding staves. Without warning, Aharon's elbows collapsed. He slammed to the floor, his left eyebrow splitting on the stone, sending blood into his eyes. He moaned. Was it over? Please, G.o.d, let it be over. The pounding was still reverberating in the room, but the voice spoke again, to him alone this time, urgent and low. "Listen-you must give me something, anything. A wallet, a letter, a watch. Do it quickly." Aharon opened his eyes. The figure was bending over him, one hand held out. The hand trembled, white and long-fingered . . . and hairless. Aharon tried to see the eyes behind the mask, but they were buried in shadow. "Who are you?" "Never mind." "You're . . . You're human,nu ?" No answer. "Yosef Kobinski?" The figure gasped in surprise, drew back. There was only that mask and, behind it, what?"Yes. Now do as I said. Hurry!" "In the back. Inside my jacket." The figure reached over him and sought the place-felt the stiffness of the rolled-up ma.n.u.script and pulled it free. The bound pages were thrust into the air in triumph as the figure stood. The a.s.sembly roared. Aharon felt paws on his arms and legs. He was being lifted. The terror came back in a rush. "Reb Kobinski!" The figure had its back to him, still raising the ma.n.u.script for the crowd. "Reb Kobinski!"

The mask turned. Aharon had the strange idea that those eyes, those human eyes, glared maliciously at him. But he only saw them for a moment before he was carried away.

*** Aharon was taken to a room that, while dark and smelly, was private. It had a bed that, while rough and scratchy, was still a bed. There was warmth under the covers, filthy as they were. These small comforts, after a day of horrors, were like manna from heaven. Exhausted, he slept.

He was abruptly awoken-shaken from sleep by the paw of one of those creatures. He looked up to see a delicate rodentlike face and intelligent eyes set atop a huge torso and surrounded by a ma.s.s of brown fur. The creature bore a torch, its fire thick and low, barely illuminating the dark room. It moved back when Aharon's eyes opened, bowing its head subserviently.

Behind it was the figure in the gold mask, sitting on a chair beside the bed. Aharon tried to sit up and speak and was reminded that he could not sit up. This had the immediate effect of depressing him, as all that had happened came back and he realized that he was still lost. So it was not over. He lay weighted against the cushions, eyes on the figure, and said nothing. "That will be all, Tevach. You can go. Make sure no one disturbs us." The masked figure spoke in Hebrew and the animal grunted something back that sounded like"My Lord," in Hebrew, which Aharon found extremely offensive. The creature shuffled to the door. When they were alone, the figure took off the mask. Underneath was the face of an old man-but not as old as Aharon had expected. The man in the chair looked fit, muscular, even muscle-bound, like those men in magazines, something that Aharon couldn't help thinking was anathema for a Jew. The old man leaned forward and used both hands to straighten out first one leg, then another, his face lined with pain. "My joints. They're disintegrating. They weren't built to withstand the gravity on Fiori." "Fiori?" "That's the name of this accursed rock. That's what the natives call it.I call it Gehenna. And I-I am the king of Gehenna." There was dark irony in his voice. "It really is h.e.l.l?" Aharon asked tremulously. "One of the many. Charming, isn't it?" The man oozed an aloofness, a cold disdain, that Aharon couldn't understand. He studied the face. "You'renotYosef Kobinski. You must be his son, Isaac,nu ?" An expression of outrage flickered in the man's eyes. "Iam Yosef Kobinski. How did you know about my son? Or about me, for that matter?"

The words were threatening. Aharon chose to ignore the tone. "That?That is a long story. But, if you don't mind my saying, you don't look so bad as you should, for a man of one hundred and five." Kobinski's eyes narrowed. "Two thousand five?" "Yes."

Kobinski sat contemplating. His eyes were far away, as if he was doing equations in his head. "Einstein showed that gravity bends light. It also bends time. It's been thirty years here, sixty on Earth."

"Even forthirtyyears-how could you survive a place such as this?" "Did I survive?" Kobinski asked bitterly. "You never tried to go back?" Aharon asked. "No." "You didn'ttry ? I can see that Auschwitz was not much of an option. But you must have thought, after some years had pa.s.sed, that maybe-"

"Be silent," Kobinski commanded, in the voice of a man who expected obedience. He put a hand to his mouth. "You said you were from Jerusalem." "Yes. Israel is a country now-a Jewish nation.Eretz Israel -it exists!" It was a blessing to say this to a Jew who had no idea. But if he was impressed, Kobinski didn't show it. "However," Aharon added, "just to prepare you-it might not be what you'd expect. There's much secularism-you see it everywhere. You could hardly believe we fought so long for something and, the younger generation especially, they don't have any idea what it means. Not like you and I. At the wall-" "And Auschwitz?" "Auschwitz? It's a memorial now. They call it theHolocaust . Six million died." Kobinski's hands on the arms of the chair tightened until his skin was white with the strain. "Six million," he whispered. "And when did it end?" "Nineteen-forty-five. The Americans and the Russians liberated the camps." Kobinski looked away, was silent for a moment, then said, "It was only a matter of time. Even we knew that. But it was too late for six million. And too late for . . ."

"Yes?" Aharon frowned. "Listen-isn't it a simple matter of finding the gateway again, the hole thing, and stepping through? You'll come with." Kobinski didn't even look at him. "For the love of G.o.d! Listen, I'm glad to have found you. G.o.d has His reasons, and I suppose He sent me here for this very purpose, but we must go back at once. I don't belong here, and neither do you!"

Kobinski laughed. "For the love of G.o.d? You're in the wrong place for that, my friend." Aharon pressed his lips, growing more irritated at this man, who was not responding as he should to anything Aharon said.

"What do you think?" Kobinski asked, almost sneering. "Do you think it's some kind of magic door that will take you back home? Something out of a fairy tale?"

"Listen-"

"What do you imagine would happen if you found that spot again? If you stood in just the right place and waited?"

"I would return to Earth, naturally!"

"Naturally? Let me tell you what nature dictates: you would stay right here. At best you might get dizzy for a moment, then find your feet planted back on the very same ground on which you were standing."

Aharon scowled at him. "What are you talking?"

"You came here because this is.e.xactlywhere you belong."

"What are yousaying?" Aharon whispered, angry now. "That thing-that clearing near the camp. It came directlyhere ."

Kobinski motioned a hand dismissively, his face bored. "Why should I bother? Men like you never understand. I can see it in your dress, in your eyes. I can hear it in your voice. Israel! You have the nerve to complain to me aboutsecularism ? About theyounger generation ? Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is in this reality, inthis place?"

Kobinski pushed hard on the arms of the chair and rose from his seat with a great groan of pain. He stood at his chair resting, hand propped against the back of it.

"Let me tell you about this world. These people, theFiore , they believe . . . it is their religious conviction that they are thefeces of G.o.d. Can you fathom that? Can you fathom their self-loathing? It's the only way they can explain why life is so relentlessly cruel. They eateach otherbecause this planet provides almost nothing to sustain them. And you-making it a life-and-death issue to eat or not eat pork! You make me sick." Kobinski growled deep in his throat and spit on the floor. He had taken up some of the native gestures and facial expressions and Aharon was deeply offended.

Who was this man? Surely not Yosef Kobinski, the gentletzaddik Aharon had seen in a photograph, the saintly martyred rebbe who faced down the n.a.z.is! Aharon didn't care what the natives here believed or didn't believe-they were animals. If this place was terrible, then they must deserve it. But hedidcare about getting home.

Aharon made an expression of surrender. "Listen, you're right; I shouldn't complain. We have it good compared to this place, obviously. But tell me-what doesthathave to do with my not getting home?"

Kobinski gave him a brittle smile. "Let me tell you where you are, because it is better that you suffer no illusions. You have met your destiny a little early is all, Aharon Handalman. This is the place where you would have come upon your death. This is your judgment."

Aharon stared at him, too shocked to even be offended. "Why wouldI belong here? You don't even make sense!"

"You went through a hole in s.p.a.ce-time that took you into the fifth dimension. Or rather, itdetached your energy from the lower dimensions of s.p.a.ce and time, the physical dimensions. It was detached only for a fraction of a second, but in that fraction of a second your energy, your 'soul,' if you will, went to the place in the fifth dimensionmost like you . Because the fifth dimension is outside of s.p.a.ce and time, do you understand? In the fifth dimension, there is no 'here' and 'over there'; there's only one way data is organized, like to like. That is the law. After you went through the hole, your energy wasreattached to the physical dimensions. But when it was reattached, you were linked to thephysical location closest to where your soul had gone in the continuum. And the place where it linked you was here."

Aharon's mouth was hanging open. "You're crazy!"

Kobinski growled. "This world isgevorah-chochmah . This is itsphysical reality . It is the embodiment ofyou , Rabbi Handalman. So you see, it's not such an easy matter, 'going home.' You are home."

Aharon was furious. He had never been so angry before in his life. He didn't believe a word, of course, but that this person, whom he had never wronged, should utter such filthy lies and blasphemy!

"Then why areyou here? Eh?" he demanded. "Reb Kobinski? If that hole does not come directly here, then what aboutyou ?"

Kobinski's face went so blank it was as if he had put back on the mask. "I? I chose it."

"You are evil to say such things!"

Kobinski shrugged, more an expression than a gesture. "Think what you like. But as for how youact- that is another thing. Your behavior endangers me as well as yourself. One of the Fiore, Argeh, he is my enemy. He is also high priest. He would be eating you this night for supper if I hadn't intervened."

Aharon knew of whom he spoke-the Fiore with the flattened face, the one in the square black ca.s.sock who had been arguing with Kobinski in that room. "But who do these . . ." he almost said "people," "who do these animals think you are? I am? What did you tell them?"

Kobinski closed his eyes, as if he didn't want to talk about it. "This place is governed by superst.i.tion and fear. I told them I came from the heavens and they believed me. I am a messenger from Mahava, their G.o.d. Today I told them you were also sent from the heavens, as a messenger for me. To bring me, as it turns out, my ma.n.u.script." Kobinski said this last with irony.

"You told themthat?"

"Would you rather be roasting over a fire?"

"But . . . what am I supposed to do? What can I say? How can this go on?"

"The first thing you must do is build up your strength so that you can move in this atmosphere. Right now you're completely vulnerable. In front of the Fiori, you must appear calm and a.s.sured. If you're hysterical, if you show fear, it will go badly for us. As for what to say, the only one who can understand your Hebrew is my servant, Tevach. Say as little to him as possible."

Kobinski eyed him appraisingly. "You're fat. I was starved when I arrived. If I adjusted, so can you. You must eat the food. It is vile, but it will build muscle. You need a great deal of muscle to move in this atmosphere. And remember: if you do not play your role convincingly, you will die. If they don't kill you, I will. I won't let you endanger me. Be warned."

Aharon could only stare, unable to believe Kobinski would treat him in such a way and still in shock, also, about Kobinski's lies. The man called loudly for Tevach. The rodent-faced creature scurried into the room, and Kobinski leaned his weight on the creature's broad shoulders.

"You're going?" Aharon asked. "Wait. Let's forget all this . . . all this craziness for an instant. There's something else."