CHAPTER 18

The stretched limo slid through the main entrance of SIDSLI PRODUCTIONS and eased to a stop in front of Stage 3.

"This is it," Sid said, waving his cigar in the direction of the sound stage. "We just wrapped yesterday on an incredibly intellectual — but still emotional, you know, for the ladies — blockbuster of a film shyly titled GREEN SLIME CREATURE FROM THE MARTIAN PIT. The sets are there, your leading man is here, the check is in the bank — so let the cameras roll."

He ushered them through the double-doored entrance and into a darkened giant chamber. There were loud clacks as some floods were turned on, and Sid pointed proudly.

"What a beauty! That set cost a bundle, but Sid does nothing on the cheap!"

"Particularly with my money!" Elliot-Bgr observed adroitly.

"You said it — not me! But for quality you gotta pay. And that is quality."

"Looks pretty crappy to me," Bill muttered.

"Not only is your lead handsome and articulate — but what a sense of humor!" Sid glowered menacingly at Bill and chomped his cigar — then smiled insincerely, looking very much like a shark. Which, of course, he was in this industry of poor fishes.

The set was a compendium of every dim idea ever conceived by every half-wit that decided to make a bad science fiction film. Of which there were legions. Spark gaps, Van der Graaf generators, impossible machinery, large handles like railroad switching levers on electricity panels. And even more best left undescribed.

"The screen test first," Sid said. "Let's get Bil up there —"

"That's Bill, pronounced with two Ls."

"I'm sorry! A sensitive actor, I like that. Communicating passion one moment, compassion the next. My heart goes out to you, Billll! Your career is beginning — and soon your star will shine in the firmament of films outdoing all the other nebulas and stars and asteroids there."

"Your astronomy isn't too good either," Bill said sternly. "But I will teach you a thing or two about the stars, ha-ha, and life and war as well!"

Carried away, he stalked the stage, sucking in his gut, sticking out his chest, seeing not those before him but his soon-to-be career as an actor. Not just an actor but a STAR!

"Camera! Sound! Hit a few more kliegs so I can see the glint in his eye!" shouted Sid. "That's it. Ready on the right — ready on the left — fire at will!"

It was really pretty boring and dreary and only Bill and Bgr enjoyed it, one dreaming of acting glory, the other of the salvation of his race. Sir Dudley ground his time teeth in agony and instantly fell asleep. Sid had trouble seeing anything through the haze of dollar signs that danced in his eyes. The grips, electricians, carpenters and all the rest paid attention for a while because this was an example of the worst acting they had ever seen. Which was saying a lot. But soon even they were asleep, being silently cursed by the cameraman who was, perforce, forced to remain slightly awake.

No cliche of bad acting went uncliched. No dusty SF prop went unused, no spark of creativity was not instantly snuffed out.

"Take that — and that — you filthy crawling alien life form!" Bill foamed through spittle-licked lips.

"Sid — I gotta see you!"

"Cut!" Sid shouted and foamed himself. "Who is it? What is it? The red light was lit, we're shooting a masterpiece and you walk in!" He shielded his eyes against the light and made out two forms approaching.

"I know you! You are Bluto my driver-bodyguard. You know better than to do this. And if you don't, then you know, Sheldon Fastbuck my lifetime friend and accountant."

"It's because I do know," Sheldon said, his words dripping gloom. "Because I know the price of film, cameras, union cameramen —"

"Watch any badmouth crap about the union!" the cameraman shouted.

"I apologize. I'm upset," Sheldon moaned. "I love the unions — my son's an organizer for the longshoremen — but I had to instantly if not sooner bring this heartbreaking news to Sid."

"My darling mother in Miami! —" Sid shrieked in pain.

"— is in perfect health! Like your dear sister and your father in jail. I do not come about health but about something more important. I come about — the bank."

A hush fell. The air chilled. Sid gasped and stepped back. "What about — the bank!" he breathed hoarsely.

"The bank called —"

"Tell me!"

"They called about a check!"

"Don't spare me — a little check?"

"A big check. The check this momser gave you. It was — a rubber check!"

"Bounced!" Sid screamed.

"As high as the moon."

Now Sid's voice was cold as death. He turned, pointed a cruel finger. "Bluto — kill! These vermin — out!"

Big as he was, and heavy as he was, Bluto was greased lightning. Even as the word out was echoing from the rafters, he had Elliot-Bgr by the seat of the trousers and was hurling him through the emergency exit door.

"I say!" Sir Dudley said, waking with a start. "Hold on — you can't do that."

"Bluto already done it buddy — so don't interfere," Bluto grimaced, seizing up Bill even as he spoke. Bill struggled against the steel grip to no avail. Sir D stepped forward to complain just as Bluto pulled Bill back in a swinging arc — then hurled him at the door.

But Sir. Dudley was in the way. He recoiled, but it was too late.

Bill was thrown through the Time Portal and into the uncharted wastes of convoluted time.