Hell's Gate

decided to use their rather blunt but, nonetheless, wicked claws. The second slice was deeper than the first and sent hot waves of pain coursing through him, even though he thought that by this time he should have been beyond feeling anything.
        Back… And forth… Slash… And slice…
        He thought about coming from the future (slice) into the past (slash), from there into another probability line (back and forth) where alien lizardmen ruled, from there (slash) across seventy-six probability lines to a totally different counter-Earth (rip), there to be murdered by a gang of ruthless, stupid apes. He thought it was a sorry end to what had promised to be a glorious epic adventure.
        There was a red haze creeping over his vision, and bells ringing out a symphony in his head. He was about to slip into darkness, utter and complete when a new, shriller tone of gorilla talk split the air from the entrance to the chamber. The half-men playing with Salsbury missed a few swipes, and his momentum dropped. The shrill voice called again, louder and more insistent. Then, in good English, a husky gravel-toned voice said, “Hold on. We'll get you down as fast as possible.”

CHAPTER 18
        
        Victor Salsbury fought against darkness and dizziness that grappled with him, and he won. He was conscious when they cut him down. He dropped into a puddle on the floor, more anxious about the condition of his mortal shell than about who had stepped in to save his life like a saint in a storybook miracle. He was aching all over from the pounding he had received. Both his hips were bleeding thick crimson fluid that seeped through his tattered jeans. When he was finished accounting for every wound, he decided that, despite how he might feel, he would survive. His accelerating healing processes would stop the bleeding at any moment and would begin to knit the torn skin. He hated to think what he would have looked like, how far beyond the scope of his healing powers he would have been if he had not been cut down when he was. A few more pendulum swings, and he would have slipped into an unconsciousness where the last dregs of his life forces would have been drained quietly away.
        The worst of his worries about his body assuaged, he thought of his rescuer.
        He looked up, somehow expecting to see either the vacii or a detachment of marines. Instead, there was another gorilla-like man standing over him. He was different from the other things, though. The amount of facial hair obscuring his features was considerably less, exposing tough, brown skin creased heavily like ancient, weathered leather. His scalp itself was still liberally furred and pointed up his relationship to the savages. The features of his face were not as harsh as those of the other half-men, the forehead jutted out only half an inch instead of two inches. His nose was more completely formed with heavier cartilage deposits that gave it a roughly human quality. The mouth was smaller, more evenly lipped, and the teeth were well-cared for, as if they had been regularly brushed.
        “You are from another probability?” the newcomer asked, trying to look as pleasant as he could. Despite his gorilla resemblance, he was a welcome sight compared to the heavy, vicious masks of Salsbury's tormentors.
        Victor wetted his lips, said, “Yes.”
        “Good! You speak English! English is a prime Tongue in this sector of worldlines, though not on this particular one. My other languages are decent, but not so polished as is my English. Do you think? Polished? English is spoken on your alternate world, then. Is it the only language?”
        “No,” Salsbury said with effort. “French. Chinese. Russian. Too many of them to list.”
        “Most likely. A diversity of tongues is more common. But English is dominant?”
        “One of the few dominant tongues, yes. Look-”
        “Oh, excuse me,” the modified gorilla said apologetically, reaching out a hairy, long-fingered hand to help Salsbury up. “I'd forgotten, in my excitement, that you've gone through a great deal.”
        Vic managed to struggle to his feet. He felt horrible. Like he had been drenched with kerosene, then lit with a torch; every square inch of him burned. That wasn't half so bad as the elephant that had been chained inside his body and was trying to kick its way out.
        “You see, this is the first time,” his rescuer continued excitedly, “that I