MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin

by Robert Asprin

  The girl and the two men flanking her went down to the first burst of fire. The remaining two members dove smoothly under cover and started returning their fire.

  Tidwell stood up.

  "All right! Break it up!"

  There was an abrupt cease-fire.

  "Everybody over here!"

  The two teams emerged from their hiding places and sprinted over to the two mercenaries. Tidwell tossed his "activator key" to one of the survivors of the second team who ducked off to "revive" his teammates.

  "Okay. First off, ambushers. There's no point in laying an ambush if you're going to spring it too soon. Let 'em come all the way into the trap before you spring it. The way you did it, you're left with two survivors who've got you pinned down with your backs to a cliff!"

  The "revived" members of the second team joined the group.

  "Now then, victims! Those kill suits are spoiling you rotten. You're supposed to be moving through disputed terrain. Don't bunch up where one burst can wipe out your whole team."

  They were listening intently, soaking up everything he said.

  "Okay, we've held up training enough. Report to the firing range after dinner for an extra hour's penalty tour."

  The teams laughed as they resumed their training. Sending them to the firing range for a penalty tour was like sending a kid to Disneyland. Ever since the new weapons had arrived the teams had to be driven away from the ranges. They had even had to take head count at meals to be sure teams didn't skip eating to sneak out to the range for extra practice.

  The girl leading the second team shot a black look at Clancy as she herded her team off the cliff.

  "Now who's the son of a bitch, Clancy old friend? Unless I miss my guess, she's going to have a few words for you tonight."

  "Let her scream." Clancy's voice was chilly. "I'd rather see her gunned down here than when we're in live action. I wouldn't be doing her any favors to flash her warning in training. Let her learn the hard way. Then she'll remember."

  Tidwell smiled to himself. Underneath that easygoing nice guy exterior was as cold and hard-nosed a mercenary as he was. Maybe colder.

  "Nit-picking aside, Clancy, what do you think?"

  "Think? I'll tell you, Steve. I think they're the meanest, most versatile fighting force the world has ever seen, bar none. Like you say, we're nit-picking. They're as ready now as they're ever going to be."

  "How do you think they'd stack up against regular government troops?"

  Clancy snorted.

  "No contest—our team would eat them alive. It's the difference between a professional and an amateur. To us, war is a livelihood, not a hobby. I'd like nothing better than taking on some of the governmental boy scouts. It'd be a damn sight easier than moving in on the Oilers or the Itt-iots."

  Tidwell felt a tightening in his gut, but he kept it out of his voice.

  "I'm glad our opinions agree, Clancy, I just received new orders from Yamada this morning. The jump-off date has been changed. We're moving out next week."

  "Spare change? Hey, man . . . any spare change?"

  The youthful panhandlers were inevitable, even in a Brazilian airport. Tidwell strode on, ignoring the boy, but Clancy stopped and started digging in his pocket.

  "Come on, Clancy! We've got to beat that mob through Customs."

  "Yeah, ain't it a bitch?" the youth joined in. "Do you believe this? It's been like this for almost a week."

  Curiosity made Tidwell continue the conversation.

  "Any word as to what they're doing?"

  "Big tour program. Some Jap company is giving free tours instead of raises this year." He spat on the floor. "Damn cheap bastards. Haven't gotten a dime out of one of them yet."

  "Here." Tidwell handed him a dollar. "This'll make up for some of it."

  "Hey man, thanks. Say, take your bags to that skinny guy on the end and slip him ten, no hassle!"

  The youth drifted off, looking for fresh game.

  "Hypocrite!" accused Clancy under his breath. "Since when were you suddenly so generous."

  "Since I could write it off on an expense account. That item is going in as a ten-dollar payment for an informant. Come on, I'll buy you a drink out of the profits."

  "Actually, I'd rather loiter around out here and make sure everything goes okay."

  "Relax." Tidwell shot a glance down the terminal. "They're doing fine. Damnedest invasion I've ever seen."

  At the other end of the terminal, the rest of their infiltration group was gathered, taking pictures and chattering together excitedly. Clancy and Tidwell had arrived by commercial flight half an hour after the charter plane, but the group was still fluttering around getting organized. They were perfect, right down to the overloaded camera bags and the clipboards. Even with his practiced eye, Tidwell could not have distinguished his own crew of cold killers from a hundred other groups of Orientals which frequent the tourist routes of the world.

  "Hey! There you are!"

  Both men winced. The irritating voice of Harry Beckington was unmistakable. After seven hours of his company on the plane, the mercenaries had not even had to confer before dodging him as they got off the plane. He would have made nice camouflage, but . . .

  "Thought I lost you guys with all the slant-eyes in here!"

  There smiles were harder than usual to force.

  "Sure are a lot of them," volunteered Clancy gamely.

  "You know how they are, first a few, then you're hip deep in 'em."

  "That's the way it is all right," smiled Tidwell.

  "Come on. Let me buy you boys a . . ."

  As he spoke, he gestured toward the bar, and collided with one of the "tour group." He collided with Aki.

  There was no reason for Aki to be passing so close, except that there was no reason for him not to. He was returning from the souvenir stand and the group of three men happened to be in his path. Once of the forces' instructions for the invasion was to not avoid each other. Nothing is as noticeable to a watchful eye as a group of people studiously ignoring each other. It would have been unnatural for Aki to alter his path, so he simply tried to walk past them, only to run into Beckington's wildly flailing arm.

  Aki's arm was still in a sling from his duel with Tidwell, and it suffered the full brunt of the impact. He instinctively bounced back, and stumbled over Beckington's briefcase.

  "Watch it! Look what you did!"

  Aki was the picture of politeness. He bobbed his head, smiling broadly.

  "Please excuse. Most clumsy!"

  "Excuse, Hell. You're going to pick all that stuff up."

  Beckington seized his injured arm angrily, pointing to the scattered papers on the floor.

  "For Christsake, Beckington," interrupted Tidwell, "the man's got a bad arm."

  "Injured, my ass. He's probably smuggling something. How 'bout it? What are you smuggling?"

  He shook the injured arm. Small beads of sweat appeared on Aki's forehead, but he kept smiling.

  "No smuggle. Please . . . will pick up paper."

  Beckington released him with a shove.

  "Well, hurry up!"

  "Careful, Beckington, he might know karate," cautioned Clancy.

  "Shit! They don't scare me with that chop-chop crap!" snarled Beckington, but he stepped back anyway.

  "Here are papers. Please excuse. Very clumsy."

  Beckington gestured angrily. Aki set the papers down and retreated toward the other end of the terminal.

  "Boy, that really frosts me. I mean, some people think just 'cause they're in another country they can get away with murder."

  "Yeah, people like that really burn me, too," said Tidwell dryly. The sarcasm was lost.

  "Where were we? Oh yeah . . . I was going to buy you boys a drink. You ready?"

  "Actually, we can't."

  "Can't, why not?"

  "Actually, we're with Alcoholics Anonymous. We're here to open a new branch," interrupted Clancy.

  "Alcoholics Anonymous?"
/>   "Yes," said Tidwell blandly. "On the National Board, actually."

  "But I thought you were drinking on the plane."

  "Oh, that," interrupted Clancy. "Actually it was iced tea. We've found that lecturing people while we're traveling just alienates them, so we try to blend with the crowd until we have time to do some real work."

  "Have you ever stopped to think what alcohol does to your nervous system? If you can hold on a second we've got some pamphlets here you could read."

  Tidwell started rummaging energetically in his flight bag.

  "Ah . . . actually I've got to run now. Nice talking with you boys."

  He edged backward, started away toward the bar, then turned, smiled, and made a beeline for the Men's Room.

  Tidwell collapsed in laughter.

  "Alcoholics . . . Oh Christ, Clancy, where do you come up with those?"

  "Huh? Oh, just a quickie. It got rid of him didn't it?"

  "I'll say, well, let's go before he comes back."

  "Um, can we stall here for a few minutes, Steve?"

  Tidwell stopped laughing in mid-breath.

  "What is it? Trouble?"

  "Nothing definite. Don't want to worry you if it's nothing. Just talk about something for a few minutes."

  "Terrific. Remind me to fire you for insubordination. How about that Aki? Do you believe he managed to keep his cool through all that crap?"

  "Uh-huh."

  "That Beckington is a real shit. If we weren't under contract, I'd like nothing better than realigning his face a little."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Dammit that's enough! If you don't tell me what's up, I'll cut your liquor allotment!"

  "Well . . . we might have a little problem."

  "Come on Clancy!"

  "You saw where Beckington went?"

  "Yeah, into the Men's Room. So?"

  "So, Aki's in there."

  "What?"

  "Doubled back and ducked in while we were doing the A.A. bit with Beckington. Probably needed to take a pain killer."

  "Who else is in there?"

  "Just the two of them."

  "Christ! You don't think Aki . . ."

  "Not out here in the open, but it must be awfully tempting in there."

  The two men studied the ceiling in silence for several moments. Still no one emerged from the Men's Room. Finally Tidwell heaved a sigh and started for the door. Clancy held up a hand.

  "Come on Steve. Why not let him do . . ."

  "Because we can't afford any attention. None at all. All we need is to have them detain all the Orientals in the airport for a police investigation. Now let's go!"

  The mercenaries started for the door. Tidwell raised his hand to push his way in, and the door opened.

  "Oh, hi boys. How's the ‘dry' business? Just do me a favor and don't close down the bars until after I've left the country, know what I mean?"

  "Um . . . Sure, Harry. Just for you—anything you say."

  "Well, see you around."

  He brushed past them and strode toward the bar.

  Almost mechanically, the two mercenaries pushed open the door and entered the washroom. Aki looked up inquiringly as he dried his hand on a blo-jet.

  "Um . . . are you okay Aki?"

  "Certainly, Mr. Tidwell, why do you ask?"

  The two men shifted uncomfortably.

  "We . . . ah . . . we just thought that after what happened outside . . ."

  Aki frowned for a moment, then suddenly smiled with realization.

  "Ah! I see. You feared that I might . . . Mr. Tidwell, I am a mercenary under contract. Rest assured I would do nothing to draw needless attention to our force or myself."

  "Tell the driver to slow up. It should be right along here somewhere."

  "I still haven't seen the buses." Clancy scowled through the dust and bug-caked windshield of the truck.

  "Don't worry they'll be . . . there they are!"

  The buses were rounding the curve ahead bearing down on them with the leisurely pace characteristic of this country. Tidwell watched the vehicle occupants as they passed, craning his neck to see around the driver. The bus passengers smiled and waved joyously, but Tidwell noticed none of them had their cameras out.

  The mercenaries smiled and waved back.

  "The fix is in!" chortled Clancy.

  "Did you see any empty seats?"

  "One or two. Nothing noticeable."

  "Good. Look, there it is up ahead."

  Beside the road there was a small soft shoulder, one of the few along this hilly, jungled route. Without being told, the driver pulled off the road and stopped. They sat motionless for several long moments, then Aki stepped out of the brush and waved. At the signal, the driver cut the engine and got out of the car. The two mercenaries also piled out of the car, but unlike the driver who leisurely began taking off his shirt, strode around to the back of the truck and opened the twin doors. Two men in the back, men of approximately the same description and dressed identically to Tidwell and Clancy. They didn't say anything, but strode to the front of the truck and took the mercenaries' places in the cab. Like the driver, they had been briefed.

  The two mercenaries turned their attention to the crates in the back. Aki joined them.

  "Are the lookouts in place?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You worry too much, Steve," chided Clancy. "We haven't seen another car on this road all day."

  "I don't want this messed up by a bunch of gawking tourists."

  "So we stop 'em. We've done it before and we've got the team to do it."

  "And lose two hours covering up? No thanks."

  "I'm going to check the teams. I'll send a couple back to give you a hand here."

  He hopped out of the truck and strode down the road, entering the brush at the point where Aki had emerged.

  Fifteen feet into the overgrowth was a clearing where the teams were undergoing their metamorphosis. Nine in the clearing, and one in the truck made ten. Two full teams, and the buses had looked full.

  The team members were in various stages of dress and undress. One of the first things lost when the teams were formed were any vague vestige of modesty. The clothes had been cunningly designed and tailored. Linings were ripped from jackets and pants, false hems were removed, and the familiar kill-suits began to come into view.

  Clancy arrived carrying the first case. He jerked his head and two already clothed team members darted back toward the road. Clancy slit open the sealing tape with his pocket knife. He folded the flaps back, revealing a case of toy robots.

  Easing them out onto the ground, he opened the false bottom where the swamp boots were kept. These were not new boots. They were the member's own broken-in boots. Clancy grabbed his pair and returned to a corner of the clearing to convert his clothes. One by one, the members claimed their boots and a robot and stooped to finish dressing.

  Tidwell had worn his boots to speed the changing process. He whistled low and gestured, and a team member tossed him a robot. He caught it and opened the lid on its head in a practiced motion. Reaching in carefully, he removed the activator unit for his kill-suit and checked it carefully. Satisfied, he plugged it into his suit and rose to check the rest of the progress, resealing the lid on the robot and stacking it by the carton as he went.

  Conversion was in full swing as more cartons arrived. The shoulder straps came off the camera gadget bags, separated, and were reinserted to form the backpacks. Fashionable belts with gaudy tooling were reversed to reveal a uniform black with accessory loops for weapons and ammunition.

  Tidwell particularly wanted to check the weapons assembly. Packing material from the toy cartons was scooped into plastic bags, moistened with a fluid from the bottles in the camera bags, and the resulting paste pressed into molds previously covered by the boots to form rifle stocks. The camera tripods were dismounted, the telescoping legs separating for various purposes. First, the rounds of live ammo were emptied out and distributed. Tidwell smiled grimly at th
is. All the forces' weapons were "convertibles." That is, they were basically quartz crystal weapons, but were also rigged to fire lived ammo if the other forces tried to disclaim their entry into the corporate wars.

  The larger section of the legs separated into three parts, to form the barrels for both the flare pistols and the short double-barreled shotguns so deadly in close fighting. The middle sections were fitted with handles and a firing mechanism to serve as launchers for the minigrenades which up to now had been carried in the 35mm film canisters hung from the pack straps.

  The smallest diameter section was used for the rifle barrel, fitted with a fountain-pen telescopic sight. The firing mechanisms were cannibalized from the cameras and various toys which emerged and were reinserted into the cartons.

  One carton only was not refilled with its original contents. This carton was filled with rubber daggers and swords, samurai swords. These were disbursed to the members, who used their fingernails to slice through and peel back the rubber coating to reveal the actual weapons, glittering in the in the sun. These were not rigged for use on the kill-suits.

  The label on the empty box was pulled back to reveal another label declaring the contents camera parts, and the skeletons of the cannibalized cameras were loaded in, packed by the shreds of the outer clothing now torn to unrecognizable pieces.

  The cartons were resealed and reloaded, and the truck was again sent along its way with a driver, two passengers, and a load of working toys and camera gear.

  Tidwell watched it depart and smiled grimly. They were ready.

  "Call in the lookouts, Clancy. We've got a long hike ahead of us."

  "What's with Aki?"

  The Oriental was running toward them waving excitedly.

  "Sir! Mr. Yamada is on the radio."

  "Yamada!"

  "This could be trouble, Steve."

  They returned hurriedly to the clearing where the team was gathered around the radio operator.

  Tidwell grabbed the mike.

  "Mr. Tidwell." Yamada's voice came through without static. "You are to proceed to the rendezvous point to meet with the other teams at all haste. Once there do not, I repeat, do not carry out any action against the enemy until you have received further word from me."