by Dave Freer
The sphinx smiled. "I could get to like you, Ethiope. But why will this riddle be any different from the last one? You humans gossip so. Pretty soon everyone will know this one and I'll be back where I started. Hungry all of the time."
Lamont shook his head. "There are two answers."
"So?"
Lamont folded his arms on his chest. Smiled. "So . . . you decide which is the right one."
The Greek sphinx mulled over this. And slowly began to smile toothily. "That makes the answer given always wrong, if I say so. How nice. How tasty! What's your name, Ethiope? You can call me Throttler."
"Lamont Jackson."
Bes, hands on his hips, grinned at Throttler. "I don't think I'll tell you my name. You want to make something of it?"
"As if everyone and everything hasn't heard of you, Bes," snorted the hippopotamus-headed Tauret, summoned by Lamont's curse. "Anyway, I must be off. Work to do. Babies to catch."
* * *
Cruz looked up from his important task of comforting Medea, across at Crocodilopolis. The stone-like Egyptian sphinx must have walked across the temple on his way here, smashing it up good. And plainly some of the other curses had come to rest on it. But a party of priests, their shaven heads gleaming in the sun, were heading out of the temple. Behind them came a huge mob of soldiers.
"I'm Cruz, this is Medea, that's Liz and Mac, Henri and Doc. Now we're all introduced, can we get the hell out of here?"
Henri looked up from where he was gloomily inspecting his ruined shoes, and saw the group advancing out of Crocodilopolis. "Merde. Let the big sphinx go and walk on them."
Cruz shook his head. "There is one thing you've gotta learn, Frenchy. About as dumb as you can get is to think you've always got the upper hand 'cause you're bigger than the other guy. I'll bet the locals have got an 'equalizer' or they wouldn't be coming after us."
Mac looked up at the sphinx. Even reclining it was about sixty feet tall. "Self-propelled howitzers?"
"In local terms, spells," said Jerry. His voice was faint, but he sounded like he was feeling better.
Mac slapped him on the back. "Well, we've got our own magician."
"Yes. And we have our own Cushite sorceress," said Medea.
The "Cushite sorceress" looked at the advancing mob. "I think it's time to run like hell. There are some eunuchs in that bunch."
* * *
Traveling on sphinx-back had numerous disadvantages and extreme discomforts. There was absolutely no give in Harmakhis. Stone surfaces, even living stone, are just plain hard. But there was one huge advantage. Distance. They'd outpaced the pursuing chariots in minutes. Now, sitting in a bleak desert valley, they were as safe as possible in the Mythworlds. Needless to say, among the pleasures of life that they didn't have were food and water. Still, they were all alive and intact, which had seemed unlikely earlier.
They sat in the shade of Harmakhis and compared notes. Jerry peered at the Greek sphinx, who was fanning herself with her wings. "There's just one thing I'd like to know, Throttler. What are you doing here? This is a world of Egyptian myth. You're a Greek sphinx."
Throttler shrugged. Having wings really helps you to do that expressively. "I can go anywhere that has those that believe in the sphinx. Almost all sphinxes are linked in origin. Once we were desert genii. Some of those powers remain wherever there is a sphinx statue. I wasn't sure that I'd find you here, but with those two dragons making so much fuss about Egypt, I thought it worth trying."
"Not me," Harmakhis rumbled. "I can't go outside of Egypt, I don't think."
Bes chortled. "I can! I can go to Punt, where I came from. Or anywhere within the Phoenician world. Carthage too. But it's a dump."
Jerry sighed. "I'm just trying to work out what's going on. We got whisked from our lives into a world or . . . or . . . a universe or something, which only exists in hoary old legends back home."
The dwarf wasn't grinning for once. Instead he was looking intent. "And just how did this happen?"
How did you explain space-time-travel to a primitive god? Simple: by skipping most of it. "This pyramid appeared. And it started snatching people."
Bes' eyes narrowed. "A five-sided pyramid?"
That much Jerry had learned from Halstrom. "Yes. Five sides."
Bes nodded. "The same device is corrupting the gods. It has come promising a new and powerful time in what it calls our 'Ur-universe.' It has come to prepare the way for its masters, the Krim. As soon as there are enough new believers, it will begin the great revival. At present only parts of Ur-Egypt are existent. Old legends are being reenacted with these new ones."
Throttler shook his head. "Whatever you do, don't go along with it. This Krim-master has arrived in the universe of the Hellenes. Things are going back to the bad old days of human sacrifice and cannibalism. War is raging. Ares rides out in his chariot spreading devastation. I have seen just such a pyramid on a pendant around his neck."
"Your warning is too late," Bes growled sourly. "Set, and some of the others, like Sekmet, have already gone in with this pyramid scheme. They say it will make them rich and powerful. Ha. Each of them gives a small portion of their powers and self-control to this Krim device. I'll bet who or whatever is at the head of it will become the new power, not the old gods. They're a lot of fools . . . even if the old places were falling apart."
"Throttler. This war. It has not raged across Aeaea, has it?" asked Medea in a small voice.
Throttler gave her a smile. "Your children are safe, Medea of Colchis. I was there looking for you not two days ago. The wars ravage Thrace and Boeotia. You 'Americans' even have some of your own loyalists sitting in Asia Minor, in Mytilene on Lesbos. They're a sorry lot. All the real warrior gods and goddesses have gone in with the pyramid scheme."
Jerry took a deep breath. "You say the—'Krim,' is it?—are actually there in Myth-Greece? I suppose we should call it Ur-Greece. Anyway, they're present in Ur-Greece—but whatever is here in Egypt is merely some sort of servant. Well, I hate to say this because I've actually learned to do some 'spells' here and I've got some degree of power, but I think we should go back to Ur-Greece and take on the masters not the servant. If we can."
Throttler shrugged her enormous wings. "I can take you back. I'd have to do a couple of trips, mind you. I'm strong but I can't manage all of you at once."
"And me, little cousin?" Harmakhis rumbled tectonically. The huge sphinx sounded as if it found the idea quite funny.
Throttler shrugged. "I'm afraid you'd have to walk."
"It's all right, little cousin," said the huge living-stone sphinx. "I was only teasing because you were boastful of your strength. I think I'll stay here, and organize resistance against this pyramid. It has too many sides. We should rather buy Egyptian."
The Greek sphinx muttered something. But she muttered it very quietly.
Jerry turned to the others. "Well? What do we do? I'm for returning to ancient Greece."
Medea looked at him curiously, as if really seeing him properly for the first time. "I, of course, wish to go home to my children. Back to Ur-Greece. But you, Doc Jerry, are the proof that appearances lead to deceive. You are the slightest of all of these Americans, yet you are the one who is most ready for battle. A battle against Olympus itself."
"What about me, then?" demanded Bes, sticking his tongue out at her. "I'm smaller than him and I'm even more ready for a fight."
Medea stuck her own tongue out at the aggressive bandy-legged dwarf. Knowing her children were reasonably safe had eased some of the small lines of tension about her face. Knowing that she could return to them had made her near radiant. Anibal Cruz was staring at her with the intensity of a man who has just moved from an infatuation to love. "I'm with Medea," he said gruffly. He was rewarded with a hug.
But the sorceress was in a chaffing mood. "Bes, you would fight the tide! Anibal, you are a warrior. But that's not the point. Bes loves to fight. Doc Jerry does not. But he will. Even though it means surrendering his pow
er as a magician. Here he is very powerful. In my—what did you call it, Ur-universe—he is a man, who is not a warrior, going to challenge the might of Olympus. Here in Egypt the might of the mind and the words is great. Greater than the sword. Where he is going, the sword has far more power."
Jerry looked excessively uncomfortable. "I know a lot about the myths. I can probably work things out. And somebody's got to try and stop this thing. They don't seem to be having much luck with stopping it in Chicago. Maybe, just maybe, we can do something from the inside. I may not manage it, but I'll give it a try."
Liz laughed. "Yes. Lamont wants to talk to you about a few of the things you worked out and tried. Anyway, count me in."
Jerry gave her a shy thumbs-up. "It's a pity that we can't count on that lethal shoulder bag of yours anymore."
Liz shrugged. "The only one who didn't lose nearly everything was Cruz. I don't know why Bes should find his rucksack and yet not discover the 'lethal weapon.' Lamont lost that precious boombox of his, too."
McKenna rubbed his itching scalp. A thin red fuzz was sprouting. "He's got room to complain. The guy's born lucky. He got to be the only man in a harem, while the rest of us got fed to the crocs. I'd have thought I'd died and gone to heaven."
Lamont snorted. "Mac, you might have found there were a few 'short cuts' to take on the way to your heaven." He clutched himself reflexively, and then, embarrassed, thrust his hands behind his back. "Those eunuchs wanted to give me a job—after they punched my ticket, so to speak. I'd have swapped places with you in a heartbeat. Anyway, Jerry, I'm in. I've got a wife and children I want to get back to. But I think we're looking at the thin end of the wedge here. Not only are more people like us going to end up in this mess . . . "
"What? In torn women's clothing?" teased Mac.
Lamont quelled him with a look and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "But I figure there are men, women and children as real as Medea in trouble. Sometimes, brother, you've got to lend a hand. If we can stop this thing, let's do it."
"You've got me convinced, Lamont," said Cruz. "Not that I see quite what we are going to do. Only two of us are soldiers."
Lamont shrugged. "Jerry will come up with some ideas. Or Liz will bully them out of him. But I draw the line at wearing a tight dress again."
Jerry smiled. "No. Next time it's a g-string and nipple caps. Look Mac, I don't want to argue with you but . . . well, modern history shows that soldiers win fights, even battles, but to win major wars you've got have the support of the people. You've got to convince everyone. Once ordinary people are ready to fight—yes, and get killed too—they're a force to be reckoned with. Soldiers without public support will eventually lose."
Lamont and Liz both nodded.
Mac shrugged. He plainly wasn't convinced.
Jerry turned to the Frenchman, who was admiring the Greek sphinx's frontage. "And you, Lenoir? I can organize things here so that you get reasonably well looked after."
The botanist bristled. "I did not speak because it was not necessary! For the honor of France I cannot allow you Americans to claim all the glory. And the food here is horrifique—it has given me 'the run.' "
"You watch who you call an American, Skatlam," said Liz. "And I think you mean the 'the runs.' "
"Ah. You are also afflicted?"
36
Radio-active car-park.
Tremelo shook his head. "That's insanity. Look, we just don't know enough about it yet. We have only the one survivor—"
Milliken shrugged. "Unfortunately, he's still in the intensive care unit, and it appears that his mental state is . . . precarious. He certainly can't tell us much." The NSC man squared his shoulders. "The United States Government can't be perceived as just sitting on its hands while the lightning strikes, Professor Tremelo. Steps must be seen to be taken."
Tremelo steepled his fingers and glanced at Marie Jackson. His new assistant had been bringing two cups of coffee into his office and had heard Milliken's last remark. Seeing her eyes roll sarcastically, Miggy fought down a laugh.
"Mister Milliken. Steps seen to be taken, which fail or backfire, are far worse for our prestige. News about the effect of the bomb-pumped laser leaked. We've stopped that leak. But the fact is, we gave it our best shot, and the result was that the pyramid grew by twenty-three percent and increased its snatch radius to over two miles."
Marie set the coffee cups down in front of Tremelo and Milliken. Tremelo nodded his head in thanks. As Marie walked back toward her own little office, now behind Milliken's back, she began making vigorous motions with her arms. As if she were swinging a sledgehammer. Miggy really had to struggle not to laugh this time.
The sight of Milliken's expression—Official Set Upon Upholding The Party Line—quelled his amusement. Tremelo leaned forward and spoke forcefully. "It is not true, for starters, that we have 'not progressed at all.' We've so far made three important discoveries."
He began ticking off on his fingers. "First, that the alien artifact absorbs all the energy we put into trying to penetrate or destroy it. The energy taken in is directly proportional to its growth. Second, it grows in size and increases its snatch range by a small but measurable amount for each victim. Third—and most important, in my opinion—we've established that if you've been inside the perimeter for at least five hours, and not been snatched—you appear to be safe."
Milliken shrugged. "That's all very well, Professor. But the White House wants action that the world can see, not mere information. I quite understand your viewpoint as a scientist, but—"
Tremelo ground his teeth. "Look. The action proposed would, let's see . . . at a rough estimate . . . "
He did some quick calculations in his head. "If the tactical nuclear device fails to destroy the pyramid—and I see no reason whatsoever to think that it will succeed—it will increase the pyramid size to plus-or-minus thirty times the size it is now. It would increase the snatch radius to one hundred fifty miles. Damn near from here to Detroit. An area over three hundred miles across would become a no-go area, except for the people the pyramid has refused to take. The pyramid appears to select one person in ten. Mr. Milliken, do you have any idea of how many victims we'd have if there was a sudden increase like that? Or are you proposing that scale of evacuation? We lost sixty-seven people in the last sudden expansion. That also goes into pyramid growth, remember."
"Detroit!" This NSC man was considerably more intelligent than Harkness had been. Despite his "official certitude," he was badly shaken.
"Yes," said Tremelo. "Victim numbers in the hundreds of thousands—to be conservative. Now do you understand why I said it was the stupidest idea I'd ever heard of? And that's not all. We've established that the thing is moving. Satellite imaging shows us the apex of the pyramid has shifted about five meters since landing, to the northwest. Extrapolating on a straight line, the thing is headed directly toward the spot which was formerly occupied by the west stands of Staggs Field."
That item of information clearly meant nothing to Milliken. Tremelo explained: "That is exactly where the first controlled nuclear fission reaction took place, back during World War II."
Milliken's face was still blank with incomprehension. Tremelo was unable to completely suppress his anger. "Think, damn it! What drew that alien device to Earth in the first place? What signaled our existence to it? What was it homing on?"
Milliken wasn't actually stupid. His eyes began to widen.
Miggy nodded. "That's right. Nuclear power. I'm now almost certain that thing is an unmanned probe, guided by artificial intelligence." His lips quirked. "Un-aliened probe, I should say. But if I'm right, it means it's programmed to hit a certain target, and is now making the final adjustment. It was the fact that we developed a nuclear capability which attracted alien attention in the first place. Which, in turn, tells me that this thing they sent isn't in the least bit worried about a nuclear counterstrike."
Miggy frowned. "Almost the opposite, actually—I'm seriously
beginning to think it's trying to provoke us into using one."
Milliken took a deep breath. "I'll make this very clear to the NSC, Professor. But we need to do something."
Tremelo stared at him. " 'Do something,' " he mimicked savagely. "When you don't know what you're doing, Milliken, 'doing something' can be as stupid as removing an appendix with a chain saw."
"The government's got to do something," repeated Milliken. "It'll look bad if we don't."
* * *
The Krim device waited. Only twice in the nearly 300 civilizations that the Krim had parasitized had the massive nuclear energy boost it required failed to materialize. Once that threshold was crossed the prukrin dynamic was irreversible.
PART VIII
There may be in the cup
A spider steep'd, and one may drink, depart,
And yet partake no venom . . .
—William Shakespeare,
The Winter's Tale
37
Sitting on a tuffet.
The sphinx literally moved between sphinx images or statues. The molding on the temple in Asia Minor owed more to the Persian period of Phoenician history than it did to ancient Greek settlements in Asia Minor. But that didn't seem to worry Throttler.
High above in the clear sky were two gleaming tasseled bronze arrows, diving inwards. Medea's dragons had been waiting.
Bitar and Smitar were beside themselves. They squirmed, bounced and fawned around Lamont, as if he'd just returned from the dead.
"fStarving! We haven't had a bite . . . jufst thofse fseamen. Nothing. fSince you left ufs!" Smitar's accusing, soup-plate-sized slanty eyes were full of misery.
Bitar nodded. "Yefs. And they were much too fsalty."
"We need fsome chewy food. We're teething." Smitar proudly displayed tiny flecks of white in his pink gums.
"fSome fsquid would be nifce." Biter showed his gums too. And then the sphinx turned up with Cruz. Liz's assessment of the bio-dynamics of a flying creature the size of the sphinx was not inaccurate. Only with effort could Throttler carry more than one adult human.
