Donnerjack

by Roger Zelazny

They waited, nerves slowly fraying as they envisioned what could be happening to Mizar. Jay, fretting over images of his childhood playmate reduced to component parts, admired Alice’s cool as she checked over her gear. Alice, restlessly examining every item in her pack, wondering how effective a CF pistol would be against a deity, admired Jay’s calm alertness. Dubhe chewed the tip of his tail and thought about jaguars and lions.

  Barely a rustling of the grass heralded Mizar’s return. He hunkered down in front of Jay while a light pad was linked to his data retrieval system. Scratching Mizar between his floppy ears, Jay turned the pad so Alice and Dubhe could also review the data.

  “Looks like the eastern slope is the launch area,” Jay said. “It was too much to hope that they’d be using the factory. I hope the corresponding crossover coordinates aren’t too severely altered.”

  “Can’t worry about that now,” Alice said. “We need to get over there and take a closer look. Maybe over by that reddish rock. We could hide behind it while we check things over.”

  Mizar wheezed, “I can… take you a… sheltered route.”

  “Good,” Jay said. “Let’s go.”

  From the shelter of the red rock, they had a clear look at the center of activity. Four large zigguratlike buildings were set in an approximately diamond shape. The center was empty except for a small circular platform.

  “There’s something familiar about that layout,” Alice whispered. “I’ve got it! It’s on a smaller scale, but the placement of the buildings is the same as at the California Celebration grounds.”

  Jay tabbed a file from the light pad and compared it.

  “You’re right. Most of the traffic here is between the buildings at the tips of the diamond—the ones that correspond to the ones at opposite ends of the avenue at the California site.”

  “Heavily… guarded,” Mizar commented. “On ground and… above.”

  They shrunk closer to the rock as a winged lion soared overhead, its shadow temporarily touching their refuge.

  “I wonder if there is something to the theory that Virtuan natives have trouble perceiving Veritean forms,” Alice mused.

  “I hope they’re just careless,” Dubhe said. “I’m not Veritean—at least I don’t think so.”

  “And Mizar is definitely not,” Jay said, “though he has a gift for concealment.”

  They observed for a time in silence. Various robed and kilted figures, their garb reminiscent of ancient Babylon, strolled around the square buildings. Occasionally a voice blatted out a command the watchers could not understand, and one or more entered one of the buildings that capped the avenue.

  “It reminds me of backstage before a live show,” Alice commented. “They’re purposeful, but not doing much, just waiting.”

  Jay, who had never seen a live show, could only grunt.

  “I wish they weren’t all dressed the same,” Dubhe complained. “I can’t tell if the ones coming out are the same as the ones going in—but then humans all look alike to me.”

  He sniggered. Jay punched him gently.

  “I can’t tell them apart either,” Jay said. “Mizar?”

  “Scent similar… but… too far to be sure.”

  “One thing is certain,” Alice said. “We’re not going to be able to sneak in there. Not only are there all those people, but I’ve seen lions, long-horned bulls, and various really weird monsters.”

  “No argument,” Jay said. “We’ll need to watch and wait for Arthur Eden’s unmasking. If that causes enough confusion, we do something here. If not, we cross over and hope.”

  * * *

  Desmond Drum sipped his iced lemonade and felt sorry for the Elishites out in the hot sun. He was wearing a loose cotton shirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and sandals. The seats for which he had purchased tickets were beneath a mesh awning, and he still was hot. They must be broiling.

  With his binoculars, he scanned the grandstands, looking for Arthur Eden. If he hadn’t known where Eden’s seat was, Drum wouldn’t have recognized him in the disguise they had worked up.

  As he lowered his binoculars, a tall, impressive man with abdominal muscles right out of a comic book (but real), wearing a costume that glittered in the unforgiving sun, was standing in the center of the dais. The crowd responded to his raised arms by growing quiet. From the ziggurats along the sides a stirring, almost atonal chant arose.

  Drum felt it in his bones and wondered if they were mixing in subsonics. He didn’t think that vox humana could create that impressive throb. Clever if they were. He certainly didn’t believe in the tenets of the Church of Elish, but awe stirred within him nonetheless.

  The middle of the dais on which the High Priest was standing began to rise now, carrying him up. Drum nodded approvingly at the engineering. Apparently, it had been constructed rather like one of those travel cups that expands from a pill box. When it finished expanding, the High Priest stood on top of a conical pedestal, his escort arrayed around the base.

  When the singing stopped, the High Priest slowly lowered his arms. Drum felt his heart catch in his throat. This was the moment Eden had been told to watch for. Would he take the opportunity?

  Silence answered the end of the song—the kind where you can tell that the audience is waiting to find out if applause is appropriate or not. Into this silence, a single voice rang out. It was masculine and deep but strong enough to carry.

  “Poppycock!” Arthur Eden said. “Balderdash! Oh, it’s good theater, I’ll admit that, but if half of those ladies and gentlemen up there believe what they’re chanting then my name isn’t Arthur Eden!”

  Stunned silence for only a moment, then the murmurs broke out.

  “Eden? Eden?”

  “He dared!”

  “He wrote the book… you know, the book, the one that got them all so mad. Why is he here?”

  “We’re going to see fireworks now!”

  Drum did his part to start the hubbub, knowing that all around the Celebration grounds his hirelings were primed to do the same. The intention was to force the Elshies to acknowledge the interruption rather than just bowling past and onto other things (while they quietly escorted Eden off to who knows what fate).

  It worked. The priests conferred. The ceremony was delayed.

  * * *

  “They’ve done it!” Alice said softly, squeezing Jay’s arm. Her whisper sounded like a cheer.

  “I think they have,” Jay said.

  Within the past few minutes they had watched as the calm organized waiting below turned into the milling of a stepped-upon ant hill. Knots of costumed figures gossiped; every new person (or creature) who emerged from the miniature ziggurats was grabbed and questioned.

  “Unfortunately, the confusion is going to make it harder, not easier, to get close,” Alice said. “I don’t think we have any choice.”

  “Cross over,” Jay agreed, “and hope that we don’t land somewhere obvious. Give me your hand, Alice. Dubhe, get on my back. Mizar…”

  The hound wheezed sadly. “I… go. Be careful.”

  “As careful as we can be,” Jay promised. “See you later.”

  Very aware of Alice’s slender, slightly damp fingers in his hand, Jay concentrated on crossing out of Virtu into the Verite. Since he never really knew how he did it, he did not know how he knew that the process was awry—different from the last time he had made the effort on Meru and different yet from his many practice sessions with Alice.

  He felt a coolness, not unpleasant, but certainly not what he expected for a sunny day in California. Darkness surrounded him, a darkness so absolute that he could not see Alice although her hand was tight in his. Into this darkness came a light.

  At first he thought it was from a single source, then he saw that it was from numerous illuminated sources set within a frame. The points of light bobbed slightly as they approached, making him think of a lantern set on the bow of a ship. Then he realized that the light emanated from a device of crystal and platinum carried on the shoul
der of a man who limped as he walked, favoring his left foot. A scar bisected his face, but did not distort the friendly smile he bestowed on them.

  “Welcome to the gates of Creation,” the Master said. “I told you that we would meet here.”

  “Can you tell the future?” Jay asked.

  “No, but I can divert a few travelers who need my help—or whose help I need. I am somewhat muddled as to which is the case.”

  “Are you Ambry?” Alice asked.

  The Master shook his head. “Not really, dear, although I have some of his memories and know who you and your companions are.”

  “Then is he gone for good?”

  “That waits to be seen. Much hinges on the actions of the next few hours.”

  He set down the device and twiddled one of the wires. When he had finished, about a third of the crystals were ruby red. The remainder shimmered clean and white.

  “There, it’s set. If you just flip this switch”—the Master indicated an elaborate bronze toggle—“the field will come up.”

  “Field?” Jay said. “I’m afraid that I don’t understand, sir.”

  “A field that will jam the translation projectors that the ones on Meru are using to boost their integrity during the crossover. Essentially, they are using an extension of the broadcast power that they’ve had for years.”

  “Oh.”

  “Don’t worry about the particulars, Jay Donnerjack. As your father was fond of saying ‘Does it matter why it works if it works?’ “

  “It does to me.”

  “I’m afraid I cannot explain in any more detail. You simply lack the vocabulary. Now, will you folks take this to the Celebration in California?

  If the machine is to work efficiently, it will need to be set somewhere roughly level with the translation projectors that are already there.”

  “And where are they?” Alice asked.

  “My understanding is that they are mounted in the upper tier of the ziggurats at either end of the avenue.”

  “If you know so much,” Dubhe said rudely, “why don’t you take it there yourself?”

  The Master cocked an eyebrow at the skinny black monkey.

  “Because I cannot cross the interface between Virtu and Verite. And, no, it cannot be set up on Mount Meru. The gods or their minions would find it there and they are far too powerful within their own realm.”

  Jay glanced at Alice who nodded.

  “All right, we’ll take it and, to be honest, be glad to have it. I wasn’t really delighted with the idea of trying to get inside one of the ziggurats and whaling away with a crowbar.”

  “Thank you, Jay Donnerjack.”

  Alice cleared her throat. “Can I ask one question, sir?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you have done if Jay and I hadn’t come along? What good would this device have been without someone who could cross the interface?”

  “That is two questions.” Again the Master smiled. He seemed to be having a marvelous time. “But I will answer them both as best I can. I do not believe that I would have designed this machine if I had not known of your abilities. One of my sobriquets is the One Who Waits. In a sense, I have been waiting for you.”

  “Did you cause us to be born, then?” Jay asked.

  “No, not at all. In your case, Death was much more responsible—if anyone other than your parents could be said to be responsible. Alice was of her parents’ making.”

  Jay looked as if he had more questions to ask, but Alice shook her head and touched him lightly on the arm.

  “Not now, Jay. Even though this place seems timeless, my watch insists that time is passing. In RT, the Elshies must have gotten Arthur Eden’s distraction under control. We don’t want to be too late.”

  “Yeah.” Jay bit his lip as if that would help keep the questions inside. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You are entirely welcome, young man. As I took you off your course, I will do my best to put you back on.”

  Jay bent and picked up the Master’s strange device. Alice raised a hand as if to help him.

  “No, I’ve got it. It’s amazingly light.”

  “So it needs to be,” the Master said, “if it is to get where it is going. Good luck and, when you get there, don’t forget to look up.”

  “Wha…”

  * * *

  The Hierophant handed Bel Marduk a beer. The god straightened his headdress, tilted back his head, and drained the bottle in a swallow.

  “How much longer are we expected to wait?” he growled.

  Until the Church of Elish started its rituals, Bel Marduk had been relegated to a lesser realm in Virtu with squatters’ rights on some of the middle heights of Meru. Now, fortified with the mana harvested from his modern worshipers, he was as arrogant as he had been in the greatest days of his original evolution. As a god of law, he remembered his debts and rarely grew too arrogant with the aion who had been his contact with this route to power. Today, however, he was tired and irritable. His grand entry and the mana he expected from it had been delayed.

  A peevish, fire-breathing, greater god is not to be trifled with, so A. I. Aisles didn’t say the first four or five snappy rejoinders that came to mind. Instead he handed Bel Marduk another beer.

  “It should be soon enough. When the crowd is ripe and the harvest worth getting, they’ll give us the signal.”

  “They had better not let Ishtar through first.”

  “Of course not. She’s set to come out after you.”

  A. I. Aisles had arranged that himself. Marduk was old hat now— the babe goddess would make the covers of every newsie in the world, especially with that costume they had made for her.

  He grinned in salacious anticipation. Marduk interpreted this to mean that the Hierophant was certain that all was under control and relaxed.

  The door to what Aisles had dubbed the Green Room (and then Marduk had asked why the walls and furnishings were not green) opened. Ben Kwinan, clad as a temple flunky, entered and bowed.

  “They have begun with the lesser deities, Great Marduk. If you and the Hierophant would take your places as we rehearsed.”

  “I slew Tiamat without coaching, little creature,” Bel Marduk said, spitting just a little fire. “I do not need your reminders.”

  Kwinan scuttled away so that the god could venture forth. The Hierophant followed. He winked at Kwinan and tossed him something. Kwinan caught it.

  “Don’t take any wooden nickels, kid.”

  He strode by, reeking of beer. Kwinan looked at what rested in his hand. It was a wooden nickel.

  * * *

  Jay, Alice, and Dubhe emerged from their conference with the Master at the base of a hibiscus-and vine-draped ziggurat. Although they were at the back, away from the congregation at large, they had little trouble telling to what point the Celebration had progressed.

  “That’s the opening of the second hymn in honor of Marduk,” Jay said. “Damn! I did talk too much.”

  “Uh, Jay,” Alice said, looking up with a peculiar expression on her face, “I think we have bigger things to worry about.”

  Jay followed the direction of her gaze and swallowed hard as he saw the two winged bulls circling overhead. Even as they noticed him, they folded back their wings and, with a hawklike stoop that should have been impossible for anything of their size, dove toward them.

  “Shit!” he yelled.

  Dubhe had already made his agile way up the first step of the ziggurat. Alice had set her back against the stone and was aiming her CF pistol.

  “Jay, give me your hand and I’ll help you up!” Dubhe cried.

  “Damn machine’s too…” Jay paused. “Take the machine, Dubhe. Take it to the top and flip the switch. Alice and I will deal with the bulls.”

  “Me?”

  Jay thrust the machine at the monkey, felt the weight shift as Dubhe grabbed it.

  “Do it, Dubhe. It’s light enough, just bulky.”

  “Me?” squeaked the monkey, but
the device began to rise.

  When Jay spared attention from getting a rope and grapnel from his gear, he saw that Dubhe was dragging the machine up.

  “I hope that thing’s made to take a licking,” he muttered as he hooked an upper step and hauled himself up.

  Had anyone cared to look around the back of the western ziggurat, they would have seen an amazing battle. A young woman holding a CF

  pistol in an approved grip fired alternating rounds into two winged bulls. The bulls, seeming more annoyed than hurt by the assault, were forced to ground, where their size put them at a disadvantage since their favored attack apparently consisted of landing on their prey with the intent to squash. Now, however, they drew back, wings close to their flanks, and lowered their heads to charge.

  “Alice!” Jay called. “Grab hold.”

  He tossed the end of a solidly anchored rope to her. Stuffing her pistol in her waistband, she grabbed it and let him pull her up. The barked shin and skinned elbow the operation entailed seemed a good alternative to being at the receiving end of the bulls’ charge. As it was, they heard the plasterboard at the base of the pseudo-ziggurat crack.

  “Good shooting,” Jay gasped. “I think the drums from the hymn covered any noise we made.”

  “Where’s Dubhe?”

  “Up there with the device. I said we’d cover.”

  “Good thing.”

  Alice pointed. From the artistic forest of hibiscus that masked the base of the grandstand, a pride of lions was emerging. These were not the lazy, sleepy creatures frequently seen in zoos or at midday on safari. These were the lean carnivores that the kings of Babylon had taken such joy in hunting that they had caused their exploits to be preserved in stone.

  “Those are going to be able to climb,” Jay said, doing some climbing himself.

  Whatever Alice’s reply might have been, it was drowned out by a thunderbolt crackle. Bells, chimes, rattles, gongs, drums, and shrilling fifes rang out. An enormous shadow blocked the sun.

  “Shit,” Jay said again. “Bel Marduk.”

  Ears folded, the lions had shrunk down at the first thunder rumble, but they were not intimidated for long. Already they sought the easiest route up to Jay and Alice.