by Dave Freer
For all its somewhat surrealistic nature, MAD had worked pretty well during that era—but only because the "mutual destruction" part had been true. What Tremelo couldn't seem to grasp was that it was not true when it came to the pyramid. Who knew what the Krim could do, or not do—or would be willing to do? What Tremelo advocated amounted to...
"We'll leave them alone, and... we'll see what they do."
That wasn't good enough, not by a country mile. The United States had to take a pro-active stance toward the pyramid. Simply waiting and watching—what Tremelo called "quarantine"—gave all the advantage to the enemy. It amounted to unilateral disarmament.
The problem, unfortunately, was that—so far, at any rate—Tremelo had all the proven and capable experts on his side of the debate. And it didn't help one damn bit that the public doted on them even more than they did on Tremelo himself.
One of Melvin's associates at the Institute had called it the American nation's "ingrained Humphrey Bogart complex." Beneath the somewhat rueful whimsy, he had a point. No professional security force had been able to penetrate the pyramid without suffering 100% casualties—all of them fatalities except for a few still listed as missing in action. Whereas the "amateurs" had come out of it unscratched. A professor whose absent-mindedness was simply charming, when coupled with the rest—and with a zaftig new blonde girlfriend, to boot, who exuded "outdoorswoman" rather than "bimbo." The country had gone even more gaga over her Afrikaans accent than they had over that silly Australian actor's accent a few years back. A black maintenance man. Two paratroopers, one of them Hispanic and the other a Midwestern good-ole-boy.
Racial harmony, even. It was enough to drive you mad—not because the people themselves did, but because they backed Tremelo to the hilt.
So...
With misgivings, Steinmetz had been persuaded to throw the considerable if very non-public influence of the Future Enterprise Institute behind the drive by the senators from Texas and California, with the open backing of the defense industry and the covert backing of the Secretary of Defense, to get APSA enacted and set up the PSA. The defense industry, of course, had its own completely material reasons for opposing Tremelo's policy, which came down to nothing more subtle than that Tremelo's approach didn't produce any big fat defense contracts. With a somewhat less pig-in-the-trough mentality, the secretary of defense and the senators from the nation's two biggest defense-industry states shared their views.
Melvin's misgivings had grown when Helen Garnett emerged as the front-runner for the new post. He'd had to hold his nose at some of the legal implications of APSA, to begin with, figuring you couldn't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. But what he hadn't foreseen was that a vigorous egg-breaker like Garnett would wind up running the show. Yeah, fine, the woman was tougher than nails and was possibly the best political fund-raiser in the country. And... this qualified her how, exactly, to oversee setting up a hands-on approach to the pyramid?
The plan she'd developed that had turned into a mare's nest was typical, he thought. Using the "need to rescue Tom Harkness"—who'd been nothing more than a second-rater on the National Security Council's staff—as an excuse to set up an "Operations Directorate" was a scheme right out of the woolliest days of the OSS in World War II. Except that Helen Garnett was no Wild Bill Donovan, and the team of operatives she'd picked bore a lot more resemblance to the Watergate plumbers than they did to OSS agents.
What a mess. Maybe if he bailed out now, he could still get Tremelo to listen to him.
Probably not, though. Miggy and he got along well enough, but Tremelo was just plain stubborn. Always had been.
While he'd been ruminating, the conversation around him had continued. Melvin had paid just enough attention not to lose track of where things were. So, he wasn't taken by surprise when Delacorte—he'd be the one, naturally; the coarse bastard—finally said it out loud.
"All right, Helen. We'll back you in the coming hearings, of course—although you do understand that you're going to have to let some heads roll."
That much was obvious, of course. They could only hope that Agent Supervisor Megane shared G. Gordon Liddy's stubborn sense of honor as well as his screwball cowboy attitudes. If all went well, he'd just take the fall and keep his mouth shut. If he turned out to be another John Dean, though...
Steinmetz couldn't help but wince a little. He didn't know any of the details of what had happened in Fort Campbell—and didn't want to know, either—but he was dead certain there'd be all hell to pay. Just from what he'd learned, he didn't doubt for a moment that the PSA's agents on the spot had grossly transgressed even the wide latitude APSA have them. Not to mention their grasp of public relations, which made that of the devil look good. What sort of lunatic goes out of his way to infuriate officers and enlisted men in a military unit as well-known and well-regarded as the 101st Airborne, for God's sake?
Delacorte cleared his throat. Here it was. "As for the rest, since you have no way of getting in touch with your two agents still in the pyramid, we'll just have to hope..."
But he let the words trail off, the gutless prick. So Steinmetz said it for him. "We'll just have to hope that we don't wind up with the same scorecard. You're all aware, I trust, that in his talk show last night—the most widely watched in the country—Orville Trenton made the remark that, in less than three days, three out of the five PSA agents who went in came out dead. But 'the real pros'—yeah, that's what he called them—still seem to be intact."
That was good enough, he figured. He was not going to say out loud that the best thing that could happen now would be for the dead bodies of Jerry Lukacs and Liz De Beer—and practically the whole Jackson family, including four kids—to come plummeting out of the skies.
Melvin Steinmetz wasn't sure if he was backing the wrong horse. But he was surely backing the one that stank the most. He'd have to take a shower when he got home.
"That's it, then," said Senator Edwards, finishing his drink and starting to rise from the table. "Helen, we'll see you at the hearings."
* * *
Outside the club, while they waited for the limos, Senator Martinez leaned over and said softly to Melvin: "I still can't believe she was dumb enough to authorize such a wild-ass project."
Steinmetz shrugged. "The problem isn't her intelligence, Paula. She just still hasn't learned the same lesson that the man who was possibly England's most competent king had to learn the hard way."
Martinez frowned. "Which means..."
"Do not state, in front of drunken and stupid knights—and someone like Megane makes up for sobriety by being at least as dumb as any knight who ever lived—'will no one rid me of this turbulent priest'?"
The California senator chuckled softly. "Oh, that Thomas à Becket business. In fairness, Melvin, she didn't go that far."
Steinmetz gave her a cold eye. "I'm sure she didn't suggest anyone commit murder. But who knows what other foolishness she set in train, Paula? Who knows what cowboy agents will do, or try to do, if they think they're interpreting tough talk properly?" He gave Garnett a look that was colder still. She was standing out of hearing range thirty feet away, talking with the secretary of defense. "And unfortunately, that's Helen Garnett's stock in trade. Talking tough."
* * *
"The problem with Scandinavian mythology," said Dr. Gunnarsson, finishing his presentation to the Senate committee the next morning, "is that the area was thoroughly Christianized. Reading Dr. Lukacs' debriefing report it seems pretty certain that we need some deity or power in the Ur-Mythology that is also worshiped in earnest here, acting as a linkage."
Miggy took it from there, to the room full of powerful people. "There is plainly more to belief than even churchmen were sincerely able to appreciate. We're also getting hints that not all 'believers' are identical. Careful measurements of the pyramid expansion indicate that although it grew slightly with all intakes, it grew at different rates with each person. Look, we know from the debriefing reports
that the Krim expected the pyramid to cross some threshold relatively soon. We do not know at what point that happens. We simply cannot take a chance that through badly researched cowboy efforts, following a very private agenda, the PSA is going to put the country in jeopardy. Under military control, containment and isolation worked. We had zero growth and zero snatches for three weeks, Senators. We can cope with that. What we can't cope with has been the results of this foolishness. I've presented the evidence to you, and later on in the hearings you'll be able to hear the eyewitness testimony of such people as Sergeant Cruz and Corporal McKenna and their families, as well as Colonel McNamara and the Greek sphinx Throttler. There is simply no longer any question that the PSA operatives took highly unauthorized actions. I'm sure Director Garnett will insist that none of these actions were authorized by her, and that may well be true. But whether authorized or not, they were done by people on her staff, and on her watch."
* * *
By the early afternoon, as he watched from the audience, Melvin Steinmetz knew that Helen Garnett was in deep trouble.
And it only got worse after she took her seat at the witness table. Not more than two minutes after Helen finished her opening remarks, Senator Larsen picked up a piece of paper in front of him. An aide had just slid it in front of him. The fact that the senator didn't give it more than a glance made clear to Melvin that Larsen already knew what it contained. In fact, he was pretty sure having the aide hand it to him in front of the whole room was simply the senator's clever stage management.
Rustling the paper in front of the microphone, the senator from Montana said:
"I was wondering if you could shed some light on this subject, as well, Director. I've just received a report from Director O'Hare of the Fish and Wildlife Service, who'll be testifying tomorrow or the day after. But he felt this item of information was important enough to ask me to bring it up immediately. Fish and Wildlife did blood tests on the Greek sphinx Throttler and discovered that your PSA agents had injected her with a tranquilizer after they got her on board the cargo plane." He glanced back and forth along the long hearing table, making eye contact with as many other senators as he could. "I hope I don't need to point out to the senators here that any such action is a gross violation of the law. I was wondering if you could explain to us how that criminal action came about."
Garnett stared at him, for a moment, seeming to be frozen. Like a rabbit in front of a snake. Watching her closely, Steinmetz was quite sure the information came as a complete surprise to her.
Marvelous. The captain of the ship had just found out that she had loose cannons rolling all over the deck. Melvin lifted his eyes and exchanged a glance with Senator Martinez, sitting at the long table with the other senators. After a couple of seconds, she looked away. Fortunately, she had an excellent poker face.
"Well... I certainly don't know anything about it, Senator," insisted Garnett. "I can assure you—"
Larsen cut her off abruptly. "Assure me of what? That you've lost control of your own subordinates? That much is obvious. Even leaving aside this latest escapade involving the sphinx, your PSA agents ran roughshod over officers and enlisted men of one of our nation's most decorated military units, even going so far as kidnapping—yes, that's what it amounts to, for all practical purposes—the families of two of its soldiers." He let that sit for a moment. Then added, grimly: "This is a nation of laws, Ms. Garnett. Even the Alien Pyramid Security Act—which I opposed at the time, and now intend to see repealed if I can—is a law. It is not a blank check."
Quietly, Melvin Steinmetz rose from his seat and made his way toward the exit at the rear of the big chamber.
Time to bail out. Miggy was partial to Italian food, if he remembered correctly. Maybe he'd be free for lunch in a day or two.
Chapter 31
"I don't see why we have to go," said Fenrir sulkily. Liz's rule against his just gobbling huge volumes of soft meat, and insisting on him getting some bone-meal had definitely eased his aches and pains, and thereby his temper. It hadn't done a lot for his teenage demeanor, though.
"Because Lizzy asked us to," said Jörmungand. "And Papa-Loki and Step-Mama Sigyn."
"But you know what she's going to be like," Fenrir complained. "Holier-than-thou. 'Why don't you do something useful with your lives'," he mimicked. "Makes me sick."
Jörmungand nodded her enormous head. "Our little sister makes me want to do something really shocking instead, but let's face it, she does mean well."
"She's a sanctimonious little cow. Not my fault Odin sent her to Niflheim, and she found it suited her. If she starts lecturing, I'm leaving. What does she expect me to do? I'm a wolf. Minister to people with my paws?"
"Probably something equally unreasonable," said Liz who had come up behind them. "Something silly like 'stop eating them.' A ridiculous idea, I know."
"Well, if they will run away, it's hard not to chase them down," said Fenrir, tongue lolling.
"So what do I need for this place?" asked Liz.
"Warm clothes. It's dark and full of freezing mists," said Jörmungand.
* * *
It was. And their reception was not a lot warmer, once the queen of Hel got the message about why they'd come. Well, Loki and Sigyn's reception was an enthusiastic hug from the piebald woman. She was literally half jet-black and half snow-white. She had obviously decided to make everything fit in with her theme colors. Liz could only be grateful that she would never have heard of zebras.
"So soon!" she said eagerly. "I knew as soon as Fimbulwinter began, but I was expecting it to be another few centuries before you broke free. We're still ready, and by the time Fimbulwinter hits the third year my troops will have swelled greatly." Then she saw Fenrir and Jörmungand. She took a deep, disapproving breath. "Family solidarity," she said. "It's a bit late for that, isn't it? I haven't forgotten last time."
"Oh shut up," said Fenrir, crossly.
"You shut up! I see that you've brought your useless drinking partner with you."
"I've given it up," said Thor, affronted. "I'm an alcoholic, but I'm currently in remission. I haven't had a drink for five days. Except for rose-hip and mint tea, which has a delicate acidity to balance the cool clear flavor of the mint. It helps me to get in touch with my inner self."
Hel stared at him as if he'd just spouted a line of Japanese. "What?"
Thor looked down his nose at her. "I thought you had some sensibilities and would understand that the great warrior is also an artist, and to find his edge needs to get in touch with his creative side, which means he needs to learn to use all his senses."
"I think I understand why you brought him here," said Hel, faintly. "Anyway, preparations are well afoot. We should be ready in three years."
"Uh.... Hel, dear, we're hoping not to wait three years," said Loki.
She blinked at him. "Asgard will never fall without my full muster. And it will take Naglfar months to ferry them all across to Asaheim. And Surt's hosts are going to take a long time to march all that way to set the worlds aflame."
"Well," said Loki, "I have been thinking about it. And I have decided not to do that this time around."
"This time around?" Hel looked puzzled. "The end of Time comes, Papa-Loki."
"Actually, it's more like the wheel of time," said Loki. "If we just let it keep going it never ends. It just keeps endlessly repeating the same old stuff. I had enough of it the first time around. And the more I think about it the more I remember. So I plan to break the pattern."
Hel shook her head. "You can't do that. Asgard must fall."
"Odin must fall. But Asgard I'll live with. I quite enjoy having a bunch of dimwits to play practical jokes on, and I've gotten used to the crowd in Asgard."
"Asgard must fall," repeated Hel, a little rosy flush appearing on her white cheek.
"But why, dear?" asked Sigyn. "Our fight really is with Odin. I know how you feel about your lodgers here. Fimbulwinter will bring thousands more."
"Mi
llions," said Hel. "But if those already here are to escape, then that's the way it must be. That is the deal I made with Baldr. And he is going to rule in the new Gladheim. It is foretold."
Loki scowled. "If I ever needed a reason not to destroy Asgard, it would be to avoid having that pretty-boy on the throne."
Hel looked pained. "But he has promised that my subjects can have some of the privileges of Asgard's Einherjar and Freyja's warriors, and will not have to dwell in the cold and dark any more. I will not bend on that, Papa-Loki. It's not right as it is." There was a steely determination in her voice.
Jerry coughed. "Um. Lady Hel."
"That is a polite form of address, mortal, but not the correct one. I am the queen of Hel."
"Pretentious baggage," said Jörmungand, not quite under her breath.
Hel drew herself up onto her toes. She still wasn't quite up to the size of Jörmungand. "This is my Kingdom and—"
"I apologize, your highness," said Jerry. "What I was trying to say was wouldn't you rather be Lady Hel of Asgard than stuck down here? It seems very unfair that you were sent into exile here anyway. What had you done?"
Hel nodded. "It was unfair. But they need me."
"I think they're lucky to have you," said Jerry, trying not to feel as if he was as slimy as Odysseus. "However, I'm not au fait with the hierarchy of Asgard, but if Baldr didn't get reborn, then who would be ruler of Ás?"
There was a moment's all-round silence, broken by Thrúd. "Why... you would, Papa-Thor."
"I suppose that would be true," said Loki, sounding as if he didn't know whether to be horrified or amused by the idea.
Jerry nodded. "And while you may have other criticisms of Thor, he is known to be honorable and fair, to the best of his ability."
"True," said Hel, doubtfully. "But I am not sure..."
"I am," said Loki. "I'd rather pull Thor's beard than Baldr's any day. Red beard knows how to laugh. Baldr doesn't."
