Vengeance of the Dancing Gods

by Jack L. Chalker

From too much love of living,

  From hope and fear set free,

  We thank with brief thanksgiving

  Whatever gods may be

  That no life lives forever;

  That dead men rise up never;

  That even the weariest river

  Winds somewhere safe to sea.

  —Algernon Charles Swinburne

  THEY HAD COME OVER ON A FERRYBOAT AND NOW THEY returned on what looked like a miniature May flower. All sails were set, of course, and out of the gunwales great oars protruded and pushed the ship on. Whoever or whatever rowed below was something none of them wanted to see, and, indeed, all but the deck and upper cabins were closed to them. Inside quarters were quite cramped, but well-stocked with food, water, wines, and the rest of the best. Macore had one small beaten-looking Earth-type suitcase which he'd gotten from Ruddygore, and they had brought Irving, but otherwise they were going over cold. The sorcerer had promised that all they would need they would get at the other end.

  There was also a small medical kit, with which Tiana continued to treat Joe. He had a number of bruises, what looked like a black eye, and several superficial but painful cuts.

  "Damn it, ouch!" he started to say when she dabbed a particularly painful small cut. "At least you could have wished me to appear immediately in front of you!"

  Tiana couldn't suppress a smile. The idea of a party of businessmen all seduced by a voluptuous nymph suddenly finding that nymph turning into a tall, dark, husky-looking man was pretty funny, considering how easily he'd managed to overcome mutual confusion, then mutual embarrassment and outrage, and fight his way out of there. Only slightly worse was the wound to his pride in having to march down to the front desk stark naked and demand to know if a Kauri and a mermaid were staying there, and angrily get into another fight when they hesitated to tell him.

  Better for him was the fact that he had no memory of anything after being taken by the Master and no memory of the nymph experience at all. It hadn't been intended that way, but that had been the way the wish had been worded. He accepted the story, of course, because they were all there and confirmed it, and it certainly explained the changes in him; but if either Marge or Tiana said what a cute, sexy nymph he'd been one more time, he was going to slug somebody.

  He really didn't look all that different. At six two he was a bit shorter than his barbarian form, but still a tall man; and at a fairly muscular two twenty, he was actually in pretty good shape. He looked a bit more Mexican and a bit less Amerindian than he had, and certainly his body was no longer the Mr. Universe machine it had been before, but he really wasn't changed radically. He'd been in good shape when he was twenty, after all. He'd been in the Marines at the time. Sexually, though, he was enormous—far better endowed than he had been at twenty, the size disproportionately large for the body. Tiana had many strings on her wish.

  Now dry, Tiana looked remarkably different, although it wasn't hard to see that there were unusual things about her. She was still tall; but without the flipperlike fins, she was closer to five ten than over six feet. She was thin and quite shapely, with very long, straight, black hair reaching down almost to her waist. While only her coloration was changed, she would now be perceived as a young black woman by the America to which they traveled. Although she knew French, German, and, of course, her native tongue from Husaquahr, Ruddygore had to use a spell to give her a working knowledge of English. It was more than adequate, but she still had to translate from one of her other tongues, so it came out a bit garbled at times and without good pronunciation. Macore had the same spell and the same problem, but he had a genius for languages and was certain he'd pick it up quickly when actually using it. Marge and Joe, of course, needed no language help, although it was difficult for them sometimes to remember which language they were speaking, English or the Husaquahrian commercial language they normally used, and both found they had to concentrate or they would slip quickly out of English.

  Joe surveyed the close quarters, still in a rotten mood. "At least he could have given us a bigger ship. What the hell is this thing, anyway?"

  "Ruddygore said it was a scale replica of a Spanish galleon built for some pageant in Spain," Marge told him. "He picked it up when it was just about junked and headed for rot."

  "Scale is right!" He got up, stretched, and flexed his muscles. "Not all I was used to. Ti, are you up to a walk around the deck?"

  "Of course," she responded. "Let us go out and see what sort of strange place this Sea of Dreams truly is."

  She clearly had some problems walking, a little of it a balance problem but much of it simply legs supported by bones and muscle not really designed to bear the weight of a body.

  He helped her down the small stairs to the main deck, and they walked forward and to the rail. It was quite dark, and there was no sign of moon or stars. For a while, they stared out into the void.

  "I think I hear voices," she commented. "And noises like great machines. I look down and see little flashes, like meteors below."

  "You've been across once more than I have," Joe noted. "I wonder just what's out there?"

  "Ruddygore once said it was the mind of God. I wonder if it's true?"

  They stood there a while longer, staring out into the void they knew was not a void. Finally Tiana asked, "Joe? Do you still love me?"

  He put his arm around her and squeezed. "Why do you ask? You know I do."

  "Even though I've changed?"

  "I've changed, too. I'm not the ideal barbarian anymore."

  "You look beautiful to me. I was just... wondering."

  "Wondering what?"

  "If it is proper to make love amid the mind of God." He looked at her, then pulled her to him and kissed her. "I can't think of a more appropriate place," he replied.

  Ruddygore's ships always "made port" on Earth in the early morning hours, and in remote and mostly uninhabited locations, because they were, after all, rather conspicuous. The Company didn't really know where they were being set down, nor did it really matter. Poquah knew, and was supposed to be waiting for them with supplies and information.

  Wherever it was, it was warm, clear, and dry, and certainly remote—the stars had faded in as they had entered the Earth's plane of reality and they were stunning, without much of any interference from nearby lights or cities.

  Marge stared out at the darkness and sighed. "Well, we're home."

  "Yeah," Joe responded, a little disbelievingly. "Home.

  Well I'll be damned. You know, I never expected to be here again. Oh, I know I talked about it and belly ached about it in the old days, but I never really did."

  "Me, neither," Marge replied. "If you remember, I had already decided to leave it for good before I knew there was another place to go."

  "Umph. Be interesting sometime to find out what happened after we left. I don't mean who's president or where the Marines have landed this time—I mean about that night. I always wondered—are we dead? Did they pick up our bodies off that super slab and scrape up the truck, or did we just sort of disappear into nothing?"

  "You joined the legion of those who vanish forever every day," a familiar voice said behind them. They turned and saw Poquah standing there. The Imir looked rather funny to them, dressed as he was in a black button-down shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and Stetson. As usual, they had not heard him come aboard. Imirs were only noticed when they wanted to be, which made them occasionally irritating friends but terrible enemies. "I assume it is just the two of you?"

  "No—oh, I guess you hadn't had a chance to be told. We have two others, at Ruddygore's direction," Marge told him.

  He looked up at the upper cabin in time to see Macore appear, followed by Tiana.

  "I can see there have been some changes made," the Imir noted. "I had not expected him to get out of the Lamp for a century or so, and I do not know the lady, except that she is a mermaid with some land adaptation spells and is from a clan I have never heard of before."

  "That's Tia
na," Joe told him. "It's a long story. You might have noticed that I've changed, too."

  "All human barbarians look alike to me," the Imir responded calmly. "As for the long story, it is interesting, I am sure, but irrelevant. We must be on the move. This ship cannot remain here."

  A small gangplank extended from the side, but it didn't have much of a downward slope. The ship was still not quite in Earthly space, nor were they until they got off. Marge tested her flying and found it as normal as usual;

  Joe helped Tiana get down, as she was still unused to her weak legs, and Macore brought up the rear, lugging the suitcase he'd been given by the wizard. A queer-looking vehicle awaited them, motor running.

  "Just what the hell is that?" Joe wanted to know.

  "A coach which has no horses!" Macore said, awestruck. "How convenient!"

  "It is called a mini-van, and it will comfortably seat us all," Poquah told him. "Joe—do you think you could drive this? I need to test your driving skills after so long a hiatus, and it is difficult to run into too much out here."

  "Yeah, I think I can. I might be rough and rusty for a few miles, but I'll bet I can get back into it real fast. After all, I drove bigger rigs than this for more than fifteen years."

  They got in, discovering that the van had three rows of seats and was more than big enough to accommodate them all comfortably. Poquah took the front passenger seat, since he had to navigate.

  Joe spent some time adjusting things, then pulled out and promptly stalled. "Damn! Rustier than I thought," he mumbled, slightly embarrassed. He finally got it in gear; although his shifting and clutching were fairly jerky, he really did seem to get it back quickly.

  "On the other hand, once you are a skilled rider, you don't get yourself so bumped up," Macore noted, mostly to himself. He was the only one among them who'd never been on Earth before.

  They pulled onto an interstate that was mostly deserted, and Poquah directed him to proceed east.

  "Hey!" Marge shouted excitedly. "This is old I-10! We're in Texas!"

  "Yes, we are south and west of Midland," the Imir told her.

  "Well I'll be damned! This is where we came in!"

  "It is convenient in that it meets all the requirements. We'll be staying in a motel this evening, still south of the city, and we'll prepare to remain there at least one day. I will have to go out and get some suitable clothing and other things for you all. The small amount of clothing I have for Joe will obviously not fit, and I did not expect the other two of you. You, Kauri, will have to keep in mind that you must keep your powers of disguise constant at all times. And do remember not to fly while you are in danger of being seen doing so. Even if they do not see you as a Kauri, these Earth folk might get a bit upset at seeing a young woman suddenly rise off into the air."

  "Don't worry," she assured him. "Protection and defense are built into me. Joe's the only one without danger, though. Ti needs water and she takes some time to get land-adapted again; and, if I remember, Macore has a little problem, too."

  The thief nodded. "I don't reflect or cast shadows. It's a pain in the ass for shaving—if that is still a problem. By the gods! How fast does this thing go?"

  "Then do not shave. If you can manage some growth, it will help disguise you. Our quarry knows you, remember. The fairy folk do not reflect, either, which can cause problems. Kauri, no matter what the spell, and our shadows are often inconsistent. As for speed, Joe is proceeding at seventy right now and probably should slow down. We cannot afford a police check right now, I wouldn't think."

  "What you're saying is that a group portrait of us would be rather odd," Tiana put in. "Joe and I would show up, and perhaps two distorted shadows. Handy if you're a bank robber."

  "Oh, really?" Macore responded, forgetting for a moment his frightened grip on the seat and the speed at which the surroundings were going past and sounding very interested in this new world. Poquah gave him a withering look. The little thief shrugged innocently. "Hey— it's only professional curiosity."

  By the time they'd exited the interstate and began driving up to Midland, the sun was coming up. "I'm going to stick with the goggles for now," Marge told them. "I guess we'll all be in and ready to sleep in another hour or two."

  Poquah had selected a motel that had only one story but was rather large and spread out, so that none of them would have to go through a lobby to get in and out. Right now, they were neither dressed nor in any condition to meet the west Texas public. The Imir, however, did have to arrange for another room, but he had no problem getting one that adjoined and had an interconnecting door. He did seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time in the office, though, arid they grew concerned. The sun was up now, and they felt quite conspicuous. Finally he returned and handed Joe one key and Macore the other.

  "Any problems?" Joe asked him.

  "No. It is the same everywhere I go in this insane country. Everyone seems to believe I am someone named Nimoy, or occasionally someone named Spock." They drove off, following his directions, and reached the two rooms. Quickly and nervously, they made their way from the van into the rooms. Macore still had on his gray jerkin and boots, which were a bit out of place here, but Joe and Tiana were literally without a stitch.

  "I informed the woman at the desk that you had just flown in and were dead tired, and not to give you any disturbance or perform any maid service today," Poquah told them, "but you never know with these places. Keep all the locks and chains on, and put out the 'Do Not Disturb' signs. Problems might develop before we could correct them with spells, and we do not need problems right now."

  "Small bathtubs." Tiana sniffed. "Still, I suppose this will do."

  "It will have to. I will return later on." The Imir looked at his wrist, which sported a fancy digital watch. "It is now almost seven-thirty. I shall return by three this afternoon with what is needed and the information to brief you. Until then, I suggest that you get some rest. We will keep to a nocturnal schedule for the time being, both for security's sake and until you get accustomed to acting on your own in this environment."

  Macore was in the other room, looking around. He had a childish joy in the light switches and spent a couple of minutes just turning them on and off. He was even more delighted with the small air-conditioning console. To be told about such things academically was one thing; actually to see them was something else. Macore's world was a world of magic, demons, and spells which he took entirely for granted. This was truly a Husaquahrian child's magical dream.

  "Shall I bring something to eat or drink before I go into the city?" the Imir asked them.

  "No, we had plenty on the boat," Joe replied. "You might bring something back when you return, though."

  "I'll do what I can," the Imir assured them, and left.

  Macore, in the other room, went over to the television and stared at it. "This is a window of some kind?"

  Marge laughed. "That's TV. Look—I'll show you." She switched it on, suddenly aware that her position was the direct opposite of her early life in Husaquahr. There she learned the language by spell and was illiterate. Now Macore was in that spot, although at the moment it didn't seem to bother him.

  He was fascinated by the images on the television and had to be assured that they could not see him. The major networks all had their morning news shows on, and some of the cable channels were showing things like Wheeler and Wollsey "B" pictures from the thirties, while the sports channel was showing the curling finals on tape delay from Halifax. There were several apparently all-religious channels, and four other channels were showing different episodes of Gilligan's Island.

  "Same old junk," Marge commented sourly.

  "Oh, I kind of like it," the little thief commented. "Particularly the ones with the little short fellow and the fat one on the island."

  "Yeah," Marge told him. "Wait till you've seen the same rerun half a dozen times!"

  "Huh? You mean they are not acting companies all performing this as we watch?"

&
nbsp; "I'll explain film and tape to you later," she said tiredly. "I'm going to sleep."

  "So am I," Joe called from the other room. The sound of water filling a tub almost drowned him out. He was a bit distressed to discover that from now on, his wife would have to sleep nights in the bathtub. It simply hadn't occurred to him in all this.

  Macore bade them a good rest and closed the door between. It wasn't completely soundproofed, but Marge told him that it wouldn't bother her a bit if he kept the TV on, although he'd best do it softly to avoid waking Joe. "Okay—great!" he responded. "I caught a nap on the way over, and I'm not very tired right now."

  She removed the goggles and was soon comatose. From the other room came snores louder than Macore's television. He just sat there, curled up in front of it, watching one thing after the other, often changing channels.

  Poquah's hefty tip seemed to keep the maids away; but close on to noon, Macore, who was still sitting there, got irritated when the same episode of Gilligan's Island he'd just watched on one channel began on another and he turned the dial. He caught a slight glimpse of something as he turned it, then frowned, stopped, turned it back, and stared at the screen.

  He pressed his face right up to it, then stood back. "Oh, my god!" he breathed. There was no mistake. There couldn't be that much of a mistake.

  It was some sort of talk show or forum, and apparently it was before a huge live audience. He wouldn't have even noticed it—he'd found seven minutes of David Hartman intolerable and could take about forty seconds of Jim Bakker—and this, certainly, was the same format. The speaker seemed to be some kind of preacher, and he was dressed in a finely tailored, dark blue suit, had short hair, and wore round, apparently rimless glasses; but still he knew that face, which had been looking into his only a few weeks before. Dacaro had sure as hell come a long way on Earth in only a few weeks!

  "What are these little round things?" Joe asked. "Potato puffs?"

  "They are supposedly chicken," Poquah informed him. "You dip them in the little sauce cups, I'm told." He rummaged in the two bags, took out another wrapped package, then handed it to Tiana, who was still very much a mermaid but slowly drying out.