Piers Anthony - Sos the Rope

"Sure-Sosa," the man replied, glancing at -the bracelet.

He shook Sos's hand. "I'm Tom. Glad to know you. Matter of fact, I recognize you. I brought you in. You certainly gave it a try!"

"Brought me in?" There was something strange and not altogether likeable about this man- with the unusual name, despite his easy courtesy.

"I'll show you." Tom walked over to one of the screens that was blank. "This is a closed-circuit teevee covering the east slope of Helicon, down below the snowline." He turned it on, and Sos recognized the jumbled terrain he had navigated with the help of his rope. He had never seen a real picture on the television before-that is, one that applied to the present world, he corrected himself, and it fascinated

"Helicon-the mountain?" he asked, straining to remember where he had read of something by that name. "The home of. . . the muses?"

Tom faced him, and again there was a strangeness in his pale eyes. "Now how would you know that? Yes-since we remember the things of the old world here, we named it after-" He caught a signal from one of the others and turned quickly to the set. "There's one coming down now. Here, I'll switch to him."

That reminded Sos. "The ones that come down-where do they go?" He saw that Sosa had withdrawn from their conversation and was now showing off her bracelet to the other workers.

"I'm afraid you're about to find out, though you may not like it much," Tom said, watching him with a peculiar eagerness. Sos was careful not to react; these people obviously did not contest in the circle, but had their methods of trial. He was about to be subjected to something unpleasant.

Tom found his picture and brought the individual into focus. It was a middle-aged staffer, somewhat flabby. "He probably lost his woman to a younger warrior and decided to make the big -play," Tom remarked without sympathy. "A lot are like that. There's something about a broken romance that sends a man to the mountain." Sos's stomach tightened, but the man wasn't looking at hint. "This one ascended to the snowline, then turned about when his feet got cold. Unless he changes his mind again pretty soon-"

"They do that?"

"Oh yes. Some waver half a dozen times. The thing is, the mountain is real. Death looks honorable from a distance, but the height and snow make it a matter of determination. Unless a man is really serious about dying, that climb will make him reconsider. He wonders whether things back home are quite so bad as he thought, whether he couldn't return and try again. If he's weak, he vacillates, and of course we don't want the quitters. It's natural selection, really, not that that would mean anything to you."

Sos refused to be drawn out by the condescending tone and assumptions of ignorance. It occurred to him that his general knowledge could be a hidden asset, in case things got ugly here.

"A man who carries his conviction all the way to the end is a man worth saving," Tom continued as the picture, evidently controlled by the motions of his fingers on the knobs, followed the staffer unerringly. "We want to be sure that he really has renounced life, and won't try to run back at the first opportunity. The ordeal of the mountain makes it clear. You were a good example-you charged right on up and never hesitated at all. You and that bird-too bad we couldn't save it, but it wouldn't have been happy here anyway. We saw you try to scare it away, and then it froze. I thought for a moment you were going to turn back then, but you didn't. Just as well, I liked your looks."

So all the agonies of his private demise had been observed by this cynical voyeur? Sos maintained the slightly stupid expression he had adopted since becoming suspicious, and watched the staffer pick his way along the upper margin of the projecting metal beams. There would be some later occasion, perhaps, to repay this mockery.

"How did you-fetch me?"

"Put on a snowsuit and dragged you into the nearest hatch. Took three of us to haul the harness. You're a bull of a man, you know. After that-well, I guess you're already familiar with the revival procedure. We had to wait until you were all the way under; sometimes people make a last-minute effort to start down again. We don't bring them in if they're facing the wrong way, even if they freeze to death. It's the intent that counts. You know, you almost made it-to the top. That's quite something, for an inexperienced climber."

"How did you know I wouldn't kill myself when I woke up?"

"Well, we can never be sure. But generally speaking, a person doesn't choose the mountain if he's the suicidal type. That sounds funny, I know, but it's the case. Anyone can kill himself, but only the mountain offers complete and official oblivion. When you ascend Helicon, you never come back. There is no news and no body. It's as though you have entered another world-perhaps a better one. You're not giving up, you're making an honorable departure. At least, that's the way I see it. The coward kills himself; the brave or devout man takes the mountain."

Much of this made sense to Sos, but he didn't care to admit it yet. "But you said some turn back."

"Most turn back.- They're the ones who are doing it for bravado, or as a play for pity, or just plain foolishness. We don't need that kind here."

"What about that staffer out there now? If you don't take him in, where will he go?"

Tom frowned. "Yes, I'm afraid he really means to give up." He raised his voice. "Bill, you agree?"

"'Fraid so," the- man addressed called back. "Better finish it; there's another at the base. No sense having him see it."

"This is not a pleasant business," Tom said, licking his lips with an anticipation that seemed to be, if not pleasure, a reasonable facsimile. "But you can't maintain a legend on nothing. So-" He activated another panel, and wavy crosshairs appeared on the screen. As he adjusted the dials the cross moved to center on the body of the staffer. He pulled a red handle.

A column of fire shot out from somewhere offscreen and engulfed the man. Sos jumped, but realized -that he could do nothing. For a full minute the terrible blaze seared on the screen; then Tom lifted the handle and it stopped.

A blackened mound of material was all that remained.

"Flamethrower," Tom explained pleasantly.

Sos had seen death before, but this appalled him. The killing had been contrary to all his notions of honor; no warning, no circle, no sorrow. "You mean-if I had?-?"

Tom faced him, the light from the screen reflecting from the whites of his eyes in miniature skull-shapes. This was the question he had been waiting for. "Yes."

Sosa was tugging at his arm. "That's enough," she said. "Come on, Sos. We had to show you. It isn't all bad."

"What if I decide to leave this place?" he demanded, sickened by such calculated murder.

She pulled him on. "Don't talk like that. Please."

So that was the way it stood, he thought. They had not been joking when they named this the land of the dead. Some were dead figuratively, and some dead inside. But what had he expected when he ventured upon the mountain? Life and pleasure?

"Where are the women?" he inquired as they traveled the long passages.

"There aren't many. The mountain is not a woman's way. The few we have are-shared."

"Then why did you take my bracelet?"

She increased her pace. "I'll tell you, Sos, really I will, but not right now, all right?"

They entered a monstrous workshop. Sos bad been impressed by the crazies' "shop," but this dwarfed it as the underworld complex dwarfed an isolated hostel. Men were laboring with machines in long lines, stamping and shaping metal objects. "Why," he exclaimed, "those are weapons!"

"Well, someone has to make them, I suppose. Where did you think they came from?

"The crazies always-"