Roger Zelazny - Donnerjack

“Yeah, to me, too.”

“Your mom must be really worried about Ambry to let you come out here looking for him.”

“She is, but she knew that I wouldn’t stay home by the fire while she went out alone.”

“But she let you go out alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Drum. And mom’s a scientist; her practical side knows that it’s best to let experts do what they’re trained for.”

“Yeah. I wonder what would have happened to me if my dad had kept the bargain he made with the Lord of Deep Fields.”

“You wouldn’t be who you are now,” Alice said practically. “Your dad had a point when he said that living makes you appreciate things. Deep Fields would have been interesting in a kind of creepy way, but I don’t think you would have been really human if you had grown up there—not even if you were living.”

Jay nodded. “Spare parts all around would be weird. I guess I am glad that Dad did what he did. I appreciate having the chance to make a choice on my own.”

They stood silently, awkward despite a mutual feeling of liking. In the background, Virginia and Drum worked on outfitting Dubhe with a CF pistol.

“Jay?” Alice said after a time. “Can you really cross the interface between Virtu and Verite without needing a transfer couch?”

“Uh-huh. I don’t know how, though.”

“Ever since you mentioned it earlier, I’d wanted to ask—”

They were interrupted by a screeching howl from the Brass Babboon.

“Mount Meru on the horizon, lads and lassies! Come take a glimpse before I start the smoke and fireworks to cover your arrival.”

They hurried to windows. Beneath a preternaturally bright sun, Mount Meru loomed in splendid isolation on a rolling plain, casting sharp shadows. Snow capped its highest reaches, the lofty perches where the Highest Three were said to hold dominion. At first glance, the mountain appeared uninhabited, but as the Brass Babboon rushed closer, they could catch glimpses of motion on the slopes and about the base.

“I… remember this… place,” Mizar growled, trembling. “Bright light and much… pain. Falling for… ever.”

“Want to stay with B.B.?” Jay asked, kneeling next to the tattered hound.

“Want to bite them!” Mizar answered.

“That’s decisive enough,” Drum said. He handed Jay a small pack. “This contains some basics—a knife, some rope, pair of binoculars, a first aid kit. Everyone except Virginia is better qualified with hand weapons. Remember, these CF pistols aren’t like guns in virtventures. They’ll run out of ammo.”

Jay nodded thanks and strapped on his gear. He noticed that Alice was doing the same, once again seeming rather androgynous. Virginia was tight-lipped and quiet—no wonder—her lover was dying under the treachery of a goddess and she had come to that goddess’s doorstep. In many ways, she—more than any of them—understood the risks they were taking, for she alone had met and spoken with a manifestation of one of the Highest Three.

“I’ll be slowing in the curve and then setting off the smoke and fire,” the Brass Babboon announced, “then clearing out. I’ve cycled through here a time or two before. If you’re fast and get to cover, any observers won’t think twice.”

“I hope,” Dubhe muttered.

“Slowing…” the Brass Babboon announced.

The passengers gathered by the doors. A barrage of fireworks and smoke bombs erupted. Jay’s eyes were streaming; he heard several of the others cough.

“Slowing…”

There was nothing to do but wait. The Brass Babboon would open the doors at the optimal moment. More fireworks, these the kind that whistled and burst into multipetaled blossoms.

“I hope he doesn’t get everyone on Meru watching us,” Alice said softly.

“Too late now,” Drum said. “Get ready to jump, kid.”

“Slowing… Opening the doors in three. One, two, three!”

The ground was still moving, no longer appearing like a velvet carpet now that they were about to jump. Virginia went without hesitation, dropped, rolled lithely. Drum was out almost as quickly.

Alice looked at Jay. Her face was as pale as he suspected his was. Almost imperceptibly, the Brass Babboon started picking up speed again. If they didn’t jump now, they would be carried out the interface… At the same moment, they took courage from the other’s fear and made the leap. Mizar, Dubhe on his back, came last, making certain that Jay was safe.

They hit the ground hard.

“Thought for a moment you folks were going to leave Virginia and me to be the heroes,” Drum said, his grin and broad, helping hand belaying the sarcasm in his tone. “Glad you decided to join us.”

Still gathering breath and courage. Alice and Jay could barely manage smiles as they climbed to their feet.

“Where now?” Dubhe said.

“Scouting,” Virginia said. “Mizar and me. Hell go north; I’ll go south. You folks wait here and study the mountain slope with your binoculars. Map what you can.”

“Right,” Jay agreed, quietly relieved to have her experienced direction. “How long will you be gone?”

“I’ll try to return within a half hour,” Virginia said. “That should let me cover a fair amount of ground. If Mizar does the same, he should cover even more.”

The hound nodded, blinked eyes red and green.

“If I… am caught I… will howl.”

“I can’t do that,” Virginia said, “but if I don’t make it back, feel free to assume the worst. Our opponents claim omniscience. We can’t be certain whether that’s true or not.”

“Luck,” Alice called as the scouts departed.

Jay pulled out his binoculars and began surveying the mountain. “If any of you have something to draw with, I can make us a fairly accurate map.”

Drum produced a light tablet and pen. Jay accepted it with a curt nod that he hoped seemed professional, rather than terrified. Then he set to looking and to drawing what he saw.

“You can’t possibly plan on wearing that!” Skyga protested. “You’ll undermine the entire Celebration!”

A.I. Aisles tugged off his bulbous red clown nose and grinned at the Greater God.

“You said I needed something more elaborate than what I usually wear. I thought this fit the bill.”

“I had priest’s robes, a Sumerian kilt, even a formal kimono or a tuxedo in mind, not a clown’s costume.”

The Hierophant of the Church of Elish (at last poll now one of the four major religious traditions in the Verite—although only if one counted all of the Christian sects as one group) admired his costume in the full-length mirror.

“It is satin and the polka dots are embroidered. The neck ruffle is real lace (or will be in the Verite). And I love the headpiece—a genuine Bozo designer original.”

“NO.” A rumble of thunder accompanied the word.

“What are you going to do? Blast me? If you think that this form is my only one, then you must be nuttier than I am, old pal o’ mine.”

“You are no longer indispensable.”

“But I am nasty, Skyga, and I’ve left some records in various places. If they surfaced and the Verite learned that as far as I see it, the Church of Elish is one big prank…”

“But what you have preached is the truth!”

“Since when has that mattered? Think about it.”

There was a long pause. The thunder rumbles subsided.

“You may have a point. But you will not wear that clown costume.”

“I’ll talk with the High Priest about something in the Sumerian styles then—they’re almost as funny looking when viewed with an objective eye.”

“Why must you mock?”

“It’s my job, part of an ancient and revered tradition—as ancient and revered as gods of sky and sea, and nearly as old as earth mothers.”