Timothy Zahn - The Green And The Gray

"The Greek Oracles," Laurel murmured. "They could have been Visionaries or Farseers."

"Falls right into place, doesn't it?" Fierenzo agreed. "Your Warriors might have inspired some stories, too, like the stuff about Hercules or Odysseus."

"What about us?" Jordan asked.

"What about you?" Fierenzo countered. "What direction were you heading when you hit the Great Valley?"

"South, I think," Jordan said, looking questioningly past Laurel at his brother.

"Yes, it was south," Jonah confirmed. "They traveled pretty far, too, before they met up with the Greens."

"There's your answer," Fierenzo told him. "The Greens became part of Greek myth; you Grays got worked into Norse myth."

"Norse myth?" Roger echoed, struggling to dredge up the long-neglected details from that high school mythology unit. "You mean as in Odin, Asgard, and the Frost Giants?"

"And the dwarves, the smiths of the gods, who made wondrous gadgets for them," Fierenzo said.

"Including their masterpiece, the weapon of the god of thunder."

Roger's throat suddenly tightened. "Oh, my God," he murmured. "Thor's hammer?"

"A hammer with an unusually short handle," Fierenzo said. "A hammer that could be thrown into something and then come back to his hand. A hammer that could knock the top off a mountain. Stop me when this starts to sound familiar."

"I'll be cursed," Jonah murmured.

"But we don't actually throw the hammerguns," Jordan objected.

"You call it throwing when you bring them out of the wristbands," Fierenzo pointed out. "Besides, a primitive Norseman watching from the sidelines could certainly be excused if he misread what happened. You point the thing, a rock a hundred yards away explodes into dust, and when your observer opens his eyes it's back in your hand. What other conclusion could he come to?"

"Wait a minute, this is going too fast," Roger said. "Are you suggesting one of the Grays was the basis for the Thor legend?"

"Either that or some Norse warrior finagled himself a hammergun," Fierenzo said. "He'd have made quite a name for himself before he finally hung up his cleats." He hissed a sigh. "Which makes things just that much more awkward."

"Why, were you thinking of sending them all back home?" Roger asked.

"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I was thinking," Fierenzo said bluntly. "That was my fallback position if all else failed: throw everyone back aboard their transports and kick them the hell off Earth. A moot point now."

"A moot point anyway," Laurel said. "We needed all our Farseers and Groundshakers to make it work the first time."

"All of them except Damian," Jonah countered ominously.

Laurel sighed. "Apparently so."

The car went silent. Roger looked over at Fierenzo, found the other staring hard out the windshield.

"So what do we do now?" he asked.

Fierenzo shook his head slightly. "We'll think of something."

"Okay," Smith said, running his eyes down the printout. "LUDs show just one hit on Fierenzo's cell phone after he disappeared, a one-minute call to the Whittiers' apartment. About two hours after that we have a call from Whittier's cell to Fierenzo's cell. No other activity on either phone since."

Powell grunted. He'd tried Fierenzo's cell a hundred times in the nearly forty-six hours since the detective's abduction. If he'd tried one more time during that two-hour window, he might have been able to at least hear the voice of whoever was using his phone now. "Anything on the Whittiers' car?"

Smith shook his head. "We've checked all the garages around their apartment. I've got an APB out on it, but after that triple carjacking in the Bronx last night the uniforms have more plates to look for than usual."

"Did you make it clear this one was related to a missing cop?"

"Actually... at the time we didn't have a solid connection," Smith hedged.

Powell locked a glare on him. "You think maybe we've got one now?"

The other's lip twitched. "Yes, sir."

"Then upgrade the hunt."

"Yes, sir." Smith turned to go.

"Hold it," Powell said, feeling slightly ashamed of himself. Smith was doing the best he could, after all. "Sorry—I didn't mean to jump on you that way."

"That's okay," Smith assured him. "You think the Whittiers are involved in whatever happened to him?"

"I don't know what to think," Powell admitted. "Either they had nothing to do with it, or else they're the strangest pair of idiot savants I've ever run across. You can't be smart enough to convince Fierenzo you're an innocent bystander and at the same time be stupid enough to grab him and then walk around using his own cell phone."

"I suppose," Smith said. "Did the Gang Task Force have anything on these Greens and Grays?"

"They've never heard of them," Powell said. "They're guessing we've got brand-new players in town."

"And with just two days until Cyril's deadline," Smith muttered. "Unless he was just blowing smoke."

"Yeah." Reaching across his desk, Powell snagged his phone. "Keep working the phone angle," he instructed the other. "And run another check to see if anyone's been using Tommy's credit cards. I'm going to give the Gang Task Force's cage another rattle."

He grimaced. "And after that, I think I'll give the S.W.A.T. duty officer a heads-up. Just in case he wasn't blowing smoke."

Roger punched off the phone. "He's not exactly thrilled about getting dragged out at this time of night," he told the others. "But he says he'll be right over."

"What do you mean, this time of night?" Jonah scoffed. "It's not even seven-thirty."

"I get the feeling Velovsky's day ends when the streetlights come on," Roger told him. "The fact he's willing to come out now shows how much Melantha means to him."

"How much the Greens mean to him, you mean," Ron said sourly. "I still don't think it's a good idea for us to be here when he arrives. Velovsky doesn't think very highly of Grays."

"Then it's time he broadened his horizons," Zenas said firmly.

Roger pursed his lips. Privately, he had his own doubts about dropping all this on Velovsky at once.

But Zenas had suggested it, and Laurel and Fierenzo had concurred, and so for better or worse they were going to give it a try. "Well, we're not very far from his place, so he should be here in a few minutes."

"Hopefully without a bunch of Green Warriors in tow," Jonah muttered. "I was thinking I might go up on the roof for a couple of minutes and check things out."

"Halfdan's still looking for you," Stephanie warned him.

"I'll be careful." Jonah looked at Fierenzo, lifted his eyebrows questioningly.

"I don't think it's necessary," the detective said. "But it probably won't hurt, either. If you want, go ahead."

Nodding, Jonah got to his feet and stepped to the door. "Keep an ear peeled, Roger," he added.

Opening the door, he checked the hallway and slipped out.

"This isn't nearly as nice a place as the Marriott," Roger commented.

"Not nearly as expensive, either," Ron countered dryly. "It was our ancestors who mined the mountains for gems, you know, not us personally."

"I have a question," Fierenzo said. "I know Elymas led the Greens here to Manhattan. But who exactly was in charge of the Gray contingent?"

"Torvald and Halfdan's father," Ron said. "He was—"

"Their father?" Roger cut in. "Those two are brothers?"

"Yes," Ron said, frowning. "Didn't you know?"

"How could I?" Roger said, feeling a little sandbagged. "I thought they were rivals for control of the Grays."

"As much as Grays are under anyone's control," Zenas murmured.

"And may our freedom forever reign," Ron countered solemnly. "At any rate, their father Ulric had been a major clan leader back in the Great Valley. He was the one who organized our refugee group."