Мартин Гринберг - Lord of the Fantastic - Stories in Honor of Roger Zelazny

“Thor, what you would recognize as warriors in this era carry weapons that can kill a man at over a mile. Most of the wars now are called police actions, which means people far away use weapons that hit with the force of Mjolnir to shatter their enemy’s cities. The heroic nature of combat you recall so fondly is no more.”

Thor’s florid face drained of color. “There are no more humans who bravely venture out, risking life and limb, to defeat their enemies and reap riches for themselves?”

“There are, but they battle away in commercial wars.”

“Merchants?”

“Think of them as captains of industry.”

“You want to admit merchants to Valhalla?” Thor shook his head. “Next you will want to allow women into that hallowed hall.”

I winced. “Actually, I did want to bring women in, but several of the mother-goddess cults have combined with feminism to really block our inroads there. Face it, while all of your wives were wonderful, they’re not as inspiring as the Mediterranean goddesses. Still, focusing on men gives us a potential market of roughly half the world’s population, and that half controls the majority of the wealth in the world.”

“Wealth?” Tyr frowned. “I agree with Thor. We want nobility and courage.”

“No, we want believers. To attract them, we have to give them something the Christers won’t.” I smiled. “One of the Christ’s pronouncements is that it will be easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it will for a rich man to enter Paradise. We’ve got a long-standing tradition of having a person buried with his material possessions so he can have them in the afterlife. We’ll build on that tradition and have people flocking in.”

I leaned forward. “Welcome to Asgard Unlimited. We’re in the religion business. Our slogan is this: Asgard Unlimited—you can take it with you.”

Heimdall’s visage darkened. “The people you speak of attracting sound less like worshipers than pillagers and scavengers, coming to us to see what we can give them.”

“You have to understand, all of you, that the human of today is less a worshiper than a fan. They don’t so much believe in anyone or thing as much as they believe in and worship the myth surrounding a phenomenon. Being gods is certainly impressive, but we need to become more, something that allows everyone to participate in our mystique.”

I nodded toward the head of the table. “The three of you will form a trinity—the Christers made that popular and we can use the pattern. Odin will be the head of things and preside over Valhalla. His job will be to dispense wisdom and help our people prosper in their endeavors.

“We’ll remake Valhalla into something new and sophisticated. As we have in the past, we’ll thin the line between the living and the dead, bringing in dead celebrities to meet and greet folks. This will provide our claims of the afterlife—something the Christers never do. We also want Valhalla to be a fun place—with family entertainment as well as more adult pursuits.”

“Adult pursuits?”

I looked at Tyr. “You’ve not forgotten Odin’s taste for hot and cold running Valkyries, have you? One part of Valhalla will be Hooters of the Gods. Another section will be devoted to weekend warriors—people who always wanted to fight but never had the chance. Add in a casino, an amusement park, a ‘Warfare of the Ages’ exhibit area and we have pretty much everything covered. Since Valhalla has five hundred and forty doors, we’ll franchise them out to the major population centers of the world, meaning the site stays centralized, but people can get together instantly. That will greatly boost our commercial bookings—conventions everywhere will be coming to us.”

I pointed at Tyr. “Your role is going to be that of the divine Princeling. Royalty has gotten a bad name of late, but Tyr, you’re the one who can bring nobility back to it. Tragically wounded while saving the rest of the gods, you’re already a heroic figure. You’re also favored by sportsmen, and sports is big business. You’re a natural for skiing and other winter sports at the more exclusive hideaways in the world. If you can pick up golf, cricket, and yachting, you’ll be pitching straight to our core market.”

Tyr slowly smiled. “All I have to do is spend my time involved in sport, associating with the rich and beautiful?”

“That’s it.”

“I’m willing to listen—more.”

I turned to Heimdall. “Though I ridiculed you in the past for the job of being the Aesir’s watchman, now is a time we need your keen eyes and ears to safeguard our enterprise. Before you listened for enemies approaching Bifrost on their way to Asgard. Now we will have many more bridges, and each of them will bear watching.”

The smile that had begun to blossom on Heimdall’s face with my initial remarks froze. “I may be a god, but I cannot monitor the whole world without help.”

“And help you shall have.” From my pocket I fished a remote control and pointed it at the wall to my right. Hitting a button I brought a dancing picture to life. “This is television. In our Valhalla you will be able to watch hundreds of such monitors, seeing what they see, hearing the sounds they hear. There is no corner of Midgard that you will not be able to see immediately. When you see danger, you get on the horn—ah, the telephone, not Gjallarhorn—and warn us what is going on.

“It is a grave responsibility,” I said, handing him the remote, “but no one else can handle it.”

Heimdall brandished the plastic box as if it were Hofud, his sword. “I shall be ever vigilant.”

Thor thrust his lower lip out in a pout. “You say war is revered no more. There is nothing for me in your Asgard Unlimited.”

“Ah, but there is—a very special role indeed.” I gave him a genuine smile. “Among humans there is a need for idols. Many of them come out of sports, and Tyr will cover them, but others come from the entertainment industry. James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Bruce Lee, Elvis—each of them has attained a near divinity because of how they entertained people.”

“But I am a warrior! There is no entertainment for which I am suited.”

“You’re so wrong, my friend. There is a form of entertainment here that was made for you.” I rubbed my hands together. “It’s called professional wrestling.”

Gunnar, my aide, cleared his throat and brought me back to the present. “If you have a moment, Divinity.”

“Always.” I reached back and rubbed at the sore spot on my spine. “What do you have?”

“We got our shipment of the new summer-color eye-patches in and they’re set to go on sale in our boutiques this afternoon. This includes the ones that allow you to tan beneath them.”

“Good. What about the Odin jackets?”

Gunnar frowned. “The supplier says the subcontractor they’ve got making the ravens has really done a poor job. They’re able to join the ravens to the jacket’s shoulders and they stand up, but they lose feathers and the eyes fall out.”

“You tell them more than their eyes will fall out if they don’t fix the problem.” I glanced at the video screen behind me and then at my watch. “When is Odin due back?”

“Not for a couple of hours. He’s just begun speaking in Tokyo and won’t come through from our doorway there for at least another three hours.” Gunnar smiled. “By the way, we got the fax this morning: The One-eyed God’s Business Wisdom is going to start at number one on the Times list. It’s bumping Jesus’ Business Beatitudes: Charity Before Profit from the top spot. Herakles’ Twelve Labors’ Lessons will be out in two weeks, but pre-orders are soft, so we’ll remain at number one for a while. We’ll be selling a lot of books. And Letterman wants Odin in to help host a segment of ‘stupid demigod tricks.’ “