Eric Flint - Pyramid Power

"And while you are there, you'd better go. I don't want to have to stop the chariot for you," said Medea, practically. "Both of you."

The women went on tying. It was fairly feeble spider-thread, this "fishing line," but it was the best they had. They heard the sound of flushing and Priones' delighted giggle, as the agents' PSA IDs went to impress the sewers.

Soon Medea stood up, dusted off her hands and looked down on the sleeping cocoon arrayed in front of the Cartoon Network. "That will have to do," she said. "Stop being so prissy and precise about it, Arachne."

Arachne tied off a last knot, neatly. "It's a habit, I suppose."

"Do you want to bite them and save them to eat later too?" asked Medea. "I really could use that coffee now, but I suppose we'd better go."

"Maybe we should eat something first?"

"That's a good idea," said a voice from the window. A dragonish voice.

"Food is always a good idea, Smitar, so long as Arachne makes it," said Bitar. "So where is Cruz? We need to ask him about which birds and bees to eat."

"Trust me," said Medea. "I still have some powers. Bitar, spot a truck with a flat bed at the back. One of those with many wheels. Let me know when you see one."

"With pillows?" asked Bitar.

Medea was used to dragon logic. "Just with a flat back part. You have to provide your own pillows."

"I had a pillow once when I was little, but I ate it."

"That was a goose," said Smitar. "You complained about feathers for ages afterwards."

Bitar wrinkled his forehead. "That's right. Pillows have their feathers on the inside. I remember that now. Geese should be made like that too."

"Look out for the truck or you'll have feathers," said Medea grimly. "And I don't mean inside you. Neoptolemeus. Go up his neck, and keep a look out."

He nodded eagerly. He liked trucks. A few minutes later he called out, "Eighteen wheeler coming, Ma. A flatbed."

Medea nodded. "Time for us to do our magic, Arachne."

Mike Convey hauled steel. He'd just delivered twenty tons to one of the big machine shops in Clarkson. He was on his way back to Pittsburgh, still swearing because the return load had fallen through, and the company needed his rig back to finalize part of a massive contract. Nice contract. Shitty late delivery clause. So here he was deadheading.

He did not pick up hitchhikers or hookers. Well… sometimes a guy needed a bit of company. When he saw two very good-looking women standing at the roadside sticking a leg out at him… Suddenly he was hit by a powerful and irresistible compulsion.

These "truck" things could move faster than a dragon could fly, at least over long distances, and once the trucker got over his initial wrong impression he was very cooperative. Especially when he figured that a dragon could take a look in the window. And the glass wasn't that thick.

While the Air Force scanned the skies, two dragons sped by road toward Chicago. Passing vehicles admired the realistic dragon models on the back of the flatbed. People always see what they expect to see.

"I can't take you to Chicago!" Convey protested. "My boss will have sixty fits."

"What if we paid for the hire of your vehicle?" Arachne came from Colophon, the timocracy of the ancient world where money ruled, and commerce was everything. "It cannot be financially lucrative for you to drive an empty motorized chariot."

Mike gave a quick glance at her, before turning his attention back to the road. It was obvious enough what he was thinking, though. Arachne had had people not take her seriously before, because she was a slight young woman. It was at times like this that still having a spider's body could have been useful.

"Come on, lady, it's a good joke, but this isn't a cab. It's…"

"A Peterbilt. A 379 Pete with a five and half Cat and an 18-speed transmission," put in Neoptolemeus.

That got a glance of surprise from Convey. "Bright kid!" he said admiringly.

"I am entirely serious," said Arachne calmly. "I never make jokes about money."

Something in her tone made Mike think twice. "Sure, lady. I just don't think that you have any idea about how much money you're talking about. The company charges four dollars a mile for this rig."

Arachne picked up her laptop, opened it, and took a platinum credit card out of her purse. "Approximately how many miles are we talking about? If we can find a hot-spot, I can do a direct online transfer. Of course there will be a substantial gratuity to you for all the extra trouble. Shall we say one thousand dollars? Or what do you think, Medea?"

Medea sniffed disapprovingly. "I've never really understood the point in chaffering and trade. It's not something a princess has to do. Personally I think we should offer him a choice. This Chicago-place, or Bitar and Smitar can eat him."

"That's the advantage of trade over the aristocracy. Who would drive the horseless chariot then?"

"Me," said Neoptolemeus hopefully. "I want to."

The trucker saw a dragonish eye peering in at him from the side window.

Medea sighed. "I know that look. They're hungry again. They're always hungry. So, is it you for their dinner or do we get to go to Chicago?" There was no jest in that matter-of-fact tone.

Convey took a deep breath. "Look, there's a truck stop ahead. How about I call the boss, and you talk money to him?"

"Perhaps there will be food available," said Arachne.

"And I need to wee," piped little Priones. "Soon."

Neoptolemeus said nothing. He just concentrated on the gears and the physical operations of the vehicle, imitating the movements of the driver.

That was the most worrying thing of all, maybe.

"We're two blocks from the Pyramid Exclusion Zone," said Convey. "I can't take you any farther." There wasn't much traffic here. The road didn't go anywhere anymore.

"So you see," said Arachne, smiling devastatingly and handing over a wad of crisp $100 notes. "It wasn't that hard."

Medea nodded. "The seats are better padded in these chariots than in mine. Now, children, let's get going."

"Will you teach me to drive someday?" asked Neoptolemeus as he scrambled out. "I want to drive a chariot with so many horses under the hood."

"I just want to see how you fit them all in," piped Priones. "And I want to wee." It seemed like that was the kid's favorite statement.

One of the dragons sniffed. "Can smell Cruz," he said happily.

"Right," said Medea. "Let's go. Up you get, children."

Mike felt sorry for someone.

The dragons began to slowly rise, spiky and glittering above the roadway, and definitely headed toward the exclusion zone. Convey watched, shrugged, and decided that it was a good time to get into his truck and get the hell out of here.

Eric Flint Dave Freer

Pyramid Power

Agent Schmitt bravely arrested Johnny Bravo for molesting the Cow, and shot the Chicken, while, Ed, Ed and Eddy cheered. But did they have to cheer so loudly?

He opened his eyes. Ed, Ed and Eddy were cheering… on the TV screen in front of him. They weren't, his confused mind realized, cheering for him. Maybe they were cheering Agent Erskine. They couldn't be cheering for that useless idiot Reno. But what had Erskine done to get cheered? He was snoring his head off, the side of his face covered in either some horrific scabrous disease, or dried Coco Pops. He hadn't shot the Cow and arrested the Chicken for molesting Johnny Bravo…

Something was wrong! With a force of will, Agent Schmitt tried two things. First, to sit up. Second, to think clearly.

Schmitt failed entirely at the first task. He tried to use his hands and it appeared that they were tied together. His head did clear slightly, though. He remembered drinking part of a truly terrible cup of coffee, before taking the detainees…