“It does to me.”
“I’m afraid I cannot explain in any more detail. You simply lack the vocabulary. Now, will you folks take this to the Celebration in California?
If the machine is to work efficiently, it will need to be set somewhere roughly level with the translation projectors that are already there.”
“And where are they?” Alice asked.
“My understanding is that they are mounted in the upper tier of the ziggurats at either end of the avenue.”
“If you know so much,” Dubhe said rudely, “why don’t you take it there yourself?”
The Master cocked an eyebrow at the skinny black monkey.
“Because I cannot cross the interface between Virtu and Verite. And, no, it cannot be set up on Mount Meru. The gods or their minions would find it there and they are far too powerful within their own realm.”
Jay glanced at Alice who nodded.
“All right, we’ll take it and, to be honest, be glad to have it. I wasn’t really delighted with the idea of trying to get inside one of the ziggurats and whaling away with a crowbar.”
“Thank you, Jay Donnerjack.”
Alice cleared her throat. “Can I ask one question, sir?”
“Yes.”
“What would you have done if Jay and I hadn’t come along? What good would this device have been without someone who could cross the interface?”
“That is two questions.” Again the Master smiled. He seemed to be having a marvelous time. “But I will answer them both as best I can. I do not believe that I would have designed this machine if I had not known of your abilities. One of my sobriquets is the One Who Waits. In a sense, I have been waiting for you.”
“Did you cause us to be born, then?” Jay asked.
“No, not at all. In your case, Death was much more responsible—if anyone other than your parents could be said to be responsible. Alice was of her parents’ making.”
Jay looked as if he had more questions to ask, but Alice shook her head and touched him lightly on the arm.
“Not now, Jay. Even though this place seems timeless, my watch insists that time is passing. In RT, the Elshies must have gotten Arthur Eden’s distraction under control. We don’t want to be too late.”
“Yeah.” Jay bit his lip as if that would help keep the questions inside. “Thank you, sir.”
“You are entirely welcome, young man. As I took you off your course, I will do my best to put you back on.”
Jay bent and picked up the Master’s strange device. Alice raised a hand as if to help him.
“No, I’ve got it. It’s amazingly light.”
“So it needs to be,” the Master said, “if it is to get where it is going. Good luck and, when you get there, don’t forget to look up.”
“Wha…”
The Hierophant handed Bel Marduk a beer. The god straightened his headdress, tilted back his head, and drained the bottle in a swallow.
“How much longer are we expected to wait?” he growled.
Until the Church of Elish started its rituals, Bel Marduk had been relegated to a lesser realm in Virtu with squatters’ rights on some of the middle heights of Meru. Now, fortified with the mana harvested from his modern worshipers, he was as arrogant as he had been in the greatest days of his original evolution. As a god of law, he remembered his debts and rarely grew too arrogant with the aion who had been his contact with this route to power. Today, however, he was tired and irritable. His grand entry and the mana he expected from it had been delayed.
A peevish, fire-breathing, greater god is not to be trifled with, so A. I. Aisles didn’t say the first four or five snappy rejoinders that came to mind. Instead he handed Bel Marduk another beer.
“It should be soon enough. When the crowd is ripe and the harvest worth getting, they’ll give us the signal.”
“They had better not let Ishtar through first.”
“Of course not. She’s set to come out after you.”
A. I. Aisles had arranged that himself. Marduk was old hat now— the babe goddess would make the covers of every newsie in the world, especially with that costume they had made for her.
He grinned in salacious anticipation. Marduk interpreted this to mean that the Hierophant was certain that all was under control and relaxed.
The door to what Aisles had dubbed the Green Room (and then Marduk had asked why the walls and furnishings were not green) opened. Ben Kwinan, clad as a temple flunky, entered and bowed.
“They have begun with the lesser deities, Great Marduk. If you and the Hierophant would take your places as we rehearsed.”
“I slew Tiamat without coaching, little creature,” Bel Marduk said, spitting just a little fire. “I do not need your reminders.”
Kwinan scuttled away so that the god could venture forth. The Hierophant followed. He winked at Kwinan and tossed him something. Kwinan caught it.
“Don’t take any wooden nickels, kid.”
He strode by, reeking of beer. Kwinan looked at what rested in his hand. It was a wooden nickel.
Jay, Alice, and Dubhe emerged from their conference with the Master at the base of a hibiscus-and vine-draped ziggurat. Although they were at the back, away from the congregation at large, they had little trouble telling to what point the Celebration had progressed.
“That’s the opening of the second hymn in honor of Marduk,” Jay said. “Damn! I did talk too much.”
“Uh, Jay,” Alice said, looking up with a peculiar expression on her face, “I think we have bigger things to worry about.”
Jay followed the direction of her gaze and swallowed hard as he saw the two winged bulls circling overhead. Even as they noticed him, they folded back their wings and, with a hawklike stoop that should have been impossible for anything of their size, dove toward them.
“Shit!” he yelled.
Dubhe had already made his agile way up the first step of the ziggurat. Alice had set her back against the stone and was aiming her CF pistol.
“Jay, give me your hand and I’ll help you up!” Dubhe cried.
“Damn machine’s too…” Jay paused. “Take the machine, Dubhe. Take it to the top and flip the switch. Alice and I will deal with the bulls.”
“Me?”
Jay thrust the machine at the monkey, felt the weight shift as Dubhe grabbed it.
“Do it, Dubhe. It’s light enough, just bulky.”
“Me?” squeaked the monkey, but the device began to rise.
When Jay spared attention from getting a rope and grapnel from his gear, he saw that Dubhe was dragging the machine up.
“I hope that thing’s made to take a licking,” he muttered as he hooked an upper step and hauled himself up.
Had anyone cared to look around the back of the western ziggurat, they would have seen an amazing battle. A young woman holding a CF
pistol in an approved grip fired alternating rounds into two winged bulls. The bulls, seeming more annoyed than hurt by the assault, were forced to ground, where their size put them at a disadvantage since their favored attack apparently consisted of landing on their prey with the intent to squash. Now, however, they drew back, wings close to their flanks, and lowered their heads to charge.
“Alice!” Jay called. “Grab hold.”
He tossed the end of a solidly anchored rope to her. Stuffing her pistol in her waistband, she grabbed it and let him pull her up. The barked shin and skinned elbow the operation entailed seemed a good alternative to being at the receiving end of the bulls’ charge. As it was, they heard the plasterboard at the base of the pseudo-ziggurat crack.
“Good shooting,” Jay gasped. “I think the drums from the hymn covered any noise we made.”
“Where’s Dubhe?”