The Beasts Of Valhalla

28

Stunned by the death of Hugo, racked by guilt, I sat in a corner of our dungeon cell and mourned in silence. Garth understood and left me alone.

After dinner we had a visitor-Stryder London. The head of Siegmund Loge's private army was out of uniform; he wore a pinstriped suit under a camel's hair topcoat-they were his traveling clothes, I decided, his "real people" disguise. In each hand he carried a cylindrical metal canister.

"What the fuck do you want?" Garth growled.

"I came to say good-bye," the man with the close-cropped hair and hard eyes replied evenly. "You both have great courage. I have considerable respect for the Frederickson brothers, and I'm sorry things are the way they are."

"That's touching, London." Garth turned to me. "Mongo, don't be rude. Come on over here and say bye-bye to the nice man."

I got to my feet, walked to the front of the cell. I pointed to the canisters. "You've got Garth and me in there, right?"

"Yes," London answered simply.

"You're taking the biosamples to Siegmund Loge."

London did not reply.

"Where is he, London? Where does Siegmund Loge hang out?" When he remained silent, I shook my head impatiently. "For Christ's sake, London, Garth and I are probably going to be dead soon. What difference does it make what you tell us?"

"It makes a difference to me. It's a matter of security which is unrelated to the question of your survival."

"You're a pisser, London-as well as a traitor."

Stryder London stiffened. "Does it make you feel better to insult me, Frederickson? I'm not responsible for what's happened to you."

"You work for the people who are responsible. It makes me feel better to state the truth when everybody else is telling lies, even to themselves. There are no good Nazis; it's not enough to say that you're following orders."

"I am following orders, but I'm following them because I choose to. I take full responsibility for my actions."

"You choose to work for these homicidal maniacs? You want to take responsibility for what goes on in Ramdor?"

"My responsibility is to Siegmund Loge, and his goals may be different from what you think they are. You shouldn't take anything anybody around here says too seriously. They're unbalanced, as I'm sure you've noticed."

That got a hoot of laughter from Garth and me.

"I knew it!" Garth said. "They are making cheesecake!"

London frowned. "What does that mean?"

"Forget it," Garth said with a derisive gesture of dismissal.

"What are Siegmund Loge's goals?" I asked.

Silence.

"It doesn't make any difference, London. You're still a traitor."

"You're wrong, Frederickson," the Warrior said in a low voice that trembled just slightly. "If I were free to tell you certain things, you'd understand-and might even approve of what Siegmund Loge will accomplish. It's for the good of America-the America we used to know, and the America that will exist once again."

"Oh, yeah; that good old America-the one that sneaks up on its enemies and turns them all-man, woman, and child-into monsters."

London shook his head. "No. That's not what Project Valhalla is about."

"Your security has already been breached, London. The demented delinquent upstairs-the one with the baseball cap-already admitted as much to us."

"Dr. Siegfried Loge is a brilliant scientist, Frederickson; the work at Ramdor must be done, no matter how unattractive it may appear to you. However, Dr. Loge often has difficulty separating reality from his own personal fantasies. When it comes to his father's ultimate goals, he doesn't know what's he's talking about."

"Huh?"

"There will be no monsters created-except for the two of you, and that was an accident; a fortuitous accident, but still an accident."

"Accident, bullshit. Jake Bolesh was plugged into the command network of Project Valhalla, just as you are."

"You purposely miss my point, Frederickson. What Siegmund Loge is doing is for the benefit of all mankind."

"You and Hugo must have hit it off real good."

"Order, Frederickson," Stryder London said quietly. "That's what the Valhalla Project is about."

The statement wafted about in the dungeon air, went in one of my ears and out the other, then came back in and squatted; it was cold. "Genetic control of behavior," I said.

"Yes," London said evenly. "Everything that's been done, and is being done, is part of a search for the specific genes that control behavior." "You may be hunting a ghost. How can you put a net around what makes us individuals?"

"No, Frederickson; the hunt is for those genes which bind us to the group and which compel us to work for the common good under the command of leaders."

"What leaders?"

"Those men who are fit to lead."

"I note that you don't say 'elected' to lead."

"Don't play that silly patriotic game with me, Frederickson; we're both too sophisticated. Democracy is a farce. You're a criminologist, and you know it's a farce. Only fools, phonies, or idiots ever go into politics, and so only fools, phonies, or idiots are ever elected to office. Our society falls apart, and thus the world falls apart."

"Because our society should lead the world?"

"Of course. I'm a man of peace, Frederickson, and soon we will have peace; we'll have peace because we'll have order."

"Because everyone will do what the government tells them to do."

"Yes. The entire world will be a place of peace and order."

"Under the control of Siegmund Loge, your fuehrer."

"Under the control of Siegmund Loge, my leader, and the one man best suited to bring our species back from the brink of destruction where it finds itself."

"Is there a religious angle to any of this?"

"Not really. In an ordered, peaceful society free of stress and delusion, all men will naturally gravitate toward Christ, since Christ is God's Son, and mankind's Savior. However, Jesus taught us that it is right to render unto Caesar what is Caesar's, and unto God what is God's. We are Caesar; with us in command, Christianity will naturally flourish."

"I think I prefer the version Father feeds his flock," Garth said drily. "It has more meat to it."

"He's getting ready to experiment on those people, isn't he, London?" I asked.

The Warrior shrugged. "Eventually, yes. Since some initial experimentation will be needed, who better to use than those who will submit joyfully?"

"He already controls their behavior."

London smiled thinly. "You'd be surprised how many different types of communes there are, Dr. Frederickson."

"Nothing about any of you people or Project Valhalla would surprise me anymore. On the other hand, there may be a surprise in store for you."

"What would that be?"

"You keep forgetting Mr. Lippitt. I'm betting our old man blows away your old man, and that'll be all she wrote on Project Valhalla."

"I'm sorry to take away your last hope," London said with apparent sincerity. "There's no longer any chance of that happening. I also came to tell you that I regret what's about to take place. I don't believe in unnecessary killing, or in torture, but certain things at Ramdor are outside my areas of responsibility and control." He paused, nodded in the direction of the great wooden door. The door banged open, and two Warriors dragged a bleeding, feebly struggling, semiconscious bald man down the corridor.

"Lippitt!"

"Frederickson," Mr. Lippitt gasped as he turned his head toward me. "You must- "

That was all he was able to say before the Warriors threw him into the black cell and the steel door crashed down from the ceiling.

"Let us talk to him!" I said to London.

Stryder London slowly shook his head.

"Why the hell not?" Garth snapped.

"Security."

"Fuck security," Garth said. "He's our friend, and he's about to be killed. You're not an evil man; now try being a kind man. Let Mongo and me talk to him before he's murdered."

"I'm sorry," London said, turning toward the door. "Good-bye." Flanked by the other two Warriors, London walked out of the dungeon, and the door closed behind them.

"Lippitt!" I shouted. "Lippitt, can you hear me?!"

There was nothing but silence; either the black cell was soundproofed, or Lippitt had lapsed into unconsciousness. In the Treasure Room, Siegfried Loge and his son would be waiting to cast Mr. Lippitt into Mount Doom.

"Mongo, we owe that bald-headed son-of-a-bitch," Garth said in a low, tense voice. "Besides that, he's our only link to whatever else is going on outside here. We don't have any idea where London is headed; Lippitt may. I suggest we make a move."

"Yep."

"Where the hell is the panic button in this cell?"

Hidden under my overalls, inside my belt.

Shhh.

I slipped Whisper up between Garth's neck and his choke collar, pulled; the blade of Damascus steel sliced through the leather and wire constraint as if it were no more than a band of silk. I cut away my own collar, threw it away into a corner, then handed the blade to Garth. "You're better at picking locks than I am; see what you can do with the tip of this."

Holding Whisper like a pen, Garth knelt down before the large, rusty lock and probed the keyhole with the blade's tip. He worked at it for more than a minute, paused to wipe sweat from his brow, then went at it again.

"Uh, I don't want to hurry you, Garth, but one could say that time is of the essence."

Garth nodded, continued to work. I could hear Whisper grating against steel, but there was no clicking of tumblers; her blade was too wide to gain the necessary penetration.

"This isn't going to work," Garth said tensely, leaning back and resting on his knees.

"Garth, it has to work! Our only chance is to get to Loge before he forces Lippitt out onto the face of that rock wall! Try jamming the knife and twisting!"

"That'll only make matters worse," Garth said as he flipped Whisper over in his hand, handed her back to me. He slumped forward, bowed his head as if in prayer, and planted his palms flat on the floor on either side of him. He murmured, "I'm going to try something."

"Garth…?"

"There's an aura that precedes each seizure," he said in a voice so low I could hardly hear him. "Just before I get hit with one, I feel like I can take off and fly; there's a high whine in my head, and a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. If I can concentrate… try to touch those sounds and feelings… maybe I can…"

"You're going to try and induce an attack? Garth, I don't know. We're in pretty close quarters here; you're liable to kill us both."

His spine stiffened, and both arms started to twitch. I was afraid.

"Garth, wait! What am I supposed to-?!"

"You.. go," Garth mumbled through tightly clenched jaws. I watched in terror and awe as Garth, his entire body twitching, struggled to his feet. His eyes bulged, and the cords in his neck stood out like steel cables. Spittle dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

"Garth!"

"Leave… me. Kill… fucking… Loges."

Then he hit the door with his shoulder; the bars shook, and the bolt securing the door clanged in its socket. Garth hit the lock with his hip, spun around and grabbed the bars of the doors with both hands. Animal moans of agony and rage escaped from his froth-flecked lips as he shook the bars, banged against them with his shoulders, hit the rusty plate of the lock with his hips. He spun around, staggered to the rear of the cell, then turned and charged the door. At the last moment he lowered his shoulder and banged it against the plate.

The bolt snapped, the door crashed open, and Garth fell into the corridor.

Ignoring the possibility that he would snap me next, I rushed to him, rolled him over on his back and wiped the froth off his mouth. His arms were flapping around, and I lay across his chest, trying to pin him; it was a ridiculous gesture, his dwarf brother trying to pin two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of rock-hard Garth when he was in the midst of a seizure, but it was the only thing I could think of. I didn't want him to die, and I wasn't going to leave him behind.

The flapping stopped. Somewhat amazed that I was all in one piece, I slowly eased myself off him, looked into his face. Sweat was pouring off him, and his eyes were filled with-terror. He was trembling now, but not from the seizure.

"Garth?"

"Mongo, I'm afraid. It's like… white-hot wires inside my head. I think I broke something in my mind."

"No! I'll take care of you, Garth. You'll be all right." I got to my feet, struggled to pull Garth to his. "Come on! We have to move!"

Garth struggled to his feet and, with me pulling at his sleeve, we ran down the corridor. The two Warriors who had thrown Mr. Lippitt into the black cell came through the door. Garth literally ran over one, hitting him under the chin with his elbow and knocking him very cold. I slammed the other one in the solar plexus with Whisper's handle, followed up with a kick to the groin and a rabbit punch. He joined his colleague on the dank stone floor, and Garth and I raced along the narrow, slightly curving corridor that we knew led to a short flight of stairs that led to a door opening into the ranch house, close to the corridor that led to the Treasure Room.

I didn't much care for the sounds Garth was making in his throat.

We went up the steps, through the door, and into the house. The door in the house had been left open, and we sprinted down the stone corridor. The door at the far end was closed; without slowing, Garth smashed into it, taking the force of impact on his right shoulder. The door crashed open, and we stepped into the red glow of the Treasure Room.

Siegfried and Obie Loge spun around, saw us, and scrambled off in opposite directions. Garth hit Siegfried Loge across the back with a forearm, sending him somersaulting through the air and crashing into a wall-but not before he had pushed another button on the microphone. The lights in the Treasure Room began to flash, and somewhere a siren wailed.

Obie Loge, screeching with panic, ran around me. I had no time to bother with him, and so I let him go. I had other things on my mind, for I could see that we were too late to save Mr. Lippitt from Mount Doom. Through the Plexiglas shield, I could see the old man teetering on the edge of a ledge as he flailed with his torch at the leathery flying things that flapped all around him. He was very close to the mouth of a small cave, and could make it there if he wasn't blinded or knocked off the steps.

Garth was huddled on the floor, trembling, his arms wrapped around his body. "Mongo, I'm sorry," he said in a voice that quavered with fear. "I… can't seem to…"

"It's all right!" I shouted as I picked up a piece of sculpture and hurled it at the shield. "You're doing fine! Just hang on!"

The sculpture bounced off the shield. I picked up the piano stool by two legs, spun around a couple of times and hurled that; it bounced back and almost took my head off.

Shhh.

Holding Whisper above my head with both hands, I charged forward, stabbed at the Plexiglas; Whisper's point penetrated the shield, and her blade slid down as easily as if I'd been slicing cheese. I cut out a window, which blew back over my head as the superheated air inside Mount Doom immediately rushed toward the cooler air and lower pressure of the Treasure Room. Instantly, my nostrils were filled with the odor of death and heat.

"South!" I screamed at Lippitt through the opening, holding on to the edges of the window with both hands to keep from being blown backward. "Head south!"

He couldn't hear me, of course, but I'd created enough of a commotion to distract the flappers-which were now riding the rushing air currents directly toward the window.

"South!" I screamed again, accentuating the movement of my mouth in the hope that he could read my lips. "South! South!"

Then I ducked as one of the flying things, lidless eyes wide and toothed jaws agape, crashed through the opening-and into the face of Siegfried Loge, who had struggled to his feet and was coming up behind me. He screamed, reeled around, and clawed at the thing that was clawing at his face.

"Mongo, fire!" Garth shouted. He had risen to his feet and was holding his head with both hands. "Fire! It's coming up! I can smell it! We have to get out of here!"

Cutting out the window had instantly transformed the Treasure Room, the open corridor and the ranch house beyond into a kind of superchimney. There was about to be one dandy of a chimney fire, and it did seem a good idea to absent ourselves; the problem was that I could hear a lot of running footsteps in the corridor.

"The elevator!" I shouted, ducking and running toward Garth as a blast of flame, smoke, and a roasted flapper shot over my head. "Hit the elevator button!"

Although he was still shaking with terror, Garth managed to press the button next to the elevator. The door opened with gratifying quickness; I grabbed Garth's shirt with both hands, dragged him in after me, punched the single button inside. The door sighed shut on a Treasure Room rapidly filling with flame, smoke, poison gas, blown-in dead flappers, and screaming Warriors.

Now that I'd transformed the neighborhood into a fairly serious inferno, it remained to be seen whether the elevator, which had to pass through that neighborhood, was going to work. Nothing was happening; there was only the one button, and on our previous trip I'd noticed that the door opened when the button was pressed a second time. That didn't seem like a good idea.

In frustration, I kicked a wall. The elevator jerked up a few feet, stopped. I kicked the wall again. Twice. Once again the elevator jerked upward-but this time it kept going, through a kaleidoscope of stone and fire, all the way to the top. I pushed the button to open the door. Nothing happened. I kicked the wall; nothing happened.

Shhh.

I jammed Whisper between the edge of the door and the jamb, jimmied her back and forth. The door opened and we stepped out into the animal laboratory, where the glass cages had already been restocked. We started toward the entrance at the far end, came to an abrupt halt when the door opened and Obie Loge and Golly came in.

Obie Loge wasn't going to fool with any tranquilizer guns; he saw us, drew his machine pistol from his holster, aimed and fired off a burst as Garth and I dove behind one of the steel columns that supported the glass enclosures.

Another burst. Bullets ricocheted crazily back and forth between the steel columns, but somehow managed to miss Garth and me. Glass shattered, and suddenly the cool air was filled with terrible smells and terrible screams; fluids sprayed over us, tormented creatures flopped to the floor all around, quivered, crawled, rolled.

Garth wrapped his handkerchief around his hand, picked up a long, jagged shard of glass, looked at me and made a circling motion with his hand; there was still fear in his face, but it was tempered now with determination, dampened by my brother's incredible courage. I nodded to him, then darted across open space to the next row of cages, crouched, and waited as more bullets ricocheted around.

The understanding between Garth and me was unspoken, but clear; whoever got the first shot at the kid and the gorilla would go for them, sacrificing his life if need be. One of us had to survive and escape Ramdor.

Project Valhalla had to be stopped.

Suddenly the firing stopped. There was the sound of something metallic falling to the floor, then another scream-this one human.

A few seconds later Golly came strolling down between the rows with a screaming, struggling Obie Loge draped over her shoulder. Garth and I straightened up, glanced at each other, then watched Golly open the waste chute and casually dump Obie Loge down it. His screams were abruptly cut off as the cover slammed shut.

If there is such a thing as a gorilla grin, that's what Golly was wearing.

GOLLY WASTE FUCKING OBIE

Yes, indeedy. And suddenly I knew how I was going to get to Mr. Lippitt, who, if he had made it into a cave in time to escape the holocaust in the chasm, could probably use a little help, as well as provide some very helpful information.

"You are the most beautiful gorilla in the whole world," I said as I went up to Golly, wrapped my arms around her neck and planted a very wet kiss on her wrinkled brow. Then I turned to Garth. "Go back to the van and wait for me. I'll see you later."

Garth smiled tentatively. "You will, huh? Where the hell are you going?"

"Garth, I will see you," I said as I closed my eyes, took off my glasses and put them in their case in a pocket in my overalls. I reached out, found the handle on the waste chute cover. "You just get your ass out of here and back to the van. Don't worry; I know what I'm doing."

"Mongo, no!!"

"Don't worry," I repeated as I pulled open the cover and executed a rather neat little hop and roll into the waste chute. "Ciao."

It was a fast track down, made even faster by slicks on the metal left by decomposing or devolving animals. I landed hard on the pile of bones, scattering them, and immediately started slashing with Whisper. But Whisper wasn't needed, at least not at the moment. The little critters who fed at the bottom of the waste chute were occupied elsewhere; there were indeed a lot of crunching and munching sounds down there, and they were all coming from a writhing mound of black hair, teeth and tentacles to my right, at the base of the bone pile. If he hadn't been at the bottom of the mound, Obie Loge probably would have immensely enjoyed the spectacle.

I rolled to my left, just in time to avoid being squashed by Garth as he came crashing into the pile of bones.

"Mongo!" he cried, groping in the darkness until he found me, then squeezing my arms so hard I thought they'd break. "Are you all right? I can't see a damn thing!"

"I'm all right, I can see, and what the fuck are you doing here? — not necessarily in that order."

He didn't have time to answer as the next tourist landed and bowled us both over. I just managed to grab her hand and pull her back as she started to slide down toward the writhing mound-which was now starting to move in our direction.

GOLLY FUCKING HELP

"Let's get out of here," I said, grabbing Garth's hand and sliding down the pile of bones.

Golly, who could apparently also see by the faint, cold, chemical luminescence given off by fungus growing on the walls of the burnt-out mine tunnel, followed. Keeping a tight grip on Garth's hand, I ran down the tunnel, turned into the first one branching to the right. Golly loped up beside me, and I slowed to a fast walk.

"How's the head?" I asked Garth.

"I'm scared out of my fucking mind, Mongo, and it's a good thing for you I am. If I weren't, I'd probably break your back for coming down here."

"We'll get out-but I don't think Lippitt can without my help. I love you both very much for coming down to help me. I know what it cost you, climbing into that chute blind, and realize how very much you love me. Thank you both."

"Fuck you, Mongo. If we ever get out of here, and I most certainly do not share your boundless optimism, I may still break your back."

"Excellent. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

GOLLY FUCKING AFRAID TOO

"That makes three of us, sweetheart."

I pulled Garth to a halt, and Golly edged closer to me as dozens of eyes belonging to dozens of nasty-looking, bow-legged, chattering things skittered toward us. I pushed Garth back against the wall, gripped Whisper in both hands, and braced for the onslaught.

FUCK YOU

The chattering, skittering mob stopped.

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

FUCK YOU

Apparently thoroughly frightened by the flashing green lights on Golly's display screen, the things turned and scurried away.

"Good girl," I said, giving Golly a hug.

"What the hell was that all about?" Garth asked as I again took his hand and started off down the tunnel.

"Don't ask."

"Bad company, huh?"

"Nobody promised you a rose garden when you came down that chute, brother."

"Ho-ho-ho. You told Lippitt to head south. Why?"

"Because that's where the dragon is, silly."

"What?"

"The Loges' dragon is a fucking cow-a Guernsey, to be exact. I should know; I milked enough of them to recognize the hide markings when I see them. Our dear, departed hosts were always oblivious to everything around them except for what they were doing or dreaming about. With all this fantasy shit, they managed to spook their own brains away. If a cow managed to wander into these mines somewhere to the south, then we can wander out somewhere to the south."

"You're pretty fucking clever for a dwarf."

MONGO FUCKING SMART DWARF

"Thanks, guys. I really wish you'd both waited in the van."

"Next question: How do you know which way is south?"

"I know which way is north."

"I knew before I got down here, but now I can just about handle left and… what?"

"I said I know which way is north."

"How?"

"You ready for this?"

"Damn. Another symptom?"

"There must be some homing pigeon mixed in with all my reptile-although some amphibians share the characteristic. I seem to be wired into the earth's magnetic field. For the past two or three weeks, there's been something like a soft breeze blowing through my head; it always blows from south to north."

"No shit?"

"You'd better hope it's no shit. For some reason, I'm already tired of this place."