MYTH-Interpretations: The Worlds of Robert Asprin (32 page)

Sammy:
Spare us the lecture, George.

Lori:
(to Weston)
George is our pet violence expert.

Weston:
I see. Where did you pick up all these gems of wisdom, George? In the Army?

George:
Nah. I tried to enlist, but the combat units were full up. This is just a hobby for me, just like
(holds up the wires he's working on)
explosives.

Weston:
Is he actually booby-trapping the door?

Sammy:
That's right.

Weston:
Why?

Lori:
So if the police try to bust down the door, we'll all go up.

George:
It's a deterrent so they won't try to rush us.

Weston:
Have you told anybody yet? I don't remember hearing anything when you were talking on the phone.

Lori:
Hey, he's right. You'd better call the police, Sammy.

Sammy:
Right.
(Starts for phone)

Weston:
If you don't mind my saying so, you seem kind of new to this Terrorist game.

Lori:
You're right. We just got together after the announcement about—

Sammy:
(phone in hand)
Hey! Lori! What's the phone number for the police?

Lori:
I thought you had it memorized.

Sammy:
(puzzled)
I did. Well, I've forgotten
.
.
.
Never mind. I'll look it up.

George:
(standing up)
All done, Sammy.

Weston:
(craning his neck to see)
It doesn't look very complicated.

George:
It isn't.
(points)
If they open the door, these two wires make contact—

Lori:
Don't show him, you idiot.

George:
Big deal. Anybody could figure it out just by looking at it.

Weston:
You know, George, what you were saying about retarding Man's intelligence—if that happened, wouldn't everybody be the same? I mean, if we could have stopped our intellectual evolution in the Middle Ages, all that would mean is that we'd all be fighting with cross-bows instead of guns.

George:
You're right. To be totally successful, it would have to be an unequal process. Let a select populace—the police or whoever—evolve normally and retard everybody else so they couldn't think of weapons to top what the police have. Better still, if you could drain their memory so they couldn't even use existing weapons.
(smiles suddenly)
You know, if you could do that, you'd have the Ultimate Weapon.

Weston:
But I thought you said there was no such thing as an Ultimate Weapon.

George:
(frowns)
I did? Yeah, I guess I did.

Lori:
Haven't you found that number yet, Sammy?

Sammy:
(flipping through phone book)
I'm having trouble finding it. What letter does ‘police' start with?

Weston:
What?

(Phone rings)

Sammy:
(answering phone)
Hello
.
.
.
who?
.
.
.
Oh, yeah. That's us
.
.
.
I mean, speaking
.
.
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Our demands?
.
.
.
Well, we want
.
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.
um
.
.
.
(hesitates, frowns as he drops the phone from ear and shakes his head. Finally speaks into receiver again)
Don't try to stall us, you know what they are
.
.
.
that's right.

Weston:
(to Lori)
Can't he remember the demands?

Lori:
Of course he can
.
.
.
(suddenly frowns thoughtfully and looks absently at floor)

George:
(approaching Lori with camera)
Say, Lori, how do you set the shutter speed on this thing?

Lori:
Not now, George.

Sammy:
Okay
.
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Yes, that will do
.
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No, that's all we want
.
.
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fine
.
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thank you.
(hangs up phone)
Well, that's that. Okay, Weston, you can go now.

Weston:
What?

Sammy:
That's right. We've won!

Lori:
(leans shotgun against desk and runs to Sammy)
Oh, Sammy! We did it!
(They hug—Sammy frees an arm to shake hands with George)

Weston:
(bewilderment)
Wait a minute! What happened?

Sammy:
They gave in. They won't test the weapon. We've won.

Weston:
Just like that? What guarantees did they give you?

Sammy:
(frowns)
Guarantees? They gave us their word.

Weston:
That's all?

Lori:
What more do we need? If we don't trust our country's leaders, who can we trust?

Weston:
But this whole thing was because you didn't trust them.

Lori:
No, it wasn't!

Sammy:
Of course not. It was because.
.
.
.
(frowns and looks at the other two)

Weston:
My God!

George:
What is it?

Weston:
My God! It's happened. Just like you said, George. The Ultimate Weapon! Intelligence drain!

George:
What?

Weston:
Don't you see? That's the weapon. And they've already tested it! They've tested on you! All of you!

George:
What are you talking about?

Weston:
Your theory. You sat right there and said the Ultimate Weapon would have to be an Intelligence Drain. Don't you remember?

(George frowns, then shrugs hopelessly)

Weston:
Think, damn you!
(Weston shakes him)

Sammy:
Hey, ease up, Weston. What's your gripe? It's all over.

Weston:
No, it isn't! It's just the beginning. Look. Get them back on the phone and tell them—

Sammy:
Get who back on the phone?

Weston:
Never mind, I'll do it myself.
(picks up phone angrily)

George:
Hey! If you're busy, we'll just clear out and let you work.

Sammy:
Right. C'mon Lori.

Weston:
Wait!

George:
What?

Weston:
The bomb! Don't you remember the bomb?

George:
(squints at door)
Is that what it is? How can we get past it?

Weston:
But you
.
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wait, just stand there. Don't move. Any of you.
(dials phone)
Preswell?
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Weston here
.
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Yes, I'm fine
.
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No, listen
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No! Dammit! You listen to me
.
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it's an Intelligence Drain, isn't it
.
.
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the new weapon
.
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no, I don't think it's great! Who the hell decided to use it
.
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Who made him God?
.
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You're damn straight I'm mad. So will everybody else be
.
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that's right, I'm going to the press
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Bullshit!
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You're crazier than they are!
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Oh, go to hell!
(slams phone down)
The bastards! You kids were right.

Lori:
About what?

Weston:
About everything. Country leaders
.
.
.
a bunch of megalo-maniacs, that's what they are!

Sammy:
What are you talking about?

Weston:
(picking up phone)
You'll see. When I tell the press—
(freezes with look of horror on face)
I can't remember! I can't remember a single news service. It's happening!
(drops phone and starts for door)
They're using it on me now. We've got to get out of here—
(stops and stares at door)
The bomb! Got to disarm it.
(kneels down and reaches forward hesitantly)
Simple. Anyone can understand it.
(the others gather behind him)
The bastards!
(licks his lips and reaches forward)

(Flood stage with red light. All freeze)

(Radio announcer's voice from PA system)

Radio:
Press Secretary Weston was killed in his office today in an abortive terrorist attempt. The President will attend funeral services tomorrow—Elsewhere in the news, Air Force officials again deny reports of UFOs sighted over the country. Citizens are advised to remain calm until investigations are complete.

CURTAIN)

The Saga of the Dark Horde

As Told by
Yang the Nauseating

Many and long are the tales told of the Dark Horde. As they are told and retold around the council fires, the heroic exploits of their ancestors grow until it is often difficult to distinguish fact from fantasy. Yet, it cannot be denied that during the reign of Ogati, son of Genghis Khan, a group did leave the Golden Horde and, under the title of the Dark Horde, begin to roam the continent. Thirteen generations later, they still exist in the bodies and spirits of the descendents and, again, the mystic power of the Mongol Hordes is being felt. Who are these people? From whence came their power? Their pride? Their codes? To know the men of the present, we must know their ancestors, the forces that shaped their destiny, and the threats they have survived.

This is the story of the Dark Horde from its beginning. In the last episode was chronicled the arrival of he who was to be known as the Warlord of Darkness and the Dark Horde. Bork of the Mountains had sought to removing the embarrassing (to Bork) Yang of the Silver Tongue from his place of influence as the councilor of the Ka-Khan. He approached Zalbar, a wizard and practitioner of the Black Arts, and gained his promise of a curse to be laid upon the Silver-tongued One: that at the time he should feel the most pressure, the most pressure, the greatest fear, at that time his nimble tongue would desert him, as well as his other poised airs, and in their stead should come the most brutish, vicious savage to ever gain access to the Ka-Khan's yurt.

This should have effectively destroyed Yang of the Silver Tongue, but the curse backfired. At the moment of Yang's greatest fear, his personality vanished, and in his stead was born Basta, a savage and ruthless warrior. Basta slaughtered the evil wizard, Zalbar, and would have turned on Bork, had not the mountain man declared that he had no further quarrel with Yang, and therefore no quarrel with Basta. The two (or was it three?) became fast friends and allies in the struggle against the ill-rule of Ogati, Ka-Khan of the Golden Horde.
.
.
.

Bork of the Mountains was clearly in a hurry. His powerful steed plunged headlong through the camp, scattering cooking fires and people before it, as he leaned forward along its neck, urging it to still greater speed. Finally, he ceased the frothing animal's mad progress, throwing it back on its haunches so violently that it almost fell, and in the same move, was off its back and sprinting through the door of a yurt.

"Basta!" his voice boomed. "We are finished! Our plans are undone!"

The purring voice that answered him did little to settle his mind. "Must you always explode noisily onto the scene, Bork? It would seem that is you, and not our plans, that have become undone."

Anger flared in Bork as the slender figure of Yang of the Silver Tongue stepped into the candlelight. Though the two were fast friends, Yang could still irritate him by remaining superficially calm in the most trying of situations. In his present stormy mood, Bork was in no condition for Yang's verbal fencing. Eyes blazing, he snatched his sword from its scabbard.

"None of your pretty word games! I tell you, we are in trouble! Now, summon Basta, or by the Gods I'll—"

He began to advance the sword in a threatening gesture, but suddenly found the movement restricted. Glancing down, he saw that his sleeve was pinned to the top of the low, lacquered table by a small, quivering throwing knife.

"A threat from you, my friend? After all these years?" The resounding voice of Basta of the Red Fist filled the tent, chilling in its controlled menace.

Bork's anger died as quickly as it had risen. "Forgive me, Basta, but my spirit cries for action before this crisis." As he spoke, he returned his weapon to its sheath; taking care to move slowly, he grasped the sword by the blade with his left hand, and eased it into the scabbard without gripping its handle,
before
removing the dart that imprisoned his left hand. Once before, under similar circumstances, he had made the mistake of switching the weapon rapidly to his left hand. The results were near-disastrous and, even though Yang himself had helped to bind the wound, he still wore the scar of that encounter. Bork had learned his lesson well.

"My concern was so great that, for a moment, I forgot that, by your curse, it was Yang that I was addressing when I entered."

"Strange, that
you
would forget." Basta's voice was heavy with irony.

Bork winced. All too well he remembered that it was he who, in a moment of rage, had hired the late Zalbar to place a curse on Yang and his descendants, a curse that had backfired by changing a quick-witted court non-combatant into a cold, savage killer whenever danger threatened. While Bork was now friend to both Yang and Basta, the Tongue and the Fist, there were times when he felt a twinge of regret at the complications arising from his rash act.

"Ogati has found us out! His spies have armed with enough information to move against us at last. I told you he would not stand idly by while we stole the Golden Horde out from under him. We're finished, I tell you!"

"You mean the Ka-Khan is actually using force against us? Ogati sends his guards to cut us down? I did not think he would risk dividing the Horde by moving so openly against his own tar-khans."

Bork shook his head. "Worse than that. While his mind may not be as quick as Yang's, it is no duller. What faces us is thinly-disguised exile. He is singling out the leaders of our movement and sending them forth on missions to the far corners of the known world. Using the excuse of seeking new campgrounds he scatters our forces, dividing our unity in one fell swoop. To refuse a mission openly is to risk a charge of open treason. One at a time we are being beaten. Yaccus, Morbis, all the clan leaders we have won so hard to our cause. I myself just came from the Ka-Khan's yurt. It is my belief he will summon you on the morrow. He holds the totem of the serpent in high enough regard that he'll wait until as many of your supporters as possible have beeen stripped from you before risking a confrontation."

Basta of the Red Fist remained silent long after Bork had finished his report. His features were immobile and expressionless as he stared into the fire, but Bork knew this only masked the stormy inner turmoil which was this man's trademark. At length he spoke, not taking his eyes from the flame.