Adam Link: The Complete Adventures

by Eando Binder

  LOKI also told defensively of a time not long before when Iduna had been captured by the Frost Giants. In his version, he had simply invited her to walk over Bifrost Bridge, to pick apples on the mainland. We gathered from that, Eve and I, that Loki secretly yearned for Iduna’s love. Giants had captured Iduna, and driven Loki away. Or had Loki delivered her, in rage at being spurned perhaps? At any rate, angry Odin had told Loki, his half-brother, to either rescue her or never come back to Asgard. Loki, through his half-kinship with the Giants, had lulled their antagonism, slipped Iduna away, and brought her back. The pursuing Giants had chased them right to Asgard, but had been shot down by the flame-gun. In the legend a Giant, in the shape of an eagle, had tried to fly into Asgard, but a “ring of fire” scorched his wings and he fell!

  “We’re seeing legends in the making, Adam!” Eve would say. “The adventurous doings of these unique people will be embellished with ‘magic swords,’ ‘wisdom wells,’ ‘enchanted eagles,’ ‘rings of fire,’ and all the other paraphernalia of superstition. Lindbergh, too, in 20,000 A.D., may be credited with having flown the ocean in a ‘magic chariot’ that roared with the voice of a demon!”

  “Yes, yes,” I said testily, my mind laboring to make a vacuum-pump without one lathe to machine the parts. “Don’t bother me, Eve. Can’t a woman ever understand when a man’s busy?” The next moment I looked around. “But what about Thor? Have you heard anything of him?”

  I had not forgotten my original quest.

  Eve looked puzzled. “There is a complete absence of tales about Thor, the thunder-god, or his wife Sif. Either we’re too early for him, in Asgardian history, or he has been a sheer invention by the later tellers-of-tales about vanished Asgard.”

  Vanished Asgard! But here I was trying to save Asgard! Even if it meant a shift of destiny. At worst, it would mean a branching of other-worlds—a rebound of divergent events in the entropy-zones of time. At times I had a subtle dread of the consequences. Yet my heart had gone out to these people, staving off extinction. There is something about a fight against odds that calls out the most in a man—or robot.

  ONE day, Eve failed to appear for a long time. I sat cursing, wondering why she did not come to comfort me, for I had hit another snag in my science labors.

  After ten hours, I knew something was wrong. I went below. I found Loki, but he professed not having seen Eve for hours. She had wandered off alone.

  “Eef?” said Odin, when I queried him. “I don’t know. But how soon will you have our new flame-guns?”

  “Damn your flame-guns!” I retorted. “I’m going to find Eve if I have to ransack this place from top to bottom.”

  And I did. It took hours. The castle seemed an endless, bewildering maze of halls and rooms. I found a dank, forgotten dungeon finally, in the cellar below. Eve lay in a corner, among a mass of spider-webs.

  I think my roar very nearly shook down the walls, as I ran up anxiously and looked. Eve’s body lay there—but her head was gone! It had been unbolted from the neck-piece. It had been a rough job. Torn wires dangled from the relay system below the neck line.

  I roared again. Who in Asgard had done this thing? Who had dared touch my Eve?

  I carried the body up. Half-way to Odin’s quarters, most of the Asgardians met me.

  “What is the matter?” Odin asked. “We almost thought an angry dragon had slipped in somehow.”

  They turned pale as I advanced on them, swinging my arms. No dragon—or dinosaur—could have scared them more as a spark or two shot from my overcharged locomotion centers. My voice was still thunder.

  “Who detached Eve’s head and took it away?” I demanded.

  They all looked blank. All except Loki. I read facial expressions clearly with my sharp mechanical vision.

  I whirled on Loki. “You saw her last. Why did you do it? Where is Eve’s head?”

  “I know nothing—” Loki began, then lost his nerve. With a shriek he fled. He was the culprit.

  I put Eve’s body down and chased him. He was fast, with his heritage of powerful muscles from his Heidelberg parentage. I chased him from room to room. In my deadly eagerness, I once or twice blundered into walls, knocking off pieces of stone. Loki kept just beyond my finger-tips.

  Finally, in a high room, I had him cornered. There was no other door out. His eyes popped as I advanced on him. Abruptly he leaped from an open window. He plummeted thirty feet down into the Straits between Asgard and the mainland, and began to swim for shore.

  INSANELY, I almost plunged after him. If I had, I’d still be lying at the bottom, completely short-circuited, to slowly rust away through the years.

  I ran for my time-ship instead. In that I darted over the water. Though he swam like a fish, Loki couldn’t get away. Reaching one hand through the hatch, I fished him up. He stood dripping and miserable before me.

  “Speak!” I demanded, shaking him till his teeth rattled. “Where’s Eve’s head?”

  “Hidden in my room,” he chattered.

  “Why did you do it?” Suspicions were crawling in my mind.

  “As a prank,” he returned. “Don’t be angry with me, Adam Link. I did it as a practical joke. Sometimes life is dull in Asgard. I play jokes on all the others. I did not know you would fly into such a rage.”

  I relaxed. In fact, I was suddenly laughing, within myself. Of course! Loki, in the fables, was the “mischievous” god, the one who played many jokes on his fellow “gods.” Why had I allowed myself to go berserk?

  Why had I even entertained the thought for a moment, that Loki darkly thought of destroying Eve’s head entirely, after satisfying his natural curiosity over the metal-brain? Or that he wished to destroy me too, so that I wouldn’t make more flame-guns with which to scourge his step-race, the Giants? Foolish suspicions. It is human to look for a little fun, as Loki had, even in the grimmest circumstances.

  Loki went on, sensing my anger gone.

  “It was funny, you chasing me through the halls,” he laughed. “I thought of the prank when Eve stopped once, complaining of a headache. She said it was caused by a—a short circuit. She asked me to turn off her control-switch for a moment, and then bend a certain wire. When she went limp, I couldn’t resist unscrewing her head and hiding it. Just a practical joke, Adam Link. Will you forgive me?”

  I slapped Loki on the back, to show no ill feeling. When he got his breath back, he led me to his room. I reattached Eve’s head to her body, soldering the torn contacts with the time-ship’s kit of tools. She came to life at the turn of her chest-switch, unharmed in any way.

  She laughed, too, when I told the story.

  “Adam, you poor idiot,” she said, “getting so excited over nothing. You would have torn down the walls if you hadn’t found me, most likely.”

  Her mechanical tones did not display the tenderness she implied, though I knew it was there.

  “Yes,” I said. I have never yet told a lie.

  The incident was forgotten, though I decided to keep an eye on Loki in the future.

  CHAPTER VIII

  A Bride for a Giant

  SOMETHING of far greater significance burst the next day.

  “Adam Link!” Odin came running into my work-room. “The Giants have just sent us a message of threat. Have you made any flame-guns?” His face fell at my negative. “Come below to the council. This must be discussed carefully.”

  All the Asgardians had gathered in Odin’s throne room. Frigga, his wife, sat beside him. Odin told the Frost Giant messenger to repeat his ultimatum.

  “Thrym, mighty King of Jutenheim,” spoke the messenger gutturally in a sort of pidgin Asgardian, “demands the beauteous Freya as his wife! If she is not sent to him before the sun rounds the sky, Thrym will gather all his army and destroy Asgard. He awaits Freya at the Fort-by-the-sea.”

  Glaring around belligerently, the Giant left, escorted by several guards.

  There was silence in the room. The Asgardians looked at one another in mingled disgust and
fear.

  “Thrym once saw Freya,” Odin explained, “in a battle before the Bridge, in which our women fought alongside our men. Ever since, before each attack, he offers the same truce terms, desiring her.”

  All eyes turned to Freya. Her golden-blonde beauty was such that I think all men must worship it at first sight. No wonder it had turned the heart of an ugly Frost Giant, whose women were on the average coarse and unshapely.

  Odin raised a weary head.

  “My people, listen. This attack may mean the downfall of Asgard! We’ve been so drained of fighting men in the past generation that Ragnarok is near.

  I say this honestly. Now, as is my custom, I ask you this—shall we give our Freya to Thrym?”

  “No!”

  The word thundered back instantly, from all their throats.

  Odin smiled proudly. “Asgardian heads never bow, even under the axe of doom.” He sighed. “Well, we will fight to the last.”

  He looked at me sadly. I had been his last hope, if I had succeeded with the flame-gun. “You are a strange being, Adam Link. But I am not your king. I will not ask your help in battle, since you do not wish to give it.”

  I felt utterly vile at that moment.

  Loki’s voice sounded. He had sidled up with an enigmatic leer.

  “But perhaps Adam Link can help in another way,” he suggested. “The Giants are stupid. They can be tricked. Suppose Adam Link is sent as the bride, disguised? Eva told a story once of his using human guise!”

  “As the bride?” I gasped. “But why?”

  “To kill Thrym,” Loki returned quickly. “Will you do that one thing for us, Adam Link? With Thrym gone, they will be temporarily leaderless. They won’t attack for a time. It will give you time, then, to finish making flame-guns.”

  A great cheer welled in the hall. The idea struck instant reception.

  I tried to refuse. Tried to say that it might not be sound logic. Would it make the Giants leaderless—or make them utterly determined to destroy Asgard? And what motives did Loki have, he who carried the blood of both races in his veins?

  I looked at the appeal in Odin’s one eye. The appeal of a people wearied of attack, and pressing doom. How could I refuse, and call myself human? For though a robot, my whole emotional life is that of a human being. I believe that. Now was the time to prove it.

  “I will do it!” I said abruptly. “I’ll do more than kill Thrym. I’ll put such a scare into the Giants that they will not soon molest Asgard again. If need be, I’ll lead your forces against them!”

  The Asgardians seemed stunned. Odin raised his eyes.

  “Adam Link will be our champion!” he breathed. “Asgard is saved!” And the answering cheer from the people rang from the rafters.

  Eve was startled.

  “Adam, you’ve committed yourself! To save Asgard would be contrary to destiny, as we know it. You said it yourself more than once. And what about finding Thor?”

  “Thor be damned!” I exclaimed. My blood was fired, now. I suddenly wanted more than anything to help these grave, sad, magnificent people. Save them from harsh extinction. Save beautiful Asgard from the heavy hand of destruction.

  Destiny be damned, too!

  PICTURE me, if you can, as a “bride.” Perhaps it sounds ridiculous. As once before, when I had played detective, I was disguised as a human. I had gathered materials in the castle and made a flesh-colored plastic. Smeared and dried over my metal frame, it suitably gave me the contours of a human female, though a rather broad, heavy-set one.

  Fortunately, as a “bride,” I could wear a collection of draping clothing and veils. A filmy gown covered me from neck to foot. Gauzy veils over my plastic face-features hid them enough so that they could pass for human. We went in the evening, to better the deception.

  Loki was my official escort from Asgard, because of his full knowledge of the Giant tongue and ways. In my time-ship we landed within a half mile of the designated place where Thrym awaited his heart’s desire. This Fort-by-the-sea was a stronghold that the enemy had established within ten miles of Asgard, as a base from which to periodically attack.

  A sentinel challenged us in the moonlight, but when he saw my figure draped in fine clothes, he grinned broadly and led the way into the fort. We had arrived just under the deadline of 24 hours as set by Thrym. My mechanical vision, almost as good in dark as light, surveyed this camp of the enemy. I saw that they had amassed a huge army, perhaps a thousand.

  The Fort-by-the-sea was little more than a great barn of solid logs and a thatch roof—the height of architectural ability in Heidelberg Man. A blazing fire had been lit in the center of the space, on dirt floor, its smoke swirling out through a vent in the ceiling— theoretically.

  Loki nudged me, as we entered.

  “Cough!” he whispered. “You are supposed to be a delicate human female.”

  I conjured up “coughs”—or static rattles in my microphonic sound-box. In the uncertain glow of the fire—the only illumination—I knew my physical disguise would easily hold. At least to the stupid sub-men with their colorblind eyes. All sub-men had poorer eyesight—and better noses—than true humans. Closer to the brute.

  THE interior was filled with about fifty of the privileged Giants. A long rough table at one side was loaded with half-cooked grains, raw vegetables, ripe fruits. Two whole oxen were being turned on a spit over the roaring fire. The “wedding” feast had been prepared. It would have been a prebattle feast, if the “bride” had not come.

  Thrym, King of Jutenheim, sat in a great chair made of human bones woven together with hide strips. It was a symbol of his hatred for the human race. I looked him over carefully, as Loki led me directly before him.

  He was a hulking monster of a subman, closer to eight feet high than seven. His arms and legs were thick posts. He could not weigh less than I, about 300 pounds. His over-sized features jutted craggily, and his tongue licked constantly over thick, brutal lips. I shuddered. I could picture a human woman submitting to his embrace, and going instantly mad with loathing. No wonder the Asgardians chose to face extinction rather than toss the beautiful Freya to such a revolting fate.

  Thrym had strained eagerly forward on his throne, watching me stride up. An unholy lust gleamed from his eyes, as his soon-to-be “bride” approached. But abruptly, as I drew near, a frow’n came over his face. Veils, and dim light, could not entirely hide my ponderous step and powerful frame.

  “Is this Freya?” he mumbled. “Freya, who is slender and lithe?”

  I understood his native tongue, for again it derived from root-words that have survived since the first more-than-ape made articulate grunts as a means of communication.

  Loki answered quickly.

  “It is rather cool this evening, O Thrym, mighty king of Jutenheim. Freya is after all not like your other women, but must wear heavier clothing. The clothing bulks. I assure you Freya herself does not.”

  Thrym’s suspicion vanished.

  “Begin the feast!” he roared. He leaped down and grasped my arm, to escort me with clumsy grace to a place beside him. I could feel his fingers clutching my unyielding arm, expecting to feel soft tender flesh. His eyes opened wide.

  “Has Freya the arms of a hard, muscled man?”

  Loki spoke even more quickly than before.

  “She is tense with joy at seeing you, O Thrym. And she is not an utter weakling, for you yourself saw her battling.”

  The dull-witted Giant swallowed that too. I sat at his side. The smoking, burnt ox-meat passed along the table. Thrym took a quarter-shank in his paws and wolfishly tore great bites from the bone. He ate three times what a human could have managed before he noticed I ate nothing.

  “She is too excited to have an appetite,” Loki explained.

  HUNGER appeased, Thrym turned his closer attention to his “bride.” His eyes looked straight into the veil over my plastic face. He peered for a long moment.

  “Why are her eyes so piercing?” he demanded suddenly
, again suspicious.

  “She has not slept for a week, in anticipation of seeing you,” Loki flattered again.

  Thrym subsided with a growl, but I knew the game could not last much longer. I had not prolonged the farce for the enjoyment of it, though I was amused. Mainly, I had been looking the situation over. I could not afford to be careless, in the heart of the enemy stronghold. The Giants were powerful men, and there were many of them. To kill Thrym would be simple, but what then? My eyes darted to all corners, taking in every factor.

  I started as I realized Thrym was addressing me.

  “Speak!” he commanded. “You have not said a word, Freya. Let me hear your voice.”

  Loki tensed, beside me. I think he feared that one syllable from my phonic voice would give the whole thing away. But I surprised him. I simply pitched my tone up to the feminine octave.

  “You are a great and wonderful man, O Thrym,” I said sweetly, gaining another moment’s time. I added, in English: “And the biggest boob on two feet.”

  He gave a roar of delight. And then his great arms encircled me and his brutish face came at mine for his first kiss. The slobbering lips drew back, abruptly. Thunderclouds came over his face as he felt the unmistakable hardness of my body. He gave another experimental squeeze. It would have crushed the ribs of a woman. It only bruised his arms.

  With a horrible oath he ripped away the veils, exposing my face. The rough plastic job was revealed. By no stretch of imagination was it the sweet, lovely face of Freya. He leaped up, roaring like a wild animal.

  CHAPTER IX

  Adam Link, Giant Killer

  “YOU have deceived me!” he bellowed. “I’ll attack Asgard at dawn. But first, I’ll twist your head from your body!”

  He gave a tentative yank. With his great strength, he very nearly ripped bolts loose. I leaped free.

  “You die, Thrym,” I announced clearly. “You die for all the lives you have taken from Asgard.”

  Ignoring the threat, he came at me like an angry bull. One of his enormous hams banged against my head, breaking all his knuckles. Amazed, moaning with pain, he threw his arms about me bear-like, squeezing. Even a gorilla might have succumbed to that mighty embrace. I squeezed him, in turn. His ribs snapped.