Thrilled to Death

by James Byron Huggins

  For a moment Connor said nothing, impressed by the un-abashed seriousness of Thor’s speech. “That’s a pretty tall order, Thor,” he answered, touching the rim of the coffee mug. “But to want that, you’ve got to believe in good and evil or something beyond this world. And I don’t.”

  “All men believe in good and evil.” Thor looked up. His ice-green eyes didn’t waver. “Even you, Connor. But you think that only man is evil. And yet all the civilizations that have ever held kingdoms on the earth have written of an evil that is beyond man. Just as they all have written of a last, great battle that will occur between good and evil. A battle that is yet to come.”

  “You really believe that?” Connor asked. He searched Thor’s open eyes. “Do you really believe that there’s going to be a last battle between good and evil?”

  “Yes,” Thor answered, “and I believe in more than that. I believe that if a man is a man, he will live his life for good, making war with evil. Because that is part of the battle to come.”

  Connor was silent. Unmoving.

  “My ancestors called it Ragnarok,” Thor continued, leaning forward. The table and chair creaked beneath his weight. “It was to be the last battle on the earth between good and evil. According to tradition, it would begin with a winter three years long. Then there would be a collapse of morality, with greed ruling the hearts of men. And finally, a great falling away of faith with men’s hearts turning to selfishness and all manner of sin.” He paused, frowning. “It is the Nordic representation of Armageddon.”

  Connor’s eyes narrowed. He was silent.

  “In truth,” Thor continued, “the entire Scandinavian mythology, and many other mythologies of the North, can be traced to Celtic roots, which can in turn be traced to the Hittites or other Mesopotamian tribes that immigrated into the North in 1500 B.C., fleeing the occupation of Israel in Canaan. Tribes that knew well the story of the Hebrew God and the Serpent.”

  “And how can you know this?”

  “By discipline, and by applying my mind to history,” Thor replied with a smile. “I learned long ago that the North was settled by the Asiatic ‘Broadheads’ who immigrated across Europe during the late Stone Age or early Iron Age. Tribes that eventually crossed the sea to settle Norway in the first century.”

  “Yeah,” replied Connor, “but the tribes who settled Norway in the first century were pretty distant descendants of the tribes who immigrated to Britain in 1500 B.C., Thor. It seems like they would have had a hard time remembering the stories of the Old Testament or the Hittites or whatever. A thousand years is a long time for people to remember anything.”

  “Memory lives longer than man,” Thor replied steadily. “Superstition survives stone monuments. Look at Stonehenge. The people who built it, and even the altar itself, are gone. But the superstition remains. I tell you the truth; the original beliefs of the tribes who settled Europe in 1500 B.C. were remembered by their descendants, though in altered form. And what the Vikings passed by oral tradition closely paralleled the Hebrew cosmology and even pieces of the long-vanished Hittite mythology.”

  Connor grunted. “Give me an example.’‘

  “Like Thor himself, the Norse god of thunder who fought with an iron hammer to defend Asgard from evil. Is it any coincidence that the Hittites also had a god of thunder, named Tarku, who fought with an iron hammer to defend heaven and hurled lightning from his hand?” He stared intently. “An ancient Hittite image carved in stone at Tel-Engidi reveals Tarku of the Hittites waving his hammer over slain horses, bringing them back to life. In Norse mythology, Thor also waves his hammer over his goats, bringing them to life. I tell you, this is no coincidence.”

  Connor had never really thought about it, and he was faintly surprised that he had never come across anything like it before since he had read widely and enjoyed reading. But this was an alien theory to him, as alien as anything he had ever heard.

  “And there is more.” Thor held forth like a schoolteacher starved from teaching. “You will remember that Satan was the fallen angel who deceived man into betraying God. While Loki, the evil god of Norse mythology who deceived man into rebelling against Odin, the father of all Norse gods, is only a parallel of Satan. The Norse story of man’s rebellion is only a reflection of the Old Testament story of Eden.

  “Loki told man that he could become immortal if he would find true life by submitting to his unrestrained passions. And this is the argument Satan used in the Garden of Eden, and an enduring tenant of mythology. In almost all societies of the ancient world, a battle between immortal good and evil is recorded, with man caught between the two forces, destined to serve one or the other.”

  Connor’s gaze was concentrated. “And that’s what makes you think there’s good and evil, Thor? And that a man should choose between them?”

  “It is part of what makes me believe,” Thor said, thoughtfully stroking his red beard. “A man must believe what is reasonable to believe. He must open his mind and see.”

  “Well,” Connor began, “I don’t think that a lot of people actually see this kind of thing, Thor.”

  “The past suffers the present,” Thor replied, abruptly grim. “Men try to change history to agree with their needs, but truth does not change. Neither truth, nor heroism, nor courage. Today, men say that we live in an age without good or evil; therefore, we live in an age without heroes. They say that a man should live only for himself, for whatever is right in his own eyes. They say the age of heroes has passed.”

  Connor scowled. “Thor, it’s hard to agree anymore on what’s right or wrong. Everybody has their own opinion on just about everything. So it’s obviously hard to agree on heroism.” He paused. “I mean, what’s a hero really supposed to be, anyway? Someone who saves somebody’s life?”

  “It is a simple thing,” Thor rumbled. “A hero is someone who stands upon truth, to the end.”

  “Someone who stands on truth” Connor asked, eyes widening. “What does truth have to do with heroism?”

  “Truth and heaven are beyond man’s changing, Connor. Just as evil and hell are beyond man’s changing. To fight for the cause of truth, one must fight for the cause of heaven.”

  Connor was silent. But he was used to this; all conversations with Thor eventually went into the deep.

  “And I believe more than this,” Thor mumbled, gazing up. “I believe that each man, at his last chance to know truth, faces his own Ragnarok. His own battle with Armageddon. And all of a man’s life comes together to meet it. His past, his present, and his future. Whether such a man lives or dies, it will be his greatest hour, the hour when he sees the true measure and light of his life, and knows the destiny of his soul.” Thor’s face hardening like age-old Arctic ice. “This is where all our lives will end. When we stare the old serpent in the eyes ... and make our final stand.”

  Connor said nothing, staring, and after a moment Thor blinked. His eyes slowly became less intense. “A lofty ambition, is it not?”

  “Yeah, partner, it is,” Connor replied quietly, staring sadly. “But it sounds like something you could do. Better than anybody I’ve ever known.”

  Thor laughed shortly, glancing down. “And you also, my friend. Because you may believe as you believe, Connor. But I think that it is your destiny also to advance onto that field. To overcome evil with your own good strength, and God’s strength.”

  Silence lasted between them.

  “I don’t believe in miracles, Thor,” Connor replied stoically.

  Thor laughed. “I do, my friend.”

  Moved by Thor’s words to cross a line he had never crossed, Connor was compelled to ask, “Were you once a priest?”

  “I am still a priest.” Thor nodded, frowning.

  “Then what are you doing here?” Connor knew that whatever he might hear could change their relationship forever, and he almost resisted the question. But somehow, spellbound
by the moment, he had to know.

  Thor leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. “It is a longer story than you would care to hear,” he began. “But I can tell you that I was a priest of a small Norwegian village located near the coast of Sweden. There was much ... evil... in a village so small. And many of my flock were enslaved by it, even against their will. It was an organized evil, and powerful; an evil nurtured by the hand of man but bred by the hounds of hell. As father of my flock, I told my people that they were no longer compelled to serve it. I placed them under the protection of the church and under my personal protection as well.” He became mournful. “In the end it was a fiendish battle, a battle which I narrowly won. And the evil and murderous son of a very powerful man was killed in the struggle. Not by my hand, for certain, but he was killed just the same. And his father blamed me for his death, so powerful men sought my life in revenge. So the Holy Father, in his wish to protect me, removed me from my church and my world until it would be safe for me to return. It was a decision made out of love, and I was told that it was only for a short time. He placed me on this island with only his knowledge of my whereabouts until my enemies no longer sought to kill me.” Thor grew more quiet. “I was grateful for his benevolence. But in removing me from the forefront of the battle, the Holy Father removed me from life, as well. I have been here five years. And I don’t know when I will return.”

  Connor noticed he hadn’t moved as Thor spoke. Shifting, he cleared his throat. “So you’re not going to be here forever?”

  “Forever?” Thor twisted his head, once more releasing a mysterious frown. “No, my friend. Not forever.”

  A sudden knock at the door broke the solemnity. Caught in a vaguely catastrophic mentality by Thor’s speech, Connor was on his feet, expecting anything. He opened the door to find his assistant foreman breathing heavily and frosted with crystalline sea spray. The man spoke quickly and then Connor closed the door, coming back to sit at the table. His brow hardened.

  “What is it?” Thor rumbled.

  “A plane,” Connor said quietly, staring back at the door. “He said a C-130 landed five minutes ago on the airfield with about twenty guys who looked like scientists. He said there were also about forty MPs with them, all dressed in black and loaded up with weapons like a SWAT team or something. He said they went down to the cavern. I think it scared him.”

  Thor scowled. “What does it mean?”

  “I don’t know,” Connor replied. “But I don’t think it’s good. A lot of the guys have been uneasy lately. They think they’ve heard sounds coming from the Containment Cavern. They couldn’t say what it was. They just said that whatever it was didn’t sound happy. But I’ve managed to calm them down, so far. I’ve told them to just relax and do their jobs.” Connor shook his head, finally focusing on Thor. “You know a lot about languages, don’t you?”

  “Yes. I studied at the University of Paris. I am a student of all languages.”

  For the slightest moment Connor stared at the red-bearded face, hesitating to compromise whatever small security clearance he had received to do his job. Decided to go against it.

  “Have you ever heard the word leviathan?”

  Thor leaned back, a disturbance surfacing.

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know the word.”

  Connor waited. “What does it mean?”

  “It is a word almost lost to time,” Thor replied, his tone submerged in Nordic coldness. “It is the ancient name for Dragon.”

  Chapter 8

  But there is no way to be certain,” Adler commented, settling behind his desk. “Surely, Dr. Frank, you have no means of being certain that Leviathan will achieve immunity to nitrogen. You don’t even have any way to be certain that Leviathan has entered this ... this ...”

  “Hunter-killer Mode,” Frank said, breathless.

  “Yes, yes,” Adler said, nodding, “this infamous Hunter-killer Mode. If you wish to make presumptions, Doctor, you could presume that Leviathan’s attack this morning was the result of a natural tendency to obtain food. We can all presume anything we please. But science demands data! We cannot leap beyond available facts.”

  “I know this creature, Mr. Adler!” Frank slammed his hand onto the desk. “I know how it thinks! It would never have attacked the cell this morning unless some instinct prompted it.”

  “And that instinct could have been for food” Adler responded. “It could also have been sheer bestial anger at being contained in the cavern! It could have been any number of things!”

  “But it wasn’t any number of things!”

  “Has GEO confirmed your presumptions?”

  “No, it doesn’t work like that. GEO can only monitor Leviathan’s body statistics like its heart rate, blood pressure, temperature, brain activity or whatever. The program chip that was designed to control Leviathan was never implanted, and it wouldn’t do any good to implant it now because Leviathan’s DNA has completed the instinct that the control chip was supposed to project.”

  “What do you mean?” Adler stared.

  “Forget it, Mr. Adler. It’s complicated.”

  “Yes, of course, Doctor.” Adler smiled. “But I am a complicated man. Explain it to me.”

  Frank swore softly. “The part of Leviathan’s brain that would have been controlled by the mission control chip has already been overcome by Leviathan’s Hunter-killer Mode instinct. It’s like ... like someone who has a weak eye when they’re a child. If nothing is done to make that eye fuse the proper nerve connections to the brain, then that eye will always be weak. There won’t be anything physically wrong with the eye itself, but the visual part of the brain that would have controlled that eye will be taken over by the other eye, the strong eye. And when that happens, it can’t be reversed. The nerves are fused and that’s it.”

  Frank paused, catching a breath. “Leviathan can never be controlled, Mr. Adler! The part of Leviathan’s brain that could have been controlled has already fused to something more powerful. It’s been taken over by the Hunter-killer Mode. It’s an instinct-reflex that regulates synapses.”

  “Yes, I see,” mumbled Adler, nodding. “So all GEO can do is track Leviathan, tell us where it is. But as of this moment, Leviathan controls itself.” He leaned back, cradling the back of his head in his hands. “Yes. And just what do you propose we do, Doctor?”

  “I propose that we totally abandon the island and initiate GEO’s nuclear fail-safe.”

  Adler was suddenly upright. “Surely you fail to understand what you are saying.”

  “I understand exactly what I’m saying,” Frank rasped. “GEO has a nuclear fail-safe. It’s built into the lowest center of the cavern, and it’s strong enough to vaporize this entire island. It’s designed to trigger itself if Leviathan ever activates the detectors at the island perimeter or if Leviathan is ever escaping without authorization into the ocean. You know that that was a safety measure I insisted on from the beginning, and I got it.”

  “But Leviathan hasn’t escaped,” Adler retorted. “GEO ... GEO cannot simply activate the—”

  “I can activate the fail-safe,” Frank replied. “I can’t deactivate it once it has begun. But I can push the button.”

  “Doctor, Doctor, please, you are not thinking logically. If Leviathan must be terminated, we should simply allow Chesterton to—”

  “Chesterton doesn’t stand a chance and he knows it,” Frank said, leaning back. “If Chesterton and his men ever opened up with their weapons, Leviathan would come out of hibernation like a rocket. You don’t know what you’re dealing with, Adler.” Frank purposefully dropped the mister. “There is nothing in this cavern that can stop Leviathan except the fail-safe.”

  Adler rose to his feet. “I will not sanction the nuclear vaporization of a billion-dollar experiment! Particularly since Leviathan is still asleep in the Containment Cavern, and we have no means whats
oever of knowing with any certainty that it is in this so-called Hunter-killer Mode!” He placed his knuckles on the desk, leaning into it. “That is the end of this discussion!”

  Silence.

  “I’m going over your head, Adler,” Frank replied finally. “I’m going to Stygian Enterprises on this, and I’m going to tell them your judgment is unsound. I’m going to tell them that you are unsound, that you’re being criminally irresponsible! I’m going to tell them that you’re unnecessarily putting the lives of everyone in this installation at stake—the project itself at stake—because you can’t realize the danger we’re in!”

  Unexpectedly, Adler smiled.

  Air in the doorway shifted and Frank turned, realizing instantly. He saw the host of implacable and disciplined faces staring knowingly at the contest of wills. He recognized men who presumed themselves to be far more responsible and far more advanced in this arena of science. There were at least ten of them in the room already. More were gathered outside. And their focus on Frank was condemning. Disappointed.

  “As you can probably guess,” Adler said, leaning back from his aggressive position, “I had anticipated this on your part, Doctor. So after our meeting this morning I placed calls to the United States Government and Stygian Enterprises. As of this moment we have a new science team, Doctor. And Colonel Chesterton has also received orders to be relieved of command.’’

  “I want to talk to the company myself,” Frank said coldly.

  “I’m afraid the lines of communication have now been encrypted,” Adler responded. “So there will be no civilian or military communications from this facility without the proper code, which only myself and Colonel Chesterton’s replacement possess. I informed the company that the sensitivity of the project at this critical moment mandated additional security measures.”

  Frank’s head tilted. “So you’re saying I can’t talk to the company?”

  “What I’m saying, Doctor”—Adler moved around the desk, distinctly pugilistic despite his age—”is that I am now singly in charge of this facility’s communications. Please understand, this is a sensitive situation. We stand on the brink of a brilliant triumph. And I know even better than you why we must follow through as soon as possible.”