Pyramids

by Fred Saberhagen

  Sihathor, in loincloth and red headband, stopped in front of Scheffler and bowed again. "You are the Lord—?"

  "I'm not the lord anything. My name is Scheffler, Tom Scheffler."

  "Scheff-ler. Very good, sir." Sihathor had something of the manner of a servant in an old movie. "And this lady?"

  "Her name is Olivia. She's not well. She's been hurt."

  Sihathor turned and called out something in a different language. Presently two of the Egyptian women came in to see what they could do for Olivia.

  Then Sihathor turned back to the other new arrivals. "And this lady?"

  "My name is Becky Haggerty."

  "Lady Beck-y…? "

  "Not lady anything." She turned impatiently away from the dark patient face. "Tom, what is all this? For the last time, what's really going on here? Or am I just going crazy?"

  "If you're crazy I am too. I wasn't kidding when I told you this was ancient Egypt. Get that through your head to begin with. That thing just outside is really the Great Pyramid. I ought to know, I've climbed it most of the way to the top."

  Sihathor, smiling, was moving right along with his program to orient his honored guests. Conducting Scheffler, Becky and Olivia down a high-walled corridor, he pointed out to them a wide choice of quarters. Olivia appeared too dazed right now to take much interest. The rooms were many, the ceilings high in all of them, the stone walls all open at the top.

  Just as the guided tour returned to the common room where it had started, some food arrived, carried on a large wooden tray by an Egyptian waitress who was wearing nothing at all but a transparent cotton miniskirt. The girl wasn't bad looking, either, until she smiled and showed the sad state of her teeth. The newcomers sat down in silence and began to eat.

  There were small, flat cakes of some kind, and several varieties of fruit, all delicious though Scheffler could not identify any of them. The drink offered in earthenware cups had a flat, vaguely beery taste. Sihathor, smiling, assured them that is was really beer. Scheffler opted for the alternate beverage, water from a five-gallon jerry can. Olivia was again fully awake. She had some trouble moving her arms and swallowing, but with a little help she could manage.

  They had not been at breakfast long before Pilgrim joined them, announcing that Willis was being unavoidably delayed with some new work. Then their kidnapper made a surprising announcement. "Scheffler, I would like to send you back to the apartment of your worthy relative—you are not yet being released, let me hasten to add. It will be only a foraging expedition, from which I shall expect you to return. When we came through just now I was in too much of a hurry. Now it appears there will be time. Time for all the works and hands of days, that lift and drop a question on your plate. That's T. S. Eliot. Your language has found some worthy poets."

  Scheffler no longer felt capable of much surprise. Go on.

  "It appears that we—all of us—are going to be working here for some time, and—"

  "All of us?" Becky sounded surprised.

  "Indeed. And we are going to need more supplies. Fortunately the supply of safe drinking water already accumulated here by the Brothers Chapel should be adequate. But we shall need certain items such as food, tools, clothing, and sleeping bags. Two-way radios would be a great convenience. And weapons. I wish to speak to you particularly, Scheffler, about weapons."

  Scheffler asked: "What do you mean by 'for some time'?"

  "I have in mind a matter of only days. Probably no more than that at either end of the timelock. But however long it takes. You see, there is gold here, somewhere, gold that I must have." He paused with a sigh. "You think you understand that, but you do not.

  "My crew and I have homeworlds of our own. Whether you believe me or not, our goal is the same as yours—to go home, there to be left in peace. Olivia's basic goal is to prevent our doing so."

  "Not true." The policewoman's voice was weak, but she used it unhesitatingly. "It is not the law I serve that keeps you from going home. The laws of nature do that."

  "Oh? Then, by your law, my crew and I are free to take the gamble?"

  She appealed with her gaze to Scheffler and Becky.

  "He means to gamble with far more than his own life and the lives of his crew. Other lives and even other worlds are at stake." She faced back to Pilgrim. "You know what your insane attempt would do to space and to time. You know, but you don't care what happens to other worlds and other people. That is why we are determined to stop you."

  "In practical terms it seems to amount to the same thing. We are to be arrested and detained for trial. Well, we respectfully decline to submit to your beneficent laws."

  Again she looked at Scheffler and Becky. "For him to force his way back to the world he wants to reach is impossible."

  Scheffler asked: "Then why not let him try?" He felt unreasonably rewarded when Pilgrim shot him an appreciative glance.

  "Because the kind of effort he is determined to make involves illegal activities on his part. Activities that pose a great danger to a vast number of innocent people. It would take too long to explain it all."

  "Nevertheless we continue to make that effort." Pilgrim sighed profoundly. "We are going to try."

  He pushed aside the remains of the modest portion of food that he had taken. "A little background, for the benefit of Miss Haggerty and Mr. Scheffler. Somewhere around five thousand of your years before your time, my crew and I found ourselves in the world that would one day become yours, in a time and place that you would describe as ancient Egypt. Dear Olivia's minions—efficient as always—were there, too, and we fought one of our many inconclusive skirmishes.

  "My ship was somewhat damaged—never mind the details, but certain components essential to its proper functioning were lost. The most critical parts happened to be made of gold." Pilgrim sighed again.

  "Not ordinary gold. A very special kind. Gold of atomic mass two-oh-three, stabilized to suppress the normal radioactivity of that isotope—I know that I am talking nonsense by the standards of your twentieth-century science, but you can take my word for it. Or not, just as you choose. The feet remains that I must regain that gold, the same gold that I lost, if my crew and I are ever going to get home."

  "So," said Scheffler, "it must be around here somewhere, and we're all drafted to help you dig for it."

  "How quickly you grasp the essential point. Now, about sending you, Mr. Scheffler, back to the apartment. Miss Dietrich—Nicky—will go with you to help gather supplies. She has also, I believe, a certain personal reason for wanting to make the trip."

  "Why can't I go back too?" Becky demanded.

  Pilgrim glanced at her, but did not bother to answer that directly. "Scheffler, I must be sure that I can trust you before I send you back. There is now a temporary truce between us—can it be made permanent? Will you bring firearms and ammunition here, and not attempt to fire them at me when you arrive? Do you now have a realistic grasp of the situation?"

  Scheffler looked at Olivia, who shook her head. "I think you must do as he says," she told him weakly, reluctantly. "Not only because he threatens you. Even his ship in its present location is a danger to innocent people. It should be moved. Right now that is more important even than arresting him. Or killing him." She coughed.

  "Thank you," said Pilgrim, and got to his feet. Taking a last mouthful of melon, he said through it: "I leave you three to your discussions. Other matters are going to occupy me for most of the day. Sleep, for one thing." In a moment he was gone.

  Scheffler asked Olivia: "What's going to happen to us?"

  "I think it unlikely that Pilgrim will harm you unless you actively oppose him. I can advise nothing better than cooperation now. It is best you help him get his gold, get his ship moving again. He will be stopped somewhere else."

  "I haven't noticed any good chances for stopping him yet."

  She smiled wanly. "Nor have I. But be patient. You are good people, I think, both of you. You won't be blamed. Now I'm going to try to sleep."r />
  Scheffler and Becky, free to move around in the temple and its vicinity, had a chance to talk things over between themselves. Right now the scene was peaceful. Egyptian children, feeding geese in an enclosure just outside the temple, smiled at them. He tried to explain how he had stumbled into all this and inadvertently dragged her with him. He didn't have much success explaining.

  For most of the day Nicky had been too busy to see much of the newcomers. For the past two months, ever since Monty had gotten her involved in this, she had spent increasing amounts of time trying to teach the Egyptians the rudiments of sanitation. Sometimes she was hopeful about the results—no longer did she see the children's faces covered with black flies, and none of the infants was really sick.

  Today, when at last she had time to take a good look at the new arrivals, she wondered aloud who they were. She recognized Scheffler, of course, from their earlier encounter.

  "He said he was a student," she remarked to Willis, who agreed in his calm way that Scheffler had confirmed that.

  And Nicky wondered aloud at the strange clothing worn by Scheffler's young blond companion. What were students up to these days? Of course it was always something new and crazy.

  "It looks like she put on some of her brother's clothes to go adventuring," Nicky remarked. That sweatshirt, she thought, was too small to be Scheffler's. And with its incomprehensible faded mottoes, it was strange even for a collegiate brother.

  Willis could tell her very little more about the three people who had arrived under guard, but who now seemed to be working willingly with Pilgrim. "He's evidently picked them up somewhere to help out. But the older woman seems to be ill."

  "Well, this is really his project, I suppose," Nicky allowed uncomfortably. "He ought to be in charge."

  Then Willis changed the subject. "I hear you're going back to the apartment for supplies. Are you going to talk to Monty this time?"

  "I'm going to try."

  "You were going to tell him four days ago when he was here, and you didn't."

  "Will, I'm the one who has to talk to Monty. Really, it's nothing directly to do with you."

  "You know how I've come to feel about you, Nicky."

  "I know." She didn't sound at all happy about it.

  Meanwhile, Pilgrim and Scheffler were talking again.

  Scheffler asked him: "What are those… people, on your crew? Or should I call them something besides people? What are they?"

  Pilgrim was not inclined to be understanding. "I have told you that they are as impeccably human as you are yourself. By any civilized definition."

  "All right, that's what I was trying to find out. What are they called?"

  "In your language, the closest one can come is something like Asirgarh."

  "What about your language?"

  Pilgrim made some kind of liquid sound. "Would you like me to repeat that?"

  "All right. Whatever. Your crew. I guess I'll call them that. I can't tell one of them from another."

  The small man flicked him an unreadable glance. His attitude seemed to say that Scheffler could call anyone anything he liked.

  And then, shortly before Scheffler's departure with Nicky, Pilgrim took him aside again. "I want to make sure that you understand certain facts—if for example you were to tell the Chicago authorities, or try to tell them, exactly what is going on here—what do you suppose would be the result?"

  "They wouldn't believe me."

  "True. Oh, very true. But not the answer I was hoping would spring first to your mind. What if by some ghastly mischance they did believe you? Suppose you were to concoct some half-credible story of a ring of criminals engaged in smuggling artifacts? Of kidnapping and violence? For a young man of even minimal imagination it should not be difficult to bring those police to the apartment. What would happen when they rode the elevator? Have you thought of that?"

  "You've still got Becky here."

  "Ah. That was the reply that Miss Haggerty and I were both hoping to hear from your manly lips. We rejoice. Still, with a little effort, a man in your position might convince himself that she still needed rescuing—and even manage to imagine a daring scheme to rescue her."

  "All right, suppose something like that were to cross my mind. No doubt you've got an answer for it."

  "You will be further tempted by the presence of weapons in the apartment. I would like to make certain that I can trust you to bring back some of those weapons too. Not only we but the Egyptians here now stand in some danger of wild beasts."

  "I suppose you'll have a good answer for me too, if I show up with a loaded rifle and point it at you."

  "It is always a pleasure to deal with someone of your intelligence." And Pilgrim smiled.

  There were at least two ways, thought Scheffler, a statement like that could be taken. Damn it, he couldn't decide if he should be planning to call Pilgrim's bluff or not. He imagined himself jumping the little man and getting the grip that would be needed to break his neck. Despite the disparity in size and weight, he wasn't at all sure whose neck would get broken.

  Genocide. Something had caused the disappearance of almost an entire population. Maybe everyone in the vicinity of the pyramid and Memphis had been affected. Maybe everyone in Egypt. Maybe everyone.

  His kidnapper was talking again: "Scheffler, I very much need your voluntary cooperation, as I have said. That will greatly speed the conclusion of my business, in your world and this one, and allow me to take my departure from both of them as quickly as I can."

  Seeing that Scheffler was hesitating, the little man pressed on: "Never mind what I implied just now about threatening Becky. I withdraw all threats."

  "Then she can come back with me?"

  "No. Will you take my word for it that your Chicago authorities will not be able to prevent my doing what I wish, here and in Chicago as well? Have you heard what Olivia my enemy advises you?"

  "Several times. But a few hours ago she warned us not to help you. She said—"

  "I know what I said to you then." Olivia made a sound that was part sigh and part gasp of pain. "I was wrong."

  Scheffler turned to her, nodded his head toward Pilgrim. "Is he crazy?"

  "He is not what you mean by crazy, no. Once he was a great man… there is a word, I think, in one of your languages—hubris."

  Pilgrim, listening, smiled in acceptance of the compliment.

  "He's responsible for what's happened to the population here. Yet now you're saying that we should do what he wants."

  "Your refusal will not stop him. It will only prolong the situation here, make it more dangerous… yes, I can only advise that now to help him will be best for everyone. So he can move his ship." She sounded half-dazed, a little incoherent.

  Darkness had already fallen before Pilgrim was finally ready to send them on their way. Then Scheffler and Nicky walked with him to the timelock. He set the controls, and leaned toward the passengers, waiting until he had their full attention before he spoke.

  "Change none of these settings." His voice and face were totally, grimly serious. "Else huge mice will emerge from the wainscotting, and eat you up."

  He slid the door shut to close them in.

  THIRTEEN

  Nicky was carrying their shopping list, tucked into a pocket of her jacket. The list had been made out chiefly at Pilgrim's direction, but everyone had been free to nominate items for inclusion. Scheffler had seen the list briefly—it included not only weapons, but sleeping bags, all kinds of food and tools, as well as the dynamite and the outboard motor from the hidden cache in the apartment. Pilgrim must have assumed that those items had been restocked.

  There was another request, not written down. At the last moment before they left the temple, Becky, suddenly sounding more like a tourist than a kidnap victim, had given Scheffler a key to her own apartment, and instructed him to go there and get some of her things. Her roommates, she thought, would not be back yet from their holidays. Pilgrim had thought it over and nodded his app
roval to the plan.

  "I guess Monty's been busy," Nicky frowned. She had extracted the list from her pocket now, and was looking at it, meanwhile bracing her free hand against the wall as the elevator bobbed them up and down. "He's got one outboard motor in Egypt already; I wonder why he needs another?"

  "The one you've been using there might be a little old."

  "Old? I don't think so. It's a nineteen thirty-five model." Nicky's opinion of Scheffler's wit was not getting any higher. "And why does he want 'two-way radios'? None of us are radio operators. And where would we set them up?"

  Scheffler drew a deep breath. "Ah, excuse me, but—your name is Nicole—?"

  "Nicole Dietrich. Monty and I are—were—engaged to be married. Call me Nicky, we're all informal under these conditions. Is Monty in the apartment now?"

  "He wasn't there when we left." Scheffler didn't want to stare at her, so, with a sudden effort, he stared instead at the light-speckled black wall in front of him. He'd had a lot of other things to think about, and it had just dawned on him in the last few moments that Nicole Dietrich never doubted that she was going back to the nineteen-thirties.

  Was it possible that she was right? Scheffler didn't think so. They had to arrive at the nineteen-eighties version of Uncle Monty's apartment if they were going to pick up two-way radios there, and a modern outboard motor.

  He cleared his throat and asked his companion: "What do you think of Pilgrim?"

  Now it was her turn to stare with puzzled blue eyes at Scheffler, probably wondering just what his own connection with Pilgrim was. "A very clever man," she said at last. "Something of a bully, from what I've seen. I can't say I'm crazy about him. Why?"