by C. Gockel
Machines that look like the unholy union between stealth fighters and snowmobiles fill the aisle. The machines are loaded vertically, so that twelve of them fill the small space. The paint on the machines is shimmery and pixelated, and is closer to light blue than white, but she’s heard that they are almost invisible when they’re on snow. They also have hybrid engines, and can run on electric or gas power. Not only will that extend their range, it will make them nearly silent if they have to cross Lake Balstead.
Across the aisle, one of the guys breaks into a grin. “Fuck damn, this is exciting.”
Larson and Steve both shoot reprimanding looks. Clearing his throat, the man says, “I meant frack darn it’s exciting.”
Amy sees a few lips quirk, and there is a subtle shift in the atmosphere in the back of the van. Like everyone exhaled at once. Amy appraises her stiff-upper-lipped companions. Any of them could probably kill her with a pinkie, but they’re also mostly younger than she is, and none of them has been to another realm.
Larson touches his earpiece. “We’re nearly at the drop zone.”
Jumping from his seat, Nari looks up and raises his hands. “Stop.”
“You heard him,” Steve says.
From the front of the van the driver says, “Yes, sir!” and the vehicle comes to a halt. Three ops guys wearing Street and Sanitation gear, carrying traffic cones and stop signs, stand and exit the van through the front.
Nari drops his head and concentrates, clutching something to his chest that Amy can’t see. He takes a step forward and disappears. Amy hears a collective intake of breath from the rest of the team.
Nari reappears. “The gate is open,” he says, stepping to the side. “Go now!”
“Move out!” says Steve. It’s a tiny thing, but Amy notices the eyes of the ops team go quickly to Larson. He nods almost imperceptibly. The exchange lasts less than a second, and then everyone is up and moving, but Amy catches Steve frowning.
With machine-like precision, the team unhooks the snowmobiles from the roof, lower them, and then push them through the Gate. It’s impressive, especially since they’re wearing snow shoes. Standing, Amy scrambles to get her pack on, and then when everyone but Nari, Valli, and Larson are through, she scampers forward, Larson leading her by the arm.
Cold air hits her face. She finds herself on a wide open plain of snow. No dead grasses are poking through. “We’re on ice,” Amy says, visions of whale horn-saws filling her mind. “We have to find higher ground. Now!”
Like everyone, Amy’s wearing a radio headset. It buzzes and someone says, “3 o’clock.” Amy looks in that direction and sees a jagged peak covered with short, strangely thin, black trees rising above the icy plane only about 100 yards away.
“Move out,” Larson says into his mouthpiece, voice calm. “Silent mode.”
Larson directs Amy to one of the snowmobiles. All of the machines have guns mounted on either side. Some are single seaters, but a couple have room for two. Larson sits in front of one of the two seaters, and Amy sits in back. Snowmobile driving was actually the only thing she’s been good at in the past few days, but since she’s the weakest member of the team, she gets to sit with the head guy, not drive. Larson says, “Hang on.” Amy knows the snowmobiles are hybrids, still, she expects to hear at least a hum, but the snowmobiles take off over the snow-covered ice in near silence.
Despite her fear of a giant whale saw ramming through from below, Amy finds herself relaxing and almost happy. Maybe it’s because there are no men in black out here to take her away. Maybe it’s because the sky is a brilliant blue vault above her head with not a cloud in sight. Here and there chunks of ice jut up through the plain, catching the color of the sky and shine like blue jewels. Larson takes them over a snowdrift, and briefly they are airborne. Amy has to fight to keep from laughing. “It’s like flying,” Amy says. She feels the oppressiveness of the past week’s confinement lifting from her shoulders.
“Silence, Ma’am,” Larson says.
Amy falls silent, but her spirits stay buoyant. She refuses to let them fall. Soon enough she’ll be back in white halls, awaiting the inevitable knock on her office door after they find out what she’s done with the serum. For now she has sunshine and fresh air and she will enjoy every moment of it.
They quickly reach the island and coast up to higher ground. “Are we safe now, Ma’am?” Larson asks. Amy blinks and remembers she’s the expert. She looks around the island. Jotunheim is very seismically active; between the trees, boulders jut out here and there. Up ahead she sees a rocky, treeless outcropping far enough from the beach to detract any adventurous whales. “Let’s get to those rocks and then get off.” Larson barks an order and sets out in the direction Amy indicated. A few minutes later, the silent snowmobiles glide to a halt. Over her earpiece Amy hears someone say, “Darn it, I wanted to see a saw-nosed whale.” Chuckles echo in her ear.
Hopping out of her seat, Amy searches and finds Steve dismounting from a single-seat snowmobile. She slaps her mittened hands together, in glee, not due to cold. It can’t be but a few degrees below freezing, easy peezy for a Chicagoan. The air smells crisp and clean and oddly a little like sage brush. She beams at her boss. “Wow! That was the smoothest trip to another realm I’ve ever had!”
Steve scowls at her for some reason. Everyone on the team looks at her, except Sigyn, who is rubbing the bridge of her nose.
“How many realms have you been to?” says Harding.
“This is my fifth,” says Amy, brightly stamping her snowshoed feet. “And you know, there aren’t any angry knights on hadrosaurs, or angry Einherjar and Odin, or adze and—”
“Dr. Lewis,” Steve grinds out.
Amy blinks, and then remembers this is one of those things she’s not supposed to talk about. She’s just been billed as a Jotunheim expert based on her “association” with Loki. She maybe should care … but can’t bring herself to. Shrugging, she smiles. “I was never special ops material.”
Steve arches an eyebrow at her. “No.”
Amy laughs at his deadpan delivery. Spinning on her feet, she scans the horizon. In the distance she sees a gray clouds—no, not clouds—mountains rising above Lake Balstead. Here and there, she sees pools of sapphire blue water in the lake’s icy surface. Steam rolls off the pools. Gerðr’s voice rattles over the radio in Jotunn. “There are thermal vents in the lake beneath the pools. The water isn’t really hot, it just appears to steam because the air is cold.” As Sigyn translates that into English, in one of the closest pools a giant stream of water squirts up. Gerðr ’s voice buzzes in the radio, this time in stilted English. “Whale emptying its nose.” Chuckles rise up, and Gerðr says, “I say wrong word?”
Larson’s voice comes over the radio. “No, ma’am, I think you got it about right.” There are a few more chuckles over the shared frequency, and then Gerðr says in English, “I believe this is falling … I mean, autumn.”
Amy eyes the nearly leafless black-trunked trees. Up close they aren’t as thin as they appeared from the lake. Their trunks are more elliptical than round, and they’d been looking at them from the side. A memory of one of Mimir’s lessons comes to her. “Loki, if you ever find yourself stranded on the Southern Wastes of Jotunheim, look to the trees. The bark on the equatorial side of the trees produces chlorophyll, and allows the trees to produce energy during the long cold months, when there is lots of sun, but it is bitterly cold. In autumn, the bark will be green so dark it is nearly black, in winter emerald … are you listening to me? Loki! Put that snake down, it’s venomous!”
Amy blinks away the memory. She approaches the tree, and takes off her mittens. The trunk is warmer than the air. She thinks she remembers Mimir saying the trees siphoned heat from the ground to keep them from freezing during the winter. As she paces around the tree, the bark goes from black to darkest green. “You’re right, it’s fall,” she says. She lifts her head to the mountains on the northern side of the tree. That is the direction the team wil
l need to go to get to Utgard’s kingdom. The lake between the mountains is dotted with more islands, and pools of blue water. Amy doesn’t need to worry about that. Her journey through Jotunheim ends on this island. She lets out a breath. All the beauty of Jotunheim, hardly any of the danger. She smiles. It will be her easiest trip to another realm, ever.
Sidling up beside her, Harding hands her some binoculars. “So what realms have you been to?” the other woman whispers.
Before Amy can answer, Steve’s voice crackles over both of their earpieces. “That’s classified, Marine.”
“Yes, sir,” Harding says, and then heads off to unload some gear.
Amy sighs. On those previous dangerous trips, the company had been a lot more fun.
x x x x
Bohdi is not having any fun. Crouching down low, he scans beneath the tables and chairs in the cafeteria. He blanches. There is a lot more gobs of gum stuck beneath the tables than he would expect straight-laced agents to leave. “I’m sorry, Beatrice, I don’t see Fenrir.”
“Amy will never forgive me,” Beatrice says. “I’ll go check the break room, you check the kitchen.”
Bohdi nods and bumps his head on the table. As he rubs the spot, she leaves the cafeteria. Standing up, he walks over and slides around the cafeteria counter. Fortunately, there aren’t any workers about guarding their turf. He’s just about to go through the swinging double doors to the kitchen, when the television mounted in the corner switches from a commercial back to the news. The news anchor’s voice echoes through the empty cafeteria. “We’ve just learned that Pakistan has officially recognized Chernobyl as a territory of Asgard.”
Bohdi stops and turns to the TV, a chill running through his veins. He doesn’t even know if he’s really Indian, but the news fills him with a nearly overpowering sense of dread. He stares at the television. He stands for a few minutes transfixed, learning absolutely nothing important. The so-called news authorities know less about Asgard and Asgardians than Bohdi does. When the program switches back to a commercial, it’s almost a relief. Bohdi turns, about to head into the kitchen again, when his phone starts to play a theme from The Princess and the Frog. Putting it to his ear, he says, “Claire?”
“Where’s my dad?”
“Uh…he’s at a meeting?”
“Don’t lie. Where is he? I need to talk to him right now!”
Her voice is so angry and so strident, Bohdi almost tells her. Then he remembers he’s talking to a ten and a half-year old.
“Where are you?” he shoots back.
There is silence on the other end.
“Claire?”
In a tiny voice, much more her age, she says, “I’m outside. Can you come get me?”
Bohdi reaches to push back his bangs, and then remembers he’s had a haircut. “Outside where? School?” That would be difficult, since he’s not supposed to leave the premises … but not impossible.
“No … ” Claire says softly. “Just outside.” Bohdi blinks and then goes to the window and peeks out. Standing on the sidewalk below the offices he catches sight of her pig-tailed head.
He blinks. “I’ll be right there.”
Minutes later, he’s at the front door. One of the guards steps out in front of him. Bohdi pulls out his pack of cigarettes and waves it. “I’m just going to the curb.” The guy rolls his eyes and lets him pass. He steps out into the April sunshine. Claire’s standing by the curb, arms wrapped around herself. She’s gone through another growth spurt recently and is about 5’ 4”. Still, with her childlike face and beanpole frame, she’s obviously still a child; he’s surprised she hasn’t been turned over to a truancy officer. “Hey, kid,” he says. “How did you get here?”
She raises her chin. “I took the ‘L’.”
At mention of Chicago’s subway system, Bohdi takes a half step back. “Wow, that’s pretty gutsy.” Shoving his hands in his pockets he gives her a grin. “Do you want me to—” Bohdi stops himself. His grin shrinks. His first instinct is to ask her if she wants him to call school for her, tell the office she’s sick, and then play video games with her on ADUO’s super-zippy supercomputers. But it’s possible, as the incarnation of Chaos, his first impulse might be wrong.
“Where’s my dad?” she says again.
Bohdi sighs. “He isn’t here. Let me call your grandmother—”
At that moment, his phone starts to buzz. Seeing Beatrice’s number, he answers. Her voice immediately rings in his ear. “Dr. Ogawa has Fenrir in his lab on the fourth floor, and he won’t release her. You have to talk to him … and if that doesn’t work, steal her!”
“Uh, okay,” Bohdi says. He rubs the back of his neck. Where has he heard the name Ogawa before?
“Hurry! He might be performing experiments on her!”
“On my way!” Bohdi says. Turning to Claire, he says, “But first, we’ve got to save Fenrir.”
Nodding, eyes wide, Claire says, “Okay!” She bounces on her feet. “Then you’ll take me to my dad?”
“Then I’ll call your grandmother.”
She narrows her eyes at him. Nostrils flared, brow furrowed, she looks so much like Steve on a bad day that he almost shudders.
x x x x
Claire follows Bohdi up to the fourth floor. She scowls at his back. He won’t tell her anything. No one will tell her anything, but Bohdi is supposed to be her friend! It makes her more angry at him than anyone else. Something big is happening, something more than just her dad “staying at the office for a few days,” and no one wants to tell her what. Her face crumples, and she feels her eyes get hot, but she doesn’t let herself cry.
They reach a door that is marked with a yellow and black radiation sign. Bohdi looks at it and then at her. “Uh, maybe you should wait here?” Without waiting for a response, he goes in.
The door starts to swing closed. Claire’s skin heats, and her fists clench. She’s always being left behind. By her mother who wouldn’t take her to the palace in Kiev, and by her father, and now by Bohdi. If he can go in, so can she. Lifting her fist, she bangs through the door before it can click closed.
She finds herself in a science lab. There are lots of boxes. Agents Brett and Bryant are sitting on the floor next to something that looks like a dishwasher with lots of wires sticking out.
“Hey, guys,” Bohdi is saying to them, “what are you doing here?”
Bryant shrugs. “Steve’s had us working with the physicists for a while. They’ve got a lot of sensitive equipment that breaks all the time. It can takes weeks to get new parts—”
“Or we can fix them with bubble gum and duct tape,” says Brett.
Bryant nods. “Our mom always did say we were the gods of small engines and electronics.” His eyes go to Claire. “What are you doing here, kiddo?”
Claire runs her tongue over her teeth. Does everyone have to call her kid or kiddo?
Before she has to respond, Amy’s grandma bursts into the lab. “Where is Dr. Ogawa? Where is Fenrir?”
At the far end of the lab, a door opens. A man walks out, wearing what almost looks like a space suit. It’s baggy, his mouth and eyes are covered by a mask, and he’s wearing great big gloves. The mask snaps up and Claire finds herself staring at a man who might be Chinese or Japanese, but he’s got bright green eyes. He’s handsome … but ancient … like maybe thirty or something. A gray blur streaks by his feet, and he says words that Claire can’t understand in the same tone she’s heard her dad say words she’s not allowed to say.
“That,” the man says, “is not a dog.”
Claire looks at the animal. “Fenrir?” she says. “How did she get so cute, furry, and big?”
No one answers her.
“Of course it’s a dog,” says Bohdi.
“It just ate two kilos of yellowcake,” says the man.
All the adults’ mouths drop open. Claire stands up straighter. At last she has something she knows about! “I had a dog named Buster. He ate a whole sheet cake once. He just got a little
sick—I think Fenrir will be fine.”
Fenrir wiggles by Claire’s feet, looks up, and gives a bark. Claire’s about to pet her when Bohdi swoops down, scoops her up, and says, “Maybe you shouldn’t touch her just now.”
The man with green eyes turns to Claire. “Uranium yellowcake,” says the man. “It’s radioactive.”
Claire gasps. But the man leans down a little, so his eyes are level with hers. “Don’t worry. She’s perfectly fine.” His lips quirk. “She’s not a hot dog…” Straightening, he turns to the adults. “Although she is humming with magic… and she vomited this.” He holds out his hand. In it are what appear to be tiny lumps of a shiny dark rock. Everyone in the room steps forward. “It’s lead,” he says. “The end byproduct of uranium decay.”
“What is the usual half-life of uranium?” Bohdi asks, voice hushed.
“Four point six billion years,” says the man in the space suit. “Would you please explain to me how that happened?” He smiles pleasantly.
“Oh,” says Beatrice.
“Uh…” says Bohdi.
“Fenrir’s magic like my dad!” says Claire.
The green-eyed man turns to her. “Really?”
A knock comes at the door, and Uncle Dale walks in. “Hey, techie guys, I sent an email to Steve, and it bounced back to me … something wrong with the servers?”
Brett checks his phone. “I don’t have any alerts.”
“Maybe it was a fluke,” says Bryant.
Uncle Dale’s eyes go to Claire. “String Bean, what are you doing here?”
Claire huffs. “Looking for my dad.” Dale knows where he is. Everyone knows … except maybe the doctor who doesn’t even know that her dad and Fenrir are magic.
Uncle Dale’s face goes a little paler than it usually is. “Ah. Well … ”