by Larry Niven
YaM bounced up and down on his toes, grinning, and Griffin paused in mid-bite, a piece of a children's rhyme running through his mind... . And welcome little fishes in with gently smiling jaws...
Yali was unable to restrain his enthusiasm any longer. "I do not wish to interrupt your meal, but just as your mouths must be fed, so must your minds." He tapped his head with a forefinger. "Do you all agree?" There were no dissenting opinions, and that was enough for Yali. "I am sure you are wondering who I am, and how I earned such a position of honor in Heaven."
"All right, YaM, consider us mystified." Acacia ate while she listened.
"I was born in the Ngaing bush area of Sor, a member of the Walaliang patrician and the Tabinung matriclan. During World War Two, Europeans came and promised my people that if we fought the Japanese we would be given all of the things that the Europeans had-electric lights, automobiles, metal tools, tinned meat, and so forth. Naturally we were excited.
"Understand that my people had lived a satisfying, happy existence before the Europeans came with their guns and missionaries. They told us that the reason we were denied sophisticated technology was that we were descended from Ham. Ham, as you may recall, was Noah's son, and after the flood he laughed at his father's drunken nakedness. I'm not terribly familiar with Judeo-Christian myth patterns, but I believe that Ham... no, it was Ham's son Canaan, was cursed to be a ‘servant of servants' unto his brethren. Well, being evil and natural slaves and all that, we weren't fit to have the secret of Cargo, were we? So my people tried to conform themselves to the dictates of the Church, and we helped the Europeans build roads and plantations, and we dutifully marched off to war.
"I was one of those who fought. I died in the jungle, and because I was a brave and virtuous man, I went to Heaven. Here I learned that God-not my God, nor your God, but God nonetheless-had always intended that we receive our share of Cargo, and that the Europeans had been diverting our goods for their own purposes."
Leigh asked, "And why didn't the Almighty put a stop to it?" Yali smiled benevolently. "Because in his infinite wisdom, He perceived that this was merely a skirmish between people of different cultures, and that in time all inequities would be rectified.
And indeed this is happening now. My people have learned the Cargo secret and are using it for their own enrichment. I, due to my familiarity with both New Guinea and the European-"
Acacia interrupted. "Where did you get your knowledge of Europeans?"
an excellent question. Basic training for my army unit was carried out in Australia. There I was appointed Area Manager and given substantial training, including a thorough course in grammar. God, as you may have heard, has little patience for slang, colloquialism, or Pidgin English. Naturally, as soon as the political situation in Melanesia is back to normal, the natives will be able to address me in their own tongues. For the sake of continuity, however, it is now convenient to take messages in English. Paper work, you know. We're swamped with it."
Griffin asked, "Heaven doesn't have computers?"
"No." Yali moved up to the wall map and fingered a switch. "Have you been wondering just where we are? After all, theologians have debated for centuries over the exact location of Heaven. Some have said that Heaven can be found beyond the stars. Some say it exists in the heart of Man, and others claim that it does not exist at all, that God is dead, or at least unemployed."
Griffin stifled his laugh. "But you know otherwise?"
"Absolutely." The ffick of a switch turned the wall map transparent. "And it is my pleasure to reveal to you the true location of the Hereafter." Beyond the transparent wall was a vast white cloud deck. A hundred meters out, a hole punctured the fluffy white. The hole was about twenty meters in diameter, and ladders rose from beneath, resting against the edges. Light- and dark-skinned angels climbed up and down, carrying packages.
"Heaven is situated directly above Sydney, Australia. Naturally this opening is not visible to the inhabitants of the city. We sometimes sub-contract with Australian manufacturers to create Cargo for us. Some of our angels are presently exchanging goods with a jewelry company which is building a golden throne."
Acacia raised one lovely eyebrow. "Is this for Him?"
"Oh, no. It's for me. I asked Him if He'd like one Himself, and He said that it was just about the ultimate in kitsch." You flipped the switch and the picture-window became a map again.
"But I'm sure that we have more interesting things to speak of. Matters of life and death. Philosophical things. For instance, can
any of you tell me what a dozen rubber trees with thirty boughs on each might be?"
At first Griffin didn't understand; then he felt the sudden tension in his companions. It had begun.
Oliver looked at the other four Garners as if checking to assure his right to answer. He cleared his throat. "That would be the months of the year."
"Quite right, young sir. And have you a question for me?"
Oliver considered. "Yes, I think so. It's in the form of a rhyme:
As I went over London Bridge
I met my sister Jenny
I broke her neck and drank her blood
And left her standing empty."
The stout warrior looked at Yak challengingly. "Tell me, who was my sister?"
Yali rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Such a fine meal you've just enjoyed. Would any of you care to share a bottle of wine with me?" He grinned maliciously at Oliver. "Rest assured that it won't be the same bottle our friend drank atop that famous bridge."
Oliver looked only slightly chagrined. "Close enough. Jenny equals gin, not wine."
"Ah... quite." Yali pulled a chair up and sat carefully, crossing one leg over the other with exaggerated care. "It is said among my people that some things are improved by death. Tell me, what stinks while living, but in death, smells good?"
Griffin's mind raced as he tried to come up with an answer.
"Oh, come now. Surely such clever minds as yours won't find this too consuming a problem." Yali smiled smugly.
Leigh raised a tentative finger. "Ambergris. From whales. They stink while they're alive, but when they're dead, you can make perfume from the ambergris."
YaM seemed delighted. "Very clever. Very clever indeed. Unfortunately we simple island folk rarely traffic in expensive perfumes. The proper answer is: the pig. I believe that you people were treated to one of the succulent creatures two days ago? Such a delicious aroma when roasted. But perhaps you feel I was unfair. Would you care to ask me a question in return?"
The sorcerer thought hard for a minute, then said, "All right. Riddle me this: what goes through the door without pinching itself? What sits on the stove without burning itself? What sits on
the table and is not ashamed?" He said it all in one breath, and as he waited for his reply he panted slightly.
"Excellent. Let me think..." Yali scratched his ear. His eyes slid shut. Was he getting hints from Lopez? Griffin didn't want to believe it.
Yali's eyes flew open, and his mouth formed an "Aha!" oval. "Could it be the sun? Yes, I rather thought it might." His eyes rested with gentle malice on Alan Leigh, who squirmed uncomfortably. "We may have further business later, you and I. Now
who is next?"
Acacia glared at him. "Let's hear it, Yali."
"So eager. Let me think... what have we for the headstrong young lady? Ah, I know. What work is it that, the faster you work, the longer it is before you're done, and the slower you work, the sooner you're finished?"
The laughter in Yali's face was totally unreflected in Acacia's. She beetled her brows and twisted a curl of dark hair around and around on a forefinger.
"Miss Garcia, I'm afraid I must insist on an answer."
"Ah... weaving a basket? The f-faster you do it, the more mistakes you nuike, and the more likely you are to have to redo it...
"Such inventive minds we have here today. No, I'm afraid that the correct answer is ‘roasting me
at on a spit'. Don't you see, the faster you turn it, the slower the meat cooks. And of course, the slower you turn it, the faster it cooks. Isn't that just a corker?"
"A corker." Acacia's eyes were half-lidded, and there was an umber flush to her cheeks. Alex could almost smell the sulphur bubbling in her words. "All right, ‘Yali', try this one.
Whilst I was engaged in sitting
I spied the dead carrying the living."
She tossed her dark hair back with a flip of her head. "What did I see?"
Yali closed his eyes and hummed. He drummed his heels gently against the white floor. He scratched his ear.
"Mr. Yali," Acacia said curtly, "I'm afraid I must insist upon an answer."
He glared at her. "Quite right, Miss Garcia. Could it be a stretcher? A stretched hide carrying a wounded man?"
"What an ingenious fellow you are. And so quick with your reply. A pity to disappoint you. I'm afraid that the proper answer
is a ship. A vessel made of dead wood, carrying living men." She curtsied in her seat, and YaM smiled wanly.
"Well, that helps your side a bit, but you're going to need more. Who's next?"
Gina, who had been lost in thought, perked up. For the first time, Griffin found no trace of a dreamy cloud in her expression. Even the fire in her hair seemed to blaze brighter. "I'll take it."
"So. Try this: ‘I know a word of letters three. Add two, and fewer there will be.'"
Gina buried her head in her hands and moaned. At first Alex was worried, then he listened more carefully to the sighs and realised that they were phony.
"Oh my," she said finally, wiping her eye clear of a nonexistent tear. "The answer wouldn't be ‘few', would it?" Her bright red eyebrows arched, and her face screwed up in an expression of mock-concern. Yali nodded unhappily. Gina hitched her chair closer, teeth showing whitely in her smile. She resembled nothing so much as a cat on the hunt, and Alex found himself silently cheering her on.
Her voice was warm honey. "I have a little old question for you, dear. I give you a group of three. One is sitting down, and will never get up. The second eats as much as is given to him, yet is always hungry. The third goes away and never returns." Her smile became beatific. "Who are they?"
Yali seemed very displeased. He rose from his chair and click-heeled across the room, blank-eyed, mumbling to himself. Ultimately he turned on his heel to face them. "Yes, yes, I know, time is against me. I admit I have no answer."
"Oh, I'm sorry. The correct answers are Stove, Fire, and Smoke. We're even again," Gina said sweetly.
"So you are, and you have one player left to go. Mr. Tegner. Or do you prefer Griffin?" There was a peculiar gleam in Yali's eye, and Alex knew that Lopez was having his little joke.
"In this context I prefer Griffin," he said.
"Very well, Griffin. There is a saying you may have heard in your business:
Whoever makes it, tells it not.
Whoever takes it, knows it not.
And whoever knows it wants it not.
Can you tell me what I speak of?"
Alex brooded. In your business. What did he mean by that? As the Griffin, the Thief? As Gary Tegner, restaurateur? Previous riddles had referred to food... Or as Alex Griffin, Dream Park Security head? Nice wide range of choices, there.
Whoever makes it, tells it not. Why? Something illegal or immoral? That would fit the Thief and the Security Chief. Good.
Whoever takes it ... whoever knows it. If you know what it is, you don't want it. A restaurant owner might take black market meat if he didn't know what it was. Do you "make" black market meat? Or bad meat, meat that wouldn't pass honest inspection. Pass?
"Excuse me, Griffin, but I'm afraid I need an answer now."
Get a hunch, bet a bunch. "Counterfeit money."
Yali's expression went dull. Acacia reached out a warm hand for Griffin's and squeezed affectionately.
"Well. Right you are. And do you have a riddle for me?"
Alex had finally remembered a riddle. "Do as I say, don't do as I do. Say boots without shoes."
Yali's eyes unfocussed. His lips moved, silently repeating Alex's words, while Alex sweated it out. Presently he said, "Boots."
"Drown!"
Yali's teeth flashed like sudden lightning. No, he hadn't been sure. "Well. We're exactly even. Five for you, five for me. Unfortunately, that leaves you where you started, with Mr. Henderson's life dangling by the proverbial thread."
Oliver folded his hands neatly in his lap, and squared his shoulders, but the way that he chewed his upper lip before answering betrayed his nervousness. "What happens now?"
"I am going to ask one more riddle, a tie breaker. If your team's selected representative can answer it, Mr. Henderson lives. If not, he dies."
Oliver was indignant. "But that's not fair! You can make the answer as ridiculous as you like, and if we don't get it, that's the end!"
"Quite so. I recognise the intrinsic uncertainty in such a contest, so I will offer you a side-wager. If any of you will put your own lives up as a stake, I will accept it. In other words, if you win, everyone lives. If you lose, Mr. Henderson lives but one of you dies." The five were silent. "Well?"
Griffin was thinking, I can't! I'm not a self-centered coward, I'm a detective. I can't!
Leigh stood, drew in a deep breath and exhaled noisily. "I got us into this. If I hadn't blown both points we'd have won. It's only fair that I be the one."
"Bravo, Mr. Leigh. Such bravery. Such sacrifice!"
"Such bullshit. Let's get on with it."
"Quite. For your life, then:
Who makes it, has no need of it.
Who buys it, has no use for it.
Who uses it can neither see nor feel it."
"Repeat that, please."
"You should listen more carefully, especially since the answer has special significance for you-" and Yali repeated the riddle. Griffin found himself holding his breath. Leigh was stalling, his puffy cheeks drawn with tension.
Coffin, Griffin realised suddenly. Coffin. Coffin, you idiot!
Desperately, Leigh blurted, "A prosthetic leg for a blind child?"
Yali shook with silent mirth. "What an imagination. You will certainly be welcome here in Heaven. No, it's a coffin, Mr. Leigh. Don't you find that dreadfully appropriate?" Yali stretched his arms hugely, happy to have claimed at least one victim. "Well, unless you'd like to play more games, the rest of you may return to Earth. Mr. Leigh and I have business."
Gina stood and took one of Alan's hands in hers. "Thank you," she said sincerely. "You didn't have to do that."
His mouth twitched, trying to form a smile. "Yeah, well, I might have done it better."
There was moisture glistening in his tear ducts, and Gina kissed him softly on the mouth. "I'm proud of you anyway," she said.
Acacia hugged him from the side. "Ditto, Alan. Don't worry. We're going to win this for you, kid."
"Yeah," said Leigh, staring into the wall, his face doughy and lifeless.
Gengai appeared at the door. "We're ready to leave now," he chirped.
"Wait a minute!" Griffin found his voice ragged. He took Leigh by the shoulder. "Thank you, Alan."
The Magic User managed to nod his head in acknowledgement. "It's all right. Go on, get out of here. And win it1~~
"We hear and obey, 0 mighty mage." Gina kissed him again, on the cheek. "Watch us. It'll be worth it."
The helicopter drifted away from Yali's cloud. Looking out, Griffin could see a string of white factories on adjoining clouds, white puff ettes rising from their smokestacks as they busily churned out Cargo. Angels with multi-hued parakeet wings fluttered here and there carrying loads, and a heavenly choir performed Handel's Messiah in full-bodied SphericSound.
But all that Griffin could really see or hear was Leigh's face, red with the effort to hold back tears, and a cracking voice that said, "And win it!"
Suddenly, unaccountably, that was all Alex wanted to do.
>
Chapter Twenty
THE SEA OF LOST SHIPS
It was 1350 hours by the watch imprinted on the cuff of Griffin's denim shirt. The group had been back on the march for an hour and a half.
The line wasn't jolly. A grim singularity of purpose could be seen in every face, heard in every terse word. Mary-em had tried to get songs going, but the efforts had died stillborn. Finally she gave up, her tanned and wrinkled face puckered with discontent. Their trail wound them steadily deeper into the mountains, and this, in part, may have contributed to the sense of sobriety and unease. Griffin found himself gazing up into the crags with a chilling and undeniable feeling of approaching doom. Unbidden, images of death and decay sprang into his mind, and he shook his head, irritated and upset.
Subsonics and subliminal imagery? he wondered. Lopez psyching us out? Maybe. Griffin had known it from the first: this was a blood duel.
Acacia walked next to him, her hand occasionally finding his for a few moments, squeezing then releasing. As if she too needed the reassurance of physical contact. He took comfort in knowing that his strange mood was shared.
Although the path was broad, Alex found himself wandering over to the edge to look into the gorges below, now mostly shrouded with mists. There was no wind, and it didn't feel any colder; but it looked cold. Alex gave in and put on his windbreaker.
Acacia was mumbling under her breath.
"What did you say, Cas?" He tried to force warmth into his voice and it came out sounding just that way: forced.
Reflexively, she moved closer to him and took his arm. "Nothing meant for human consumption, that's for sure." She shivered. "I really am getting uptight, and I don't know why. We haven't taken really heavy losses... yet."
"Yet?"
"The replacement period ends tonight. Tomorrow and the day after we'll get hit with heavy artillery. I know it."
Alex thought about that. "Is there any way to minimize the impact?"