Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

“Well, in the U.S.A. there are plenty of women who are pretty damn successful and rich. I’m not saying they don’t complain about men getting it easy, but they can get rich there. And you don’t have to get married to do it, and even if you do, you can get to keep what’s yours. Well, that’s the idea, anyway . . . ”

“I wish I could have been born there.” Her tinkling voice was full of yearning.

“Come back with me.” It was said on the spur of the moment. But when he said it, Mac knew that he meant it.

“Oh, I wish I could.” A tiny tear started in the corner of her eye. She brushed it away. “But I’m half a spider, Mac.”

“I don’t think you’d be any worse off there than you are here. And I’d look out for you. We could go into business together. We could give a whole new meaning to ‘the worldwide web.’ Soon we would get to be so rich that everybody would treat you with respect.” He spoke with a conviction he didn’t really feel.

She sniffed. “I wish I wasn’t a half-spider. You’re quite the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

He sighed. “According to Cruz, I’m a no-brain plankhead. But I certainly think that you’re the bravest and nicest kid I ever met. Not many girls could even start to deal with being turned into half a spider.”

Her eyes were misty. “I still wish I was just a woman.”

McKenna agreed, but he left the words unspoken. Instead, he concentrated on the commercial possibilities for spider silk.

* * *

It was a bright morning. Mac was feeling much recovered today. Even the thunderbolt-torn field had no power to depress him. “The doc was right! The way to beat these gods is by outthinking them. The next time they come here, there’ll be so many booby traps they won’t even get to throwing thunderbolts.”

Arachne shook her head. “Next time they will come in disguise, or send spies first.”

“So we need to work on disinformation.”

He didn’t even have to explain the concept to her. One thing about Arachne, she was as sharp as a tack.

“They’re back! They’re back!” yelled the lookout.

Mac anxiously surveyed the horizon. And then, breathed a deep sigh of relief. The lookout was perfectly correct. Of course, he should have said who “they” were.

The huge golden balloon was unmistakably Arachne’s handiwork. It was just very much bigger. It had to be, to carry dragons, a sphinx and humans, all towed by a striding Titan.

45

Spies, lies and delusions.

Council was held in a tent full of song. The tent had been, until very recently, a balloon.

It was all Prometheus’ idea. “Planning later!” he bellowed, so that the hills shook. “First we party! Song, drink, dancing! I have a fancy for a roast bird or fifty! Send your people to shoot some birds. I don’t care if they are pheasants, eagles or owls, bring them. Pluck them and roast them! I have a grudge against all birds.”

This was said with a wink. There was a hasty flapping in the trees.

The Titan shrank. True, he was still twice the size of a man but no longer so visible . . . or so loud. He seized the deflating balloon. “Let us make a tent for our party.” He attempted to pull the fabric apart. Veins stood out on his forehead as he strained. “Gnnnnn. What is this stuff? It is as strong as the very chains of Hesperus!”

“Spider silk,” said Arachne with great satisfaction. “It can be cut.”

So, out of half of the balloon they fashioned a tent, in which several relatively inept musicians were playing their hearts out. Well, they were all inept except for one fellow. He was good . . . and Prometheus grabbed him by the ear. “Out! Until you can learn to keep a tune!” he bellowed. He followed it up with a kick in the nether end. “Here, Bes. I name you bouncer. Toss this tuneless bum out.”

Bes grabbed the angry and struggling lyre player and tossed him out of the doorway. Bes could really toss someone hard and far. There was the sound of breaking branches and then a splash.