Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

* * *

With the dawn, the first balloon rose out of the rose-tinted pearlescent mist. Halfway across the vale of Tempe, a thunderbolt from the high ramparts of Olympus struck it and it fell, burning.

But the next two were already on their way. All day long the thunder and destruction continued, until the red sun hung in the west like a balloon itself. . . .

“I don’t know what the gods feel like, but I’m exhausted. Totally and utterly exhausted,” said Liz.

Prometheus laughed. “Believe me. They feel far worse. Come. We will go back to the halls of the Titans. I will give you the draught of the Titans. Unlike ambrosia, it does not confer immortal life. But it does restore and refresh. Ambrosia makes the gods drunk.”

Cruz was dirty, sweaty and tired. His face was covered in sooty smudges. “I could use the ambrosia myself,” he muttered, wiping his hands on his trousers.

* * *

But the draught of the Titans was indeed refreshing. It reminded Jerry of coffee. The effect was similar, only more like espresso. Double espresso. Make that treble espresso. Actually, just-leave-out-the-water espresso. Jerry felt as if he might have to prop his eyelids shut if he ever wanted to sleep again.

By the time Cruz and McKenna reappeared, their hands and faces blackened, clothed in the darkest items they could find, Jerry was feeling as if he’d been transformed into a very wide-awake superball. He was ready to bounce off walls, never mind take on a mere frontal assault of Olympus.

Liz arrived, her face similarly blackened. She was carrying a short, bronze-bladed stabbing spear.

“What’s the get-up for, Liz? We’ve still got to get everything across to the vale of Parnassus.” Jerry was carefully tying bundles to the huge spider-silk-reinforced basket.

“I’m going in with the parachute party,” she said calmly.

Cruz looked up from where he was coiling what looked like miles of fine line. “You can’t come along with us, Liz!”

“Why not?”

“Because we’re paratroopers. You’re not.”

Liz glared at him. “I have a parachute too, thanks to Arachne. I’ve jumped before. I even went for a test jump yesterday. Which, according to Smitar, is more than you two have done. Tossing rocks off a poor dragon.”

Mac looked at Cruz. Anibal raised his eyes to heaven. “Look, Liz. This isn’t a yuppie thrill-trip. It’s a goddamn night jump! And when we get down we’ve got do the stuff we’re trained to do.”

“Stow it, Anibal,” said Liz scornfully. “I stalk better than either of you. Our job is to get a line down into the vale of Parnassus so that the others, particularly the spiders, can get up there. Any ‘commando’ stuff, and the mission is history anyway. Because neither one of you is any more able to deal with gods than I am. And anyway, I promised Medea I’d look after you. Otherwise she won’t let the dragons go.”

“You’re both crazy!” yelled Cruz angrily. “Listen to me, for God’s sake. This is not a game for amateur skydivers.”

Liz stayed calm. “It’s a BASE jump, Anibal. From a stationary surface, not a plane. How many have you done?”

McKenna looked at Cruz. “We’re not gonna win, you know. Arachne told me she wouldn’t do the spider stuff either unless we took a minder. I tried telling her we’d be lot safer without, but she wouldn’t accept that. She says . . . ” He fell silent.

“Actually, guys,” said Liz, “you can’t stop me. One of the dragons will take me, whether you like it or not. So I don’t see how you can stop me, short of tying me up, and I had a few words with Prometheus. You’d have to tie him up first. Seems someone said to him ‘have lots of backup.’ ”

Anibal ground his teeth audibly. “Is anyone else going to jump? I thought the idea was to keep our drop as quiet as possible. Doesn’t the loud lunatic dwarf want to come along too?”

Prometheus smiled. “Bes and Throttler have already gone. Throttler will drop Bes to the north. From that direction he can walk in to Olympus. It will be the most heavily guarded, of course. But Bes says he can move very stealthily.”