Pyramid Scheme by Dave Freer and Eric Flint

Cruz groaned. “Like he does for eagles.”

Jerry stared at Liz, biting his lip in frustration. Damn it. If he’d had a bit more time to think he’d have found a way to stop her.

Medea bustled in. She carried a large bowl, in which a mint-reeking salve lurked, and made occasional threatening gestures. She put it down on the table. “Here. Coat your weapons in this. It should make monsters, nymphs, and maybe even the gods sleep.”

Jerry walked up to it, his heart doing trip-hammer imitations. He carefully coated his blade. “It doesn’t hurt people, does it?” he asked calmly.

Medea shook her head. “No. It is harmless to those who are not of the blood of Cronus.”

Liz had walked up with her short spear. As she bent forward over the bowl . . . Jerry pricked her forearm.

A droplet of blood welled up. Liz looked at it and then at him. “What the hell did you do that for?”

“Sorry.”

Then her eyes narrowed. “Oho! You’re a sneaky bastard! Does this stuff work on me, Medea?”

Medea shook her head. “No. I said so.”

Liz grinned nastily at Jerry. “Nice try though, Jerry.”

He shrugged. “I had to give it a go.”

“Well, don’t even think of trying it again!” she snapped. But her voice seemed very warm.

* * *

Jerry watched as they mounted the two dragons and rose in a slow spiral towards the moon. Scudding cloud obscured it and the parachute “brigade” was lost in the darkness. He felt his cheek. She’d given him a peck in parting. Forgiveness for his attempt to stop her going, as she said, and in case something went wrong. He shrugged. He wished like hell that he was a big handsome he-man. He wished he’d tried skydiving.

He turned to go back to the preparations for the frontal assault. The problem was a simple one. The icy, bleak heights of the mythological world’s Olympus were too cold for the spiders. Yet Prometheus, who had been to the top, assured them that the dwelling place of the gods was not more than pleasantly cool. Somehow they had to get huge numbers of spiders up to the city of the gods.

Jerry was extremely glad he was not a spider. The basket would be bad enough.

* * *

Up in the silent darkness clinging to the harness on Smitar’s back, Liz felt her bravado drain away. Still, it was too late now.

They continued the long slow spiral upwards. Her mouth was dry. It was going to be like doing a BASE jump in total darkness, and you’d have to be damn sure you hadn’t tangled the risers. And there was no reserve chute . . . maybe she should have encouraged Jerry a bit more. He was a nice guy. The sort that wouldn’t make a move without an invitation in triplicate. And she’d been brought up not to issue invitations.

Then below them in the darkness were the lights of Olympus. And the blessing of moonlight reflecting off the scudding clouds. She began carefully arranging her ‘chute on the broad dragon back. Cruz and Mac could take it in turns to jump. The lights looked a long way down against the bulk of the mountain.

“Cruz fsayfs to wait for the cloud. Rendevoufs near the fsoutheafstern lightfs.”

The cloud came. Taking that deep shaky breath, Liz jumped. The spider-web ‘chute spiraled. She jerked frantically at the risers. Felt the ‘chute bite air. She nearly broke a leg on the bruising landing. The only way out of the harness was slow, or cut. She cut.

Now she was loose, free at the top of Olympus in the pitch dark. She couldn’t see the lights. She had no idea in which direction they lay. She’d been too busy anticipating the landing to pay attention to her bearings. Maybe there was something to all this military professionalism after all. Oh well. When in doubt, don’t scream and shout, pick a direction and move out. . . .

It was easier said than done. The top of Olympus was rocky and confusing. And the moon remained obstinately cloud-hidden. Eventually she had the bright idea of climbing the highest rock. And then of course the moon came out from behind the clouds.