He sighed. That lieutenant was going to cause shit. Salinas’ idea now was to try and buddy up to this Odysseus guy. Cruz shook his head. Odysseus reminded Anibal of a street gang leader he’d known as a kid. Deadly as a snake, and with a snake’s utterly pragmatic “ethics.” Cozying up to someone like that was a sure prescription for disaster.
* * *
“We seem to have been put into a Greek myth. The Odyssey, to be specific. But there are several inconsistencies . . . ”
“What I’m really interested in is not where we are, but how we get back,” snapped Salinas.
Jerry regarded him owlishly. “Well. One way would appear to be to die, Lieutenant Salinas. I’m not sure how else. But, as I was explaining, the rules of this universe are different in certain respects. There may be ways to exploit this to our advantage—but first I’ve got to understand it. If monsters like Scylla exist, maybe other features of the myths do as well. Greek gods for instance.”
“So we should try asking Zeus for a lift home?” Liz asked dryly, pronouncing it “Zee-us” instead of “Zoos.”
“I’d go easy on the naming of names, Doctor,” said Lamont quietly. “I think this weird place might have them really listening.” He sighed heavily. “I wonder how my Marie is managing. . . .”
Jerry felt a pang of guilt. He was torn between a desire to get home safely, and the sheer thrill of this puzzle. He’d have said he was having the time of his life, if he hadn’t been frightened out of his wits half the time. He didn’t like being thrust into having to actually do things . . . but it had been something of a pleasant shock to discover that when he had to, he could.
But Lamont Jackson, Jerry knew, was a devoted family man. He just wanted to get home to his wife and children. Nobody but his academic colleagues would notice if Jerry Lukacs never came home.
Jerry’s feelings of guilt deepened. In truth, he was immensely relieved that Lamont was there. First, because the man exuded a kind of practical competence. But, even more, because Lamont was a good guy to talk the ideas through with. As far as Jerry knew, the maintenance mechanic had no better than a high school education. But it was obvious, from the puns they exchanged, that Lamont was one of those people with a sharp mind that soaked things up like a sponge. Which, in this situation, was infinitely more useful than another hyper-educated professor. Jerry could talk to Lamont without sliding into automatic academese, and get ideas out without burying them under the passive tense and three uses of the verb “suggest” in every sentence.
He looked at the rest of the bunch, weighing them up. He dismissed Salinas instantly. If that pompous jackass had anything to offer, he’d be surprised. The South African Amazon seemed quick on the uptake, if as ignorant as a person could be about mythology or even history. She certainly had presence . . . as well as being pretty good-looking in a sort of outdoorsy way.
The two surviving soldiers . . . well. Muscles, he supposed. They seemed okay, though. The tall, handsome younger one that the Greeks fancied could make fires, if nothing else. And the squat gorilla of a sergeant, sitting tossing dice, seemed to have a lot of common sense.
The Achaeans weren’t offering to share their wine or the meat they were roasting. The smell was enough to remind Jerry that his breakfast of cornflakes was a long, long way behind him.
Well, he’d had success so far. He decided to chance it again. He walked over to Odysseus. “The sorceress wishes to know: Where then is the famous hospitality of the Achaeans?”
Odysseus burped. “I was about to ask you about that! What sort of sorceress is it that doesn’t even provide a few measly goats and maybe a fresh pig or two for the feast? We’re as much her guests as she is ours. And she’s got ample serfs.”
Jerry blinked. One was inclined to forget that the Achaeans were rabid aristocrats. It was clearly shown in the Odyssey, and the Iliad—and the Argonautica, for that matter. But the modern eye glossed over it.