Читаем The Barsoom Project полностью

“What’d I do?”

“Watch your hands, smartass,” Orson hissed. “Thunderbirds are not pets! In Inuit mythology they’re usually the villains. Whatever Snow Goose did, I hope it’s strong enough.”

The male threw his head back, and the golden feathers around his neck ruffled. His scream reverberated to the heavens, rang up and down the mountain range like a thunderclap.

For a moment, the Adventurers were frozen in their tracks. Then from far away there came an answering scream of recognition.

Johnny Welsh coughed nervously. “I think someone just rejected a collect call-”

On the edge of the horizon, looming up now, came a quartet of winged figures, identical to the first two, but even larger.

The newcomers were older, the gold in their feathers more tarnished by time and the elements. They carried curious leather appliances in their claws, fitted with dangling straps and buckles.

“We’ve got the grandparents, I think,” Orson said nervously.

They circled, then came in for a landing. While the younger couple kept an eye on the Gamers, the older Thunderbirds examined the evidence. They found a spear still lodged in a blood-spattered troll corpse, bit and wrenched it out with the toss of a great plumed head.

One of the Thunderbirds carried it over and respectfully laid it before Snow Goose. The others folded their wings and sat in front of the Gamers, heads bowed.

“Well, I’ll be dipped..

“Hurry,” Snow Goose said, handing the charm back to Johnny. “We have five birds. One will stay to watch over the eggs. Break into groups of two or three. Fix the saddles and mount up.”

Docilely, the great beasts presented themselves as Max approached and nervously threw a saddle across the back of the nearest Thunderbird.

Hologram? Must be, and yet they expect us to…

The saddle landed on something solid. Max reached forward, and touched feathers. He struggled with his surprise, and then subdued it. Stop trying to figure out when they make the switch!

Hebert and Trianna were the handiest with the leather saddles, were fastest following Snow Goose’s directions as she helped them buckle and strap the contraptions into place.

“Guess they’ve had riders before, eh?” Hebert puffed.

Snow Goose smiled enigmatically. “So the legends say. I assume you mean the birds?”

Max and Orson nodded to each other, then split up. Orson went with Charlene and Hippogryph, while Max got into line in front of Trianna and Francis Hebert.

He tugged at the saddle, anchored just ahead of the giant wings. As much as the idea scared him, they were really very secure. He climbed up onto the waiting back and strapped himself in.

Trianna slid up behind, wrapped her arms around his waist. Her breath warmed his cheek, had that sweet-and-sour excited tang that is irritating from a man, but a turn-on from a woman. And Trianna was a lot of woman. His belly muscles flexed within her arms, feel the hardness, without consulting his forebrain. His lower body tingled with localized, increased circulation.

Ah, well. His heart yearned for Eviane, but the rest of him seemed more pragmatic.

Hebert climbed on behind Trianna-and the three of them, he estimated, added up to a hefty tonnage. He hoped the Thunder-birds were as strong as they looked.

The last Gamer had boarded his mount. Snow Goose checked all of the buckles with sober, expert care, then climbed aboard the lead male. It ruffled its feathers and ran at the edge of the bluff. Without a moment’s hesitation, it dove over and disappeared into the clouds.

Max barely had time to say “What?” when his own mount turned stiffly toward the cliff. It took five running steps that reminded him of something out of a Disney film on ostriches, and dove off.

He screamed, and swore to himself that he would scream all of the way down. His stomach contracted as if trying to squeeze his intestines out of his nostrils. When he opened his eyes his Thunderbird was plunging straight for the bottom-

(And he remembered, briefly, a quote from twentieth-century stunt man Eve! Knievel: “I’ve gotten to where I can say the Lord’s Prayer in ten seconds.”)

“OurFatherwhoartin-”

The bird leveled up and began to climb. And climb. Up and up, and when he looked back he saw the other Thunderbirds and their passengers behind and below him, sleek black wings beating against a dwindling backdrop of mountains. The wind burned his eyes, and they began to water.

The clouds drifted past. Within a few moments the plateau was a memory. He turned around and faced Trianna, who although strapped onto the saddle still gripped his waist with eyes closed.

“We’re all right,” he said. When that produced no visible result, he nudged her again. “Go ahead. Open your eyes.”

“I’m afraid of heights.”

He looked down. Distantly, a blue carpet of sparkling sea glimmered through the clouds. Not the place for an acrophobe. “Better keep ‘em shut, then.”

Behind her, Francis Hebert was gazing down at the view, eyes as wide as a child’s in Santa’s toy shop.