The Beasts Of Valhalla

'Getting information out of you is like trying to mine diamonds with a toothpick, Lippitt.'

'Later, I'd like to try again with the eye tests. We'll use a little more anesthetic.'

'I'd love to know the whole story before these tests kill me. For that matter, even you're not going to live forever.'

'What is evil lives forever,' Lippitt said in a distant, cryptic tone. 'Oh, good. A- wheeze- riddle. Let's see… we're talking about- wheeze- DNA research, genetic engineering. The cell lives forever.' Ahuh, ahuh, ahuh. Wheeze. 'In a very real sense, the cell is immortal; it keeps passing on bits of itself in the form of genetic information from generation to generation, and it's been that way since we all crawled out of the slime. Every once in a while there's a missed signal, and that's what evolution is all about. So, what's evil about a cell?'

Gasp, pant, wheeze.

'Just a Spanish fable,' Lippitt said quietly.

Galvanic skin reaction tests.

'Is Father more than foolish? Is Father evil?' 'As a matter of fact, he's one of the kindest, gentlest men I've ever met. And, as you may have suspected from all the names, a devotee of Richard Wagner.' 'How do you know him?' No answer.

'What does Father have to do with the Valhalla Project?'

No answer.

'Why can't you just tell us all of it, Lippitt?'

'Maybe I will,' Lippitt said softly, after a long pause.

'Why maybe? Don't you think Garth and I have a right to know?'

'I'm still thinking about it.'

'Exactly what are you thinking about?'

No answer.

Lippitt was becoming increasingly distracted as the tests progressed. For some reason I couldn't pinpoint-a vague tension in my empty stomach-I found that ominous.

Reflexes. Bangety-bang, twitch.

'What do you owe these people?'

'It's our country, Frederickson. There are a lot of things to be considered.'

'Our country, my ass! Our beloved country killed my nephew.'

'No.'

'And now they're hunting you.'

'No.'

'Bullshit, Lippitt! Bullshit!'

'I don't believe these people represent the country, Frederickson. Not in the sense that you mean.'

'The government is damn well responsible!'

Lippitt sighed. 'The government of the United States isn't the all-powerful, omniscient bureaucracy you like to think it is, Frederickson.'

'No? Well, I've had some bad experiences. So have you.'

He shot me a quick, sharp warning glance. I shrugged, let the tag line alone.

'The proof of what I'm saying is the fact that the Volsung Corporation was built in Peru County in the first place.' Lippitt paused, smiled wryly. 'If the 'government' you keep referring to had had the faintest inkling that you were associated with Peru County in any way, they wouldn't have come within five hundred miles of the place.'

'I'll take that as a compliment, Lippitt.'

'Sure.'

My turn to sigh. 'Why can't you tell us everything?' 'I'm thinking about it.'

My stomach flopped and tightened again. 'You're making me nervous, Lippitt.'

'I don't mean to.'

'What's your connection with Father?'

No answer.

More blood tests. Incredible. They were draining us dry.

'Volsung had the most piss-poor security operation I've ever seen or heard of.'

'You noticed,' Lippitt replied drily.

'Kids wander in and out, material is taken out.'

'I told you; the place was a madhouse, and the inmates were in charge.'

'You were supposed to be in charge of security.'

'Was I?'

'But then, you're pretty old, aren't you?' I said, watching him carefully. 'They should have retired you a long time ago.'

'Operatives who've done what I've done and know what I know don't retire, they just fade away.'

'Clever use of the cliche.'

'No cliche. 'Fading' is the term we use to describe the placing of an older or burnt-out agent into a cushy job.'

'You were 'faded' into Volsung?'

'No. I was buried in Volsung. I had no real authority, and I had almost as much trouble finding out what was really going on in there as you did. In a very real sense, I was a prisoner; I was put in Volsung because I knew too much. If I'd moved around too much, asked too many questions, or made too many complaints, I'm sure Jake Bolesh would have been ordered to kill me, too. Meanwhile, it was Siegfried Loge who was really in charge of security-which was exactly the way he wanted it. Loge figured that the fences, the support of the community, the 'growing' program, and Jake Bolesh were all the security he needed.'

'And Loge gave his smart-ass son the run of the place?'

Lippitt nodded. 'These people had the most unbelievable contempt for people they considered less bright than they were. They thought they could take care of any problem. It was a security disaster.'

'I'll grant you that it doesn't sound like the way the Pentagon likes to do things.'

'Precisely. Those people cared about nothing but their work; when they got involved in something, Barnum and Bailey could have marched through there and they wouldn't have known the difference.'

'But the funds-and your orders-had to come through the Pentagon.'

No answer.

'Volsung isn't a box of paper clips; a very big budget item and continued flow of funds had to be approved by somebody in Washington, and it would have to show up in budget reports.'

No answer.

'Who cooked up the Volsung Corporation and the Valhalla Project?'

No answer.

'You accepted your 'prisoner' status, not to mention all the shit going on around you, passively-at least for a time. That doesn't sound like the Lippitt I used to know.'

His brown eyes searched mine. 'I wasn't the Lippitt you used to know,' he said at last. 'First, it took me some time-too much time-to appreciate the fact that I was a prisoner. Then I realized I'd been manipulated, co-opted, by… whoever. I was feeling tired, depressed, defeated. Old. Then I got wind of this crazy dwarf who was tearing up Peru County, giving Jake Bolesh-and, incidentally, Siegfried Loge-fits. That's when I decided it was time to get off my ancient ass and do something.' He paused and smiled in a way I had never seen before; it was a warm smile, lighting his eyes, softening his face. 'I must say, Frederickson, you're an inspiration to an old man.'

'What's behind the red door, Lippitt?'

'I'm thinking about it.' The Ice Age that was the more familiar Lippitt had returned.

'You said you were 'buried' at Volsung because you knew too much. About what?'

No answer. The brown eyes were still bright, but the fire there was now cold. Dangerous.

'What does Father have to do with the Valhalla Project?'