

## PROJECT OLYMPUS: APOLLO

### Jonathan Standing

Copyright 2013 by Jonathan Standing

Smashwords Edition

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## PROJECT OLYMPUS: APOLLO

# Description:

Picture yourself in a future shared with real-life Olympians and engineered humans designed to order...

What do you do when: You build worlds; you're an entertainment mogul; and you are fascinated by ancient Greek mythology? Answer: You make an entire planet your stage set.

Hellas is an engineered world created by the wealthy terraformer Panagopoulos and his hallowed team of genemasters. Complete with centaurs, satyrs, heroes, gods, goddesses–and even a real-life mermaid, this is a story that focuses on the life of the Olympian genotype Apollo.

What do you do when the project starts to spiral out of control? Do you pull the plug? Send in the warships?

Now–imagine that your name is Apollo. You are beginning to find out that things are not as they appear in a world where you are a god.

Meanwhile, in creating the Olympians, it is becoming evident to their makers that they may have achieved more than they ever planned...

# PART ONE

.

* * *

The ghost-draped shapes of geneticists and lab technicians flit about with urgency. Amidst the chaos, one man commands attention. His name–Panagopoulos. No first name. None needed. Everyone knows him by that one word. Panagopoulos is a world builder. The man presents quite the imposing image, possessing both a barrel-chest and a stately-sized profile. He barks orders into every corner of the hall as he stalks the floor of the cavernous detainment hall like the alpha male of a sanitized pack of wolves.

Panagopoulos has the entire space station on full alert. Final preparations are well underway. The planet Hellas waits below. In just a matter of hours, years of hard work will culminate in the full unveiling of Project Olympus. This extraordinarily ambitious venture is certain to awe and astound viewers everywhere. Not only are thousands of jobs on the line, but also the respectability of Panagopoulos' entire enterprise is at stake. The tension that fills the air is so palpable that it hangs like a stage curtain before an unprepared performer.

A careful observer might wonder at the suitableness of this place as a launching site for such a vast project. Why? Here are five quick reasons you can count on one hand:

For one: This space station is new and its crew untested. In fact, two of the expansive wings of the orbital unit are still under construction. Workers of all trades scramble about underfoot even as the countdown to launch rapidly approaches the zero-hour.

Two: Its laboratories are small. There is nothing here to rival the state-of-the-art facilities back on Siros, Panagopoulos' home world, or on Jumna, site of an extensive backup facility. Siros is the place where the Olympian genotypes were conceptualized and then generated. These engineered humans are the major players in the project. Everything hinges on the makers getting things right. There will be no second chances. Any additional _tweaks_ that will need to be made to these unsuspecting cast members will have to be done in the field.

Three: Security here stinks. That is to say–security will be next to impossible to properly regulate this far from civilization. Security for this facility will depend upon patrolling warships supplied on a rotating basis, their presence a doubtful deterrent to any world player determined enough to interfere with such a highly controversial enterprise–whether for publicity's sake or done with either a political or ethical motive in mind. That is the problem when a space station is positioned so far from a mother world. Reports and surveys will be written up to convince any probing eye that all is safe here, but that will be a lie. The situation that exists in this planetary system is anything but secure.

Four: It is a two hour flight by the fastest shuttle to the live set happening below on the artificially created world of mythological Hellas. This promises to make for awkward delays in real-time troubleshooting situations. _Hmm... this sounds like even more trouble._

And five, topping off the list: The dubious name awarded to this space station, a name personally selected by Panagopoulos the project originator himself. The name– _Hades_. With the selection of such an ominous name; a name that portends doom from the very start, one might well worry that this space station will not be able to properly supervise the vast operation taking place covertly on the planet below.

Such concerns are probably justified. Of course, only time will tell.

Mercer, the recently appointed project supervisor, wipes a meaty hand across a sweaty brow and glances once more at the eleven beautiful bodies laid all in a row while they await transport to the surface below. Though yet to be activated, these motionless figures already radiate with a superhuman aura. Looking down at them, Mercer can't help but think back on all the work he's previously done in the field to build for himself the reputation that got him here. Over the years Mercer has been involved with numerous projects. He remembers them all. Many attempts have been made to develop constructs of supernatural ability–legal creations or otherwise. He was there for quite a few of these efforts. But these new Olympians far surpass anything ever before achieved by man. They are indeed godlike, just as intended.

Yet the glaring absence of a twelfth Olympian is of particular annoyance to Mercer. He doesn't like there to be loose ends left to wonder about. _Curse you, Jacobs!_ Leave it to that eccentric old genemaster to find a way to dampen today's glory. And all because of a stupid clash of differences with Panagopoulos! They say that irreconcilable differences of opinion with the project's powerful leader is what made Jacobs go off into hiding, taking the twelfth set of gene codes with him. Some say the great genemaster thought he could improve these Olympians still further, and went off to craft a masterpiece. Some say it was out of spite that he left. Others say the old fool took the last set of gene codes with him because in the end he was simply an old pervert.

For the twelfth Olympian was slated to be none other than the glorious goddess of love, sex, and beauty–Aphrodite herself. The missing goddess had been drawn up to be so beautiful and desirable that she'd been provocatively described in the media profile as akin to a walking pheromone. Running his eyes lasciviously across the five remaining females, Mercer finds it difficult to conceive of anything being more desirable than these unearthly goddesses. If such a creature can indeed be summoned into existence, huh! –He wouldn't blame Jacobs for wanting to keep her all for himself.

"Mercer!"

His chubby cheeks suddenly warm; Mercer turns and faces his employer with chagrin. Panagopoulos glares back at him. His huge head bulges like a mountain forever threatening to erupt.

"Shouldn't you be somewhere?" Panagopoulos asks bitingly.

"On the shuttle," Mercer admits, ducking his head in apology. He hates the thought of leaving the relative safety of the space station, even if it is for only a brief foray, but as project supervisor he knows that it's his responsibility to be there in person for the activation process. At least he will be able to return to the safety of the station immediately after the ceremony. He shudders at the thought of dwelling any longer than that in the demon's nest they are creating. Yes, _demons_ , is how Mercer would rather think of these super-constructs. These constructs have been dubbed gods. But Mercer knows what has been done to their minds. Only a fool would take these beautiful forms at face value. Mercer is not a fool. These thoughts flash through his mind in an instant and there is no lag time before he completes his dutiful response to his employer.

"I'm heading there now."

Panagopoulos starts to storm off in another direction. He turns back for just a moment. His expression bears a sinister leer.

"Don't worry, Mercer. You'll have plenty of opportunity to watch them in your new assignment."

* * *

Consciousness grows where nothing was before.

Then... _I am._

The thought is sweet. It fills me with happiness. Contentment. From now on, I will _be_. I will exist. I will flourish. Even now, my powerful lungs swell as they fill with air and I breathe deeply of life. My heart pumps steadily within the wide cavity of my chest. I can feel it deep inside. Strong it beats.

Ever so slowly, I open my eyes, daring to see. At first I can't identify the first vision my hungry eyes embrace. Elusive, the scene wants to defy definition. But then instantly I grasp what it is that I'm struggling to focus on. Shadows. That's all I'm looking at. Plain, ordinary shadows that dance lightly upon a ceiling. Nothing more.

I know it's a ceiling, just as I know my name is Apollo. And I know the light illuminating the spacious room and causing the shadows to dance upon the ceiling is cast from a candle even before I twist my head sideways on the mattress to look at the source. It's just an ordinary candle–I don't know how I know that it is ordinary, I just do–pale, stout; nothing fancy. The candle sits upon a small decorative table close by my bed, steadily feeding a bright tongue of flame straight into the air, which no longer wavers and makes shadows dance like it had done just moments before. Something must have agitated the flame. Something no longer present in this room. The thought wants to expand and allow for me to contemplate the meaning of it, but I dismiss the matter as trivial. At least when compared to the matter of my new existence. This, I find intoxicating. I want to drink in everything this new life has to offer.

And so I continue to take in my environment with a sense of wonder.

That, over there, with a brass latch-like mechanism on the front, is a wooden trunk. Nothing elaborate; the piece is purely functional. And that, on the other side of the room is a large, well designed desk, with another candle perched on its corner, this one unlit, although no taller or shorter than the candle that is already burning on the small table nearby. A logical conclusion to the comparison of the two candles is that the candle on the small decorative table was only recently lit. I sniff the air for evidence. Yes, there is a trace residue of sulfur that still lingers. A match was used to start the fire. Briefly I wonder if any matches were left behind. I will need matches if I am to make use of these two candles in the future.

I ease myself into a sitting position, letting the bed sheets fall aside to expose my bare skin to the air. The bedsprings squeak. I bounce experimentally. They squeak some more. Smiling from the results obtained from this simple amusement, I glance up and notice the full-length mirror fixed to one of the two closed doors that open off my room.

I get up and approach the mirror. Leisurely I stretch my fingers to the glass. I wonderingly double-trace the outline I see. Flawless, the image stares back at me. Dark golden hair set in tight curls. Smooth olive skin. Chiseled features. Accented by penetrating eyes of a stormy blue. The eyes connect with my own and are my own... I instantly realize. As knowledge of such things and more pours into my mind. And now I know too, that behind this mirrored door is a large walk-in closet, filled with clothes that fit me and which I will like.

Without further distraction I open the closet door and begin to dress, choosing a leopard-skin tunic. It's time to go and meet the others. The sudden compulsion to do so fills me. There are twelve–no; eleven of us. The names of the other ten siblings now stand out clearly in my mind; Ares, Artemis, Athena, Dionysus, Eris, Hephaestus, Hera, Hermes, Hestia, and Zeus. We were created to be special–gods even, and in time that is what we shall prove to be.

We're not alone here in our large palace-like home, though. Cronus and Rhea live here, too. They will take care of us and look after our needs. And a warm feeling of security fills me as I realize this.

But apprehension, too, begins to trouble me as I tentatively stretch my fingers towards the door handle that will lead me into the corridor outside.

For as soon as I leave this room my life will commence upon its own independent path and all that is comfortable and distinctly me will be forever in a state of change.

And the thought of change decidedly scares me.
* * *

He is not small, but Mercer feels that way perched in the overstuffed command chair stationed in the center of the control chamber. It is a discomforting feeling. Also, the chair squeaks. He is reminded of this flaw each time he pivots in this chair to examine the banks of busy screens that fill every wall. It is not a loud squeak. Nevertheless, it grates on his sensibilities that even so a slight reminder of imperfection can exist here so brazenly amidst the brain trust of mankind's greatest technological achievement of the day–yes, even here where _he_ is god.

With a slight motion of his hand he conjures up a face on one of the main screens.

"Report," Mercer commands the face, feeling the delicious flow of power ebb forth from his being.

"Activation of all subjects into their temporary environment has been successful, sir. The project is proceeding according to the adjusted schedule as requested."

"Good. Just make sure your team is out of there by the end of the week. I don't want any foul-ups."

Mercer empties that screen and draws forth another.

"Report," he commands the new face.

"You can count on the new surveillance network being completely operational this time next month, sir. We will continue to televise with the existing system until then. There should be no problems."

"Good. I will arrange to meet with your department sometime in the next few days. I bring with me a number of ideas that I wish to see implemented; ideas that I feel will greatly improve the functionality of your department. Make sure your entire staff is there."

"Yes, sir."

"Report," Mercer says to another face.

"Everything has now been scripted for a full year's term," informs the head of the mythological department. "Blake and his team have assured us that they have achieved complete assimilation of the prepared script into the subjects with their new memory grafting software. I would say that this is as close to hard-wiring as you can get, without actually implanting those unpredictable triggers we once had to employ back in the dark ages. As long as you keep them filled with that juice they should prove to be no problem to manipulate."

"Filling them with ambrosia will not be the problem," says Mercer with disdain. "Their craving for that juice will be driven by more than for its taste; the stuff I'm told contains an addictive component that will enhance each subject's feeling of well-being and will in fact supercharge his or her internal motors to a level off the charts, so to speak. They will have an irrepressible _need_ to drink it."

Mercer finishes with this face and continues on with the next, but his chair continues to squeak. It is a subtle reminder that maybe not all is perfect in this perfect world they are creating.
* * *

"Ares! Get away from her!" Cronis roars angrily. With three enormous strides, he advances threateningly upon the two siblings who sprawl on the stone floor of the expansive library locked in combat.

Ares gives Eris one last solid blow for good measure, and then leaps up and goes sullenly to his accustomed corner. He looks back once, his dark eyes furious, and then with a fierce shake of his curly black head turns defiantly away from us.

"And stay there until I say you can leave!" Cronus finishes sternly, his bald dome a familiar shade of scarlet and his long white beard a rigid stick of anger.

Eris groggily climbs to her feet. Her sea of tangled jet-black tresses is in wild disarray. The blue discoloration imprinted deep into her cocoa-brown cheek is ample proof that she got the worst of the bout this time. Eris' exotic dark eyes cast daggers upon Ares, and then fall upon a heavy iron candle holder sitting nearby on a table. She reaches for it, her intentions obvious.

"Don't, Eris," I say in a voice low enough that Cronus won't hear. By retaliating, all she will end up doing is getting herself in trouble once again. Sometimes Eris gets herself so heated up she doesn't see reason. Punishments seem to come daily for the untamed goddess. I put aside the book I've been reading. Her own book lies neglected beside me where she'd tossed it before the fight, face down, pages carelessly bent.

She doesn't pay any heed to my warning and her long brown fingers curl around the heavy object with determination. I rise from the couch and reach for her arm just as her arm begins to coil back.

Cronus suddenly notices her intent and storms over.

"Eris! Put that down and go to your room! Now! I don't want to see you again until dinner!"

She glares rebelliously up at the huge man who hovers threateningly over her. A muscle under her eye twitches. Like it did just before she and Ares started to fight. And like it did the last time she and I got into a fight also. It's a signal I've come to know well. I know there will be no stopping her.

"No!" She spits out the retort with uncontrolled vehemence. "Stay out of my way!"

Eris shrugs my hand from her arm and decides to include me in her glare. I spread my palms and give her space. Some battles aren't worth interfering with.

"Go!" Cronus' barked order shakes the large room with its power and causes the glass to rattle in the lanterns evenly spaced along the walls.

"No!"

Growling ferociously, Cronus grabs her by the shoulder to steer her in the right direction. But Eris is so overtaken by rage that she pushes him away with all her might. Cronus is a big man, bigger than all of us in fact, yet he flies backwards like a hollow man and crashes heavily into the wall behind him, the force rupturing a seam in the plastered surface.

Zeus walks in the library just then, a striking figure almost as towering as Cronus.

"What's going on?" he demands. Zeus sizes up the situation with a sweeping glance that takes in both his livid sister and the crumpled figure on the floor.

Cronus gets up slowly. Rubs his arm. Glares at the bristling goddess as she stands rigidly in the center of the room with her fists clenched at her side.

"Eris and Ares were back to fighting again. I told her to go to her room and she disobeyed."

Though his voice is deep, he sounds almost petulant. Maybe it's because he has come to learn that we are stronger than he is.

Zeus turns and looks disapprovingly at Eris.

"Go."

His voice is not loud when he says it, but carries more power than if ten Cronuses were to shout it out at the top of their lungs all at the same time. And tight-lipped, Eris runs out of the room without a word. No one messes with the great Zeus.

"Where's everybody else?" Zeus asks in a now casual voice, glancing around the room.

"Gymnasium," I reply, turning my attention back to my book now that the fun's over. "Except for Hephaestus, who is in the workshop, and Hestia, who has gone to her room." She's there because she's angry at me, but I don't tell Zeus this. No one needs to know why.

Zeus nods abruptly. As he turns to leave, Ares chuckles wickedly in his corner. Always the troublemaker. I don't know who's worse; he or Eris. Neither can seem to keep out of trouble. I decide that's its kind of fitting that this time they were at each other's throats instead of someone else's.

I finish the book and lay it aside. This makes it an even one hundred books that I've sped through so far. Most of the material has been pretty useless so far, but it seems as though my mind has a constant craving to fill it with information just as a starving man has a need to eat. This book was telling me about the common vegetation to be found on Hellas. _Like I have any reason to know about this._ But if someone were to quiz me, I can now name off exactly one thousand, one hundred and thirty-five different varieties of vegetation and describe their properties in excruciating detail. This list is by no means comprehensive, but it covers the most common varieties of green things that one might come upon while venturing out into the outdoors of Hellas.

Little good this is to me right now. We have yet to see the outside. But if I ever do get outside, I will be quite the expert at naming anything green for anybody who asks. _Whoopee._

After a moment I push myself to my feet. No one says a word as I leave the library. My footfalls echo with a hollow cadence down the long hallway. Nothing fills the cold marble space of the vast hall to absorb the sound. No floor covering, no furniture, no wall hangings. Nothing. It makes my new home feel very bleak indeed. Especially with no access or view to the outside.

I glance at the tightly shut up windows that rise to a great distance above my head. _Soon_ , a voice of quiet reassurance tells me, _the windows will open_. Maybe in just days. That won't be soon enough. Although a strange feeling of coerced contentment instantly wells up inside me and tries to void this longing the moment I feel it, I know that I _need_ to get outside. It would help even to be able to _see_ the outside. But I can't. Not yet. Not until we're ready.

I bristle inside at the thought. I hate being told _no_. Even if it's only by something inside my head.

A painful burning sensation develops deep inside this very head along with, and probably because of these rebellious thoughts. I frown and try to ward off the all too familiar pain. I don't like my thoughts being steered into a direction not of my own choosing. Because that's what this not-so-subtle pressure feels like. And it seems to happen _way_ too much.

I stop in the hall and let my fingers trace lightly across the dark barrier that covers one of the windows. The pain is at its peak now, but I try to ignore it. I don't want to be forced into obedience and neither do I want to be convinced to wait patiently. Even though I have to clench my teeth to stave off the pain that punishes me, the small act of defiance is so worth it.

Or is it? The cold feel of steel beneath my fingers is a hollow letdown. But what was I expecting? Something dramatic? Some kind of sudden enlightenment? Or maybe a warm tingle at the least? This steel barrier to the outside is simply what it appears to be. It offers nothing as compensation for its unfeeling duty to deny me the outside.

I move on with a shrug and soon I am standing before Eris' door. The massive rough-hewn block of deep mahogany stares belligerently back at me, asking me what I'm doing here. _Mind your own business_ , I say to it crossly. Even I don't know the entire reason for this visit. I knock lightly.

"Go away!" says a voice from within that sounds like it has been crying.

"Eris, it's me. Let me in. I want to talk to you."

She rewards me with silence. I think I hear a choked sob and so I try the door handle. _Locked_.

"Eris, we need to talk."

Still, she doesn't respond. So I grip the deeply embossed door handle firmly in one hand and apply enough pressure to snap the bolts holding it closed. Despite its bulk, the door swings quietly open.

Eris sits facing me on her bed, her heels tucked under her mattress. Her face is red and puffy, and her endless mass of twisted curls are matted to her cheeks and neck. She glares at me fiercely through startling slanted eyes that shimmer with wetness.

"You broke my door." Her voice is brittle with accusation.

"You wouldn't open it."

"Don't you get it Stupid? I don't want to see you."

"Why do you have to be so difficult, Eris? Do you actually _want_ everyone to hate you?"

"Who cares? They hate me anyway."

"You are being negative again. Nobody hates you, and you know it. The only one who is being hard on you is yourself. I don't know why you carry around such anger with you, but you need to stop it. I know none of us asked to be brought into this world, and I know none of us asked to be the way we are, but we all have our own choices to make. Only you can set the path that you want for your feet to follow."

"What? So are you going to psycho-analyze me again? Preach to me? Do you think you can _fix_ me? Is that it, Apollo? Is that your goal here? Because if that is what you're trying to do, you can go and take a flying leap!"

"No, Eris. I am not on a crusade to _fix_ you. I care for you, that is all."

"If you care so much, then get out of my room and leave me alone!" She turns her bitter face aside and waves her hand dismissively as an invitation for me to leave.

I stand and watch her for a moment, taking in her dark rage and wild beauty. Her bed is full of frills and lace and pillowed softness. She looks like a devil trapped in an angel's lair. So full of contradictions. This is what she is. What I'm looking at is what defines her.

It is with reluctance that I finally depart. In some ways Eris is right. I do want to _fix_ her. As I want to fix Zeus, Hermes, Hephaestus, Ares, Dionysus, Hera, Hestia, Athena, and Artemis. I want to fix myself also.

But the task seems so far beyond me. We will be lucky if we don't become even more broken before all is said and done.
* * *

Mercer looks with annoyance at the face on the screen.

"We really need to accelerate the schedule, sir," the face pleads. "The situation is beginning to get ugly in there. They are at each other's throats. I know it's good for ratings, but it can't be good for their development."

"Well, what would you recommend?" Mercer asks testily.

"Permission to speak frankly?"

With an irritated wave of his hand Mercer signals for the face to continue.

"We need to get them into the outside air. Let them stretch out; let off steam. Those Olympians don't need to be kept locked in the holding quarters any longer. You're making a mistake. We already have enough cameras and surveillance equipment on hand to know if one of these Olympians so much as picks his nose in secret. Adequate security measurements are in place. The outside crew is ready to be lifted off-world. Stop delaying matters. Get our people out of there. That's what I would strongly recommend, sir."

Mercer glowers at the face. His response is not immediate, but when it comes his tone is biting. "Would you like to know what I would recommend?"

"Yes, sir."

"That you start looking for new employment. For you are hereby dismissed from the project."

Mercer wipes the screen free of the leering face. He already knows that things are tense among the newly activated Olympians. He doesn't need a leering face to tell him that. What else would you expect? These Olympians are like toddlers playing with razor-sharp knives. They are basically children with adult bodies and minds, but with no emotional development as yet.

At least they heal quickly. Otherwise things would get even uglier in this temporary confinement to the palace's shielded lower floor. And that's saying something. Some of the fights these Olympians have been getting into would permanently cripple even the strongest titan class construct.

The truth of the matter is, Mercer expected all this. As a matter of fact, he planned for all this drama to happen. Well; not he directly, but in coordination with the Psych team. It was decided that the more volatile the environment during their formative period, the more conducive it would be for detachments towards filial relationships to grow in their developing psyche. Some banding together in their relationships of course can't be avoided; the hardwiring between similar genotypes being too strong to keep some pairs apart, but allowing this group to become unified as a whole would work at cross-purposes to what the Olympian team is trying to achieve. They are trying to create a haughty, self-serving, and callous-hearted pantheon of gods and goddesses.

You don't get that by playing nice.

Mercer understands all this. In fact, he even relishes it when he sees the unwanted budding of personality traits that don't fit such a profile get broken down and smashed to oblivion as a result of the carefully planned episodes of his team. Such traits are not allowed. Mercer feels in these able hands of his the power of a plow-man at the reins of a powerful draft horse. An Olympian genotype is a mighty thing, but it is his hands that can turn them and even break them. The thrill this gives Mercer is every bit as delicious to him as the ambrosia is to the powerful constructs that are fed off that substance.

This former employee that he just fired doesn't get the whole purpose of this project.

More importantly, he doesn't know his place. And that is one thing that Mercer just won't tolerate.
* * *

"Aren't you going to open it, Apollo?"

Artemis' whisper into my ear is tense with excitement and mischief. Her hair tickles my cheek as we both try to peek through the same small window in the door. The view through the window is limited even further because of the inky blackness of night. But when we look real close we think we can see something moving outside. _Demons_ , I whispered a moment ago to Artemis. I watched with hidden glee as she shuddered at the thought. Of course, we can't really see anything so tangible outside this tiny dark window. But it doesn't hurt to exercise our fertile imaginations a little. And the thought of imaginary demons does seem to add a mysterious component to our plans for a little adventure.

There still occurs that nagging burning sensation every time I do something a little rebellious. But it happens so often I think I'm learning to cope with the pain. Right now these warnings are screaming as loud as they have ever screamed. I push the unwelcome distraction aside and try to focus on the mischief at hand.

"I don't know. You really think we should?"

"Getting cold feet? I told you already; Athena found this tunnel and snuck out last night after dark. Why can't we?"

"Nobody saw her do it. How can you be sure she was outside?"

"Don't ask me that. Let's just say that I somehow know."

I don't press Artemis on her cryptic response. After seeing Athena sneak Hestia's portion of ambrosia yesterday, I don't doubt anything she says about Athena. Hestia asked each of us in turn if we took it, and I was right there when Athena denied it. But I kept my mouth shut. And today took Ares' portion. Just to keep abreast of her. And just in case this ambrosia concoction has something in it that can indeed provide an advantage. I am quite competitive, after all.

"Well?" Artemis prompts.

I glance impatiently into her excited upturned face. She's always trying to do that; push me into doing something before I've carefully thought it all through. Originally I was only going to come here to look. I wasn't planning all this. Artemis stares back at me in anticipation; her smooth olive skin glistens with a warm sheen beneath the dim light coming from the torch-lit corridor at our backs.

She's beautiful, I think to myself as I look into her flushed face momentarily distracted from the purpose at hand. Breathtakingly so. Divine. Radiant. Stunning. Adjectives don't seem to do her justice. Such beauty dares me. Framed by lashes that are lamp black and velvety, the enormous eyes that work on me generate enough power that they can melt iron as easily as they can a man's will. The steeply curved ruby lips that pout at me with hope beg to be tasted–but I don't dare or mine will be swollen–again. Even the small dimple that appears in her left cheek as she suddenly begins to grow a victorious smile is sublimely perfect–like a final garnish on an already perfect dish. But then, my dearest sister is after all a goddess...

"Okay. Let's do it," I finally say, unable to do otherwise and disappoint her. With this decision I almost gasp from the shot of pain that slices through my spine at my show of blatant disobedience and I wonder if Artemis feels any of the same sensation. Or maybe it's just me who has these _guilty conscience warriors_ lurking inside this skin who are only too eager to stab me every time I think or do something I'm not supposed to do.

"Yippee!" Artemis cries in enthusiasm. She grabs my arm and bounces gleefully. Her long black hair spills into her face as a result of her unrestrained celebration.

No, she definitely doesn't have these same deterrents lurking somewhere inside herself. Or she hides it even better than I do.

"Shh! You'll warn everybody!"

She presses her fingers tightly over her own lips in apology and tries to remain still. But her huge dark eyes sparkle brightly as I take out the folded piece of wire I'd brought and begin to work at the lock's mechanism. There is no assurance that this trick will work, but in examining the function and workings of the locks in evidence throughout our palace home, this is the bright idea I've come up with. Up to now it's been working fine. Especially considering that breaking any locks that deny me access seems to be considered an unpopular solution around here. I try different angles. I keep bending and manipulating the tip of the wire, feeling for the hidden shape of the lock, seeking to fathom its intricate contours; and finally I hear a faint click from inside the lock.

"Got it," I mutter triumphantly. "Try it now."

Giddy with excitement, she pushes at the handle and the door swings open. Cool air caresses our cheeks as the light from a vast canopy of stars blinds and dizzies us both as it sweeps down upon us from the midnight sky above.

"Wow!" Artemis gasps, blinking into the radiance. "I didn't know that the night could be so beautiful."

I boldly step past her and into the night air. The golden shaft of light that spills from the opened doorway into the blackness urges my feet ever forward until I stand wholly in nighttime darkness. I tilt my head back and inhale deeply. That must be tree smell. And damp grass smell. I hear sounds, too. The distant whisper of leaves fluttering and scratching upon dry limbs, the chirping, keening, buzzing, and clicking of insects...there's so much stimuli flooding into my senses all at once that the information pouring into my mind to explain these things can't keep up. And dizzied, I simply spread my arms wide and soak it all in.

Artemis brushes softly past me. Her shadow is barely discernable beneath the darkness of the night, her scent familiar. I hear the soft pounding of her footfalls then, that turns into a squeaking against the dew-damp grass. Joyous, she runs in the dark.

"Artemis!" I hiss. "You'll hurt yourself!"

I hear her giggle from far off.

"Come catch me, Apollo!"

I sigh in exasperation and take off after her. Her flitting shadow is difficult to see at first. But my eyes quickly adjust to the darkness and I give chase. It is exhilarating to run in the night. My spirit soars and my feet move almost as quickly. I chase Artemis down and tackle her in the high wet grass. We roll and frolic in the dew, laughing and silly. And then finally breathless and spent, we roll onto our backs and stare up at the nighttime sky.

"Just look at that moon," Artemis murmurs breathlessly at my side, our bodies touching in a familiar sort of way. "Glowing like a pearl, so beautiful and quiet, so free and untamed."

Artemis twists her head sideways to look at me intently. Her eyes are aglow with a shimmering fire, burning in their sudden intensity. I feel her breath upon my cheek, warm and sweet. "I don't care what it takes, Apollo, someday it will be all mine."

"You're going to own the moon?"

She bites her lower lip and nods seriously. After a moment her attention returns to a thoughtful examination of the nighttime sky that she plans to own.

I relax and listen to the sounds of the night. My thoughts form a melody to harmonize them, and my fingers itch for an instrument to play it with. But I have none. Without an outlet, frustration swells within me and I sigh out loud.

"What would you want, if you could have anything?" I hear Artemis ask dreamily.

_A musical instrument perhaps?_ Silly thought! I've never even heard the sound of music, except for the pleasing sound of Artemis' singing.

"I don't know," I finally reply. My lips form a bemused smile. "But since we've only been alive for two weeks I guess I'm not in much of a position to know what's worth having yet. Ask me again in a year."

"I know! You can have the sun."

"Okay... that's bold. I'll have the sun. Are you happy now?"

She smiles and rocks her head smugly up and down, content. Her head lolls back to me. Mischief tugs at the corners of her ruby lips.

"Do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"Together, we'll just about rule the world, you and me."

"That's nice."

I start to get up, suddenly anxious. The guilty conscience thing is starting to get to me and it's not only because of the unrelenting pain I'm still feeling by fighting it. "We ought to go back before someone finds out that we're gone."

Artemis grows a pout. "I'm not ready to go yet."

But I am. We really shouldn't have had this brief foray without permission. It is outright disobedience. I don't even need the burning sensation to know that we've gone too far this time. I feel an increasing urgency to get back inside. My heart is even beginning to pitter patter and the feeling of wrongness is so strong that my forehead suddenly feels hot and sticky.

"What's that?" I ask suddenly, peering into the shadows with a feigned look of alarm on my face.

"What?"

"I think I just saw a demon. There! I just saw it again!"

She bounds to her feet with a sudden change of expression. Eyes wide, she stares into the darkness.

"I don't see anything."

"There! It just ducked behind a tree."

She looks at me suspiciously. "Are you playing with me, Apollo?"

"I'm serious!"

Her eyes dart nervously from shadow to shadow. "Race you back!" she suddenly cries.

Smiling privately, I sprint after her.
* * *

Mercer quietly sits within the muted glow of active screens and taps thoughtfully upon the arm of his overstuffed chair. After a moment his finger desists from the repetitive tapping and is reassigned to the grim task of summoning forth a certain screen.

"How did you allow this to happen," he asks the startled face that suddenly appears. "Don't you know it's not time yet?"

"I don't know, sir. We thought access to the underground tunnels was thoroughly sealed off from the Olympians. It's that Athena, sir. She's too _freaking_ smart. Apparently she noted the dissimilarity in the reverberations of certain sections of flooring and determined that there was hollow space beneath them. Then it was just a matter of time before she located one of the sealed access panels. But I still haven't figured out how she managed to decode the intricate lock mechanism on the exterior door and leave it compromised for the other two to get past it. Frankly, sir, I am a little scared of her."

"Well, we have only two more days to hold out. Then I've granted permission to central command to release the barriers and let them all outside. All I ask is that you hold the fort until then."

Mercer returns to his realm of contemplation. _Human error_ , he decides. That is what led to the platinum-haired Olympian's discovery of the tunnels. He refuses to accept that it is more than that. Mercer knows that in addition to the physical enhancements given to these genotypes, cerebral enhancements were also added, and none more extensively than to this Athena model. But enhancements have their limits, and it doesn't make sense to him that engineered intelligence can ever surpass that of its maker. While he hasn't met all of the genemasters involved in these Olympian's development, Mercer has met enough to feel that he isn't too far below them when it comes to scoring a high fluid-based intelligence quotient.

It takes more that getting past locked doors to impress him.

Still, every time Mercer sees a close-up of those icy blue eyes, he gets an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.
* * *

We stare in horror. Two bodies are spilled grotesquely on the floor at our feet. One huge body and a smaller one next to it. Cronus and Rhea look so strange to me like this, and it's not just because of the way their bodies lay twisted into positions a body was never meant to assume. Neither is it because of the unnatural redness of the fluid splattered across the room and across their bare flesh, making their mottled flesh pink and eerie beneath the flickering candle-light. It's their faces; the odd expressions left plastered there. And the way they stare straight ahead through glazed eyes, focused in captured terror upon a target that just isn't there. Staring as though they think they aren't dead. Which, of course, they in fact are.

In the background, I hear Artemis still retching in the corridor outside. She's the one who had the bad misfortune of discovering the bodies. Now she's paying the price for her discovery from down on her knees.

"Who did it?" Hermes asks and then swallows thickly, worriedly kneading his wide pliant hands together before him. His boyish face is serious, one of the few times I've seen it so.

"We don't know," Athena snaps crisply as she brushes a stray silver lock from her face.

"I can't believe it! Now who's going to make our meals and wash our clothes?" Eris complains with a sour pout, her dusky face clouded darker still in irritation. But then Eris always looks like she's pouting, the way her mouth is turned. She's got sort of an angry twist to her mouth that stays that way even when she's smiling. But Eris is also distractingly beautiful. With her smooth cocoa skin, her constant tangled mane of raven-hair, and her huge electric eyes that are canted at an exotic angle, she brims with a dangerous sort of wild beauty that sets my adrenaline on fire every time I look at her. Which, I find, is probably way too often.

"How can you be so insensitive!" Hestia shrieks at Eris. Her warm brown eyes are aglitter with righteous indignation, her fists balled at her waist. She's beautiful, too. But with a domestic sort of beauty which stands in sharp contrast to the untamed beauty that is Eris. Hestia has what I would call a _comfortable_ beauty. Her appearance is not over-the-top like a few of my other sisters. I feel as though I can relax around her. I need that sometimes.

"They are dead!" Hestia continues, her face livid, "And someone killed them! One of _us_ , as a point of fact!"

"Then why don't you go look for Zeus?" Eris asks slyly, totally unperturbed by the scalding looks directed her way. "He's the only one still unaccounted for."

"Zeus had nothing to do with this, you snot-nosed troublemaker," Hera snaps, jumping up from the couch upon which she'd collapsed earlier. She shakes her fist threateningly in Eris' sneering face. "If you so much as dare..."

"Hera!" I cry, pulling her away from Eris before she hits her and mars that beautiful face. "This is no time for arguing. We've got to find out what happened, and I think we should at least go and find Zeus and see if he knows anything. And Eris," I turn and give her a chastising glare, "don't you be jumping to any quick conclusions, either. None of us know what did happen, and until we do, we're going to assume that everyone's innocent. Okay?"

They nod their heads soberly. Everyone except for Athena. I see Athena across the room with her arms crossed and with a hand cupping her chin thoughtfully as she regards me with unabashed skepticism. She doesn't like it when I take charge. An ice-princess Athena is, with her tall regal stature, with her pale perfect features and her pale gray eyes. She has a mind that analyzes every minute detail with a cold precision, but that cares only about Athena. Not content with her place beneath me on the power tier, Athena is always trying to test me. She's one I can't afford to give an inch to.

"What's that look, Athena? You have something you want to say?"

She shakes her head coolly.

I nod. "Good. Let's go find Zeus."

We find Zeus in his room sitting on the edge of his bed. His muscular arms are wrapped miserably in front of him. His majestic head is bent forward, and his chin is propped against his chest.

He slowly looks up at us through haunted eyes of golden sorrow as we enter his room and fill in the space around him.

"Yes, I did it," Zeus confesses, even before we have an opportunity to say anything. He unfolds his powerful arms. Shows us his big hands, which are trembling badly. His hands are stained red.

Hera shrieks. Her hands fly to her finely sculpted face, which has turned as white as Artemis' moon. She turns and walks unsteadily out to the corridor, away from all of us, away from the terrible shame. And then her control finally shatters and we hear frenzied footsteps as she races shrieking to her room. The sound fades, leaving us in uncomfortable silence.

"Why, Zeus?" I ask quietly. The bedsprings protest as I sit down next to him.

It's a long moment before he answers, but then he starts to talk. His speech is broken. His words make little sense.

"I found them together...he was with her...on her...in her...something snapped inside me...I don't know..."

He chokes up. Buries his curly head in his arms. His body heaves violently with his sobs.

I look up at the others. They stare back. Disbelieving. Stunned. Hermes gulps; the only fitting thing that can be expressed right now. Eris clears her throat. An, _I told you so_ type of sound. She looks at me, her eyebrows arch regally and her wet lips curl deliciously over a slightly bared tongue as if she's just tasted something wonderfully juicy and enticing. Her electric eyes sparkle smugly. And then she turns and leaves the room with a precocious swing of her hips.

For a moment, just for a brief moment, I hate her.

Hephaestus follows quietly. Then Dionysus.

"Maybe you'd all better leave," I suggest, turning to the others.

They slowly do, one by one.

"What are we going to do, Zeus?" I finally say after a prolonged period of silence with just the two of us left together.

"I don't know. Maybe I should go away."

"Where to?"

"I'll go far away and never come back; a self-imposed exile."

"You can't, Zeus. You're one of us."

"And what are we, Apollo?" Zeus raises his head to look me in the eye. His gaze is one of bitterness.

I stare into my lap. Clench my hands and then unclench them. Feel the anguish that he feels. _What are we?_ I've asked myself that same question over and over again. There are so many empty gaps in what I know. So much missing data. I search what memory caches have so far been opened to me, trying to find an answer. Maybe the answer is somewhere in there with all of the structured thoughts that I've found planted in my mind like unbidden tour-guides, memories that I never put there. I press for an answer, my need to know desperate. _What are we?_

_You're gods_ , a familiar voice tells me reassuringly. But what does that mean? How are we different from the rest of mankind? Who are mankind? Are they like Cronus and Rhea, who are no longer to be with us? What's the difference between those two humans and us? Is it just the crimson of their human blood?

"I don't know," I finally murmur quietly.

I see Zeus staring at his red-dyed hands.

"These hands kill so easily. It was terrible..."

"Don't think about it, Zeus...," I begin to say, placing my hand on his thick shoulder in reassurance.

"...no, what was so terrible was that I enjoyed it. It felt good to crush their bodies in my hands. To hear their screams. To feel the power that filled me, a power which mere words can't describe. It sickens me to know this; to know the darkness of my soul, the readiness to kill that is inside of me. I could do it again. No!" he suddenly moans, clenching his head in his hands, "I can't let myself do it again!"

Zeus looks at me entreatingly. His eyes glisten. He's gone mad. Completely insane. I've never seen him like this.

"You can do it, Apollo," he begs. "You can help me. You're the only one who has the strength in his hands to do it."

"To do what, Zeus?"

"You need to end my life." He turns sideways on his bed. Faces his broad back to me. Bends his majestic head forward. "Break my neck, Apollo. Rip this head clean off these wicked shoulders. I need to end this miserable existence before I kill again. And I will if you don't stop me. I know I will."

"Stop it, Zeus. I'm not going to kill you."

"You have to!"

"No, Zeus," I say slowly, thinking about the cruel dark thoughts which my own mind has entertained from time to time, and the dark secret thoughts Artemis once shared with me in private; thoughts which shamed us and made us wonder about the evil with which we've been flawed. If we are truly gods, then we are broken gods indeed.

"I think the rest of the Olympians will soon come to discover that the same darkness dwells also in each one of us. If I kill you, Zeus, we might as well all die. It's something I think we're just going to have to learn to live with. We are all flawed."

Zeus looks at me a long time. Looks away. Nods slowly. Weighs his words carefully. Finally he speaks, and his words have an ominous ring to them.

"Then let the world beware."
* * *

Numbly Mercer regards the fuming huge head that fills not only the whole screen, but the whole chamber with its presence.

"No, sir," he says to it weakly. "I had never been given any indication that anything was amiss in there."

"Explain this then," Panagopoulos declares, and a prominent screen to Mercer's left suddenly displays the leering face of a dismissed employee. The leering face proceeds to tell a story, and the story doesn't sound so good coming from another's lips. But the story that is told is made to sound very convincing and is not exactly an outright lie, and when the face is finally finished with its condemnatory tale Mercer cannot but stare blankly at the questioning scowl on the far too sober employer.

"I am in error," Mercer finally admits in a carefully prepared tone of penitence. "I will restore you to your position immediately," he says to the face on his left. "And I will fix this problem by getting adequate replacements in there as soon as possible," he promises Panagopoulos, as he turns back to face his angry employer. Operating in damage control mode, he will do anything he can to turn aside Panagopoulos' displeasure. But at the first opportunity that presents itself, he will make life a living nightmare for this big mouth employee. In such a way that Panagopoulos never finds out about, of course.

"You had better," Panagopoulos threatens darkly before thankfully departing from the screen.

Mercer swivels in his chair, no longer hearing the squeak it still bears, and stares at a sober scene graphically depicted on one of the screens. The bodies of the two titan class constructs have not yet been removed from they room in which they were so brutally slain, and lay there bearing testimony to a frightening new truth. Still vivid in Mercer's memory is the sickening replay of the incident. He'd seen the ease with which Zeus had dispatched the most powerful titan-class construct yet designed along with its female counterpart. That strength, coupled with the uncontrollable rage he'd also seen displayed by this Olympian, stand as a horrifying witness to Mercer that man has now created something to truly fear.

The trigger-event planned for Zeus was not supposed to result in such a violent reaction. Mercer doesn't like it when things take place in a way that is not predictable. He likes to be in control of a situation. This episode has him shaken.

Mercer's eyes swivel to another screen, a screen displaying the night-time profile of the planet Hellas around which his space station orbits, the world to which the eyes of a vast audience have quickly become glued. Yes, this world is living up to Panagopoulos' bold promise to make it the greatest entertainment production ever devised by man. But as he sits here in his overstuffed chair that squeaks and he stares at the blue jewel hanging naively in the sky before him, Mercer can only hope that this world will be able to constrain its Olympian gods.

Otherwise, may _God_ help us all.
* * *

"Who do you suppose they are?" I ask the others, standing up from my chair on the lawn to get a better look at the two youths slowly making their way towards us along the path coming from the dark forest.

"Beats me," Hephaestus says, scratching at his chin. He's been letting his beard grow, and driving us crazy with how often he scratches at the stubble. But beard or no beard, he's still plain ugly. Made to seem even uglier by the perfection that is the rest of us.

"They look too young to be of any use," Hera remarks critically.

"The boy's sort of cute," Eris smiles coyly. "I think I'm going to like him, but I wonder if they know how to cook. I hate fixing my own meals."

"I hope they do laundry," Athena leers, "I hate looking at that smelly pile of clothes on your floor."

Eris thrusts her hand to her hip and glares at Athena. "Yeah, well I hope they know how to do make-overs, because you look kind of UGLY today."

They continue to go back and forth at each other like they always do but I stop paying attention to them.

The two youths are closer now and I get a better look at them. They do look young. The boy has flaxen hair cropped short and beautiful ruddy cheeks; the girl, fire-red hair and a slight dusting of freckles; her features as beautifully molded as the boy's. Apprehension fills their faces as they near us.

Hestia takes a few steps out to meet them. Gracious Hestia, always trying to make things comfortable for others. And never appreciated for her efforts.

"Who are you?" she asks kindly.

"I'm Ganymede," the boy says shyly.

"And I'm Hebe," the girl follows with, her sea-green eyes glued to the pebbled pathway at her feet.

"Why have you come," Athena demands of them, ever the prickly one.

"We came to serve you," murmurs the boy sheepishly.

"Who sent you?"

"We don't remember."

"'Don't remember?' What are you, stupid, or something?"

They shake their heads wretchedly.

"Leave them alone, Athena," I say. "I don't think they're lying. Something may have intentionally been done to their memory as a precaution." I turn to the two youths.

"Tell us what you remember before you came out of that forest back there."

They look at us with despair.

"We don't remember anything. Just that we're supposed to do anything you ask of us."

" _Anything_?" Hephaestus asks skeptically, as he steps towards them with a crooked frown on his craggy brow. "Are you sure?"

They nod their beautiful heads dispiritedly. I see that the girl's knuckles are white from clenching her hands tightly in front of her. She's really scared. I wonder why. Do we have that kind of an effect on people? Is this what it means to be a _god_?

I glance at Artemis for cross-reference as the examination continues. I know her best. She sits cross-legged in the high grass nearby running her fingers through the smooth green blades and humming softly to herself, seemingly disinterested in the new arrivals. Artemis' radiant appearance is a striking contrast to the mundane earthiness of these two youths, in the same way that we all stand out as clearly elevated above them. Is it mere physical appearance that separates an Olympian from a mortal? It's certainly not demeanor. My gaze hardens on the reclined form of my any-other-moment-but-now favorite sister.

She's moping. Earlier, Artemis wanted me to walk with her in the forest and I turned her down. She's terribly drawn to the forest, but she is too afraid to go in there alone, so she has chosen to sit here where I can plainly see her, while staring off towards the trees longingly, trying to make me feel sorry enough for her that I'll accompany her.

I've chided her for hanging onto this inexplicable fear, but it seems to do no good. Even logic doesn't help. She accepts the argument that an Olympian has nothing to fear from the world around him–or her, but she still refuses to leave the safe confines of our home without having me close by her side. It's getting kind of stifling. She needs to get over it. This is certainly not the behavior of a _goddess_!

"Artemis!"

She looks up at me resentfully. Follows my gaze to the youths. Lets her large brown eyes return to me, her irritation plain to see. "What do _you_ want?"

"This is Ganymede and Hebe."

"That's nice."

"Can you take them inside and show them around?"

I'm busy." And she goes back to her mindless humming and to her meaningless attentions to the sod beneath her.

"I'll do it," Hestia volunteers, shaking her head crossly at Artemis.

I continue to watch Artemis play as the others disperse. The sun sparkles in her dark hair, glistens on her well-tanned arms and flashes on her bare legs. At first I seethe inside at this shameless display of immaturity. Sometimes Artemis can be such a brat! It's as though she is the child and I am the parent. I hate that I always have to be the responsible one!

After a moment Artemis feels the weight of my stare. She glances up. The deep pools of divine mystery meet my own. I feel the anger ebb away from inside of me. Her eyes sing as her ruby lips slowly curve into a small smile.

"Come on," I say reluctantly, starting for the forest and nodding for her to follow. "Let's go for that walk."
* * *

Everything is finally in place and the teams have all been fully deployed, and now Mercer can relax for the first time in months. At least some of the pressure is off him–with less controversy and less talking taking place behind his back. Now each team can assume full responsibility for the individual Olympian assigned to it and all he needs to do is sit back and supervise. That is his greatest strength after all. Playing the administrator. Ultimately, that is why he is here.

His gaze drifts over the multitude of screens arrayed before him. What a challenge it must be for the editing department to decide which scenes to include in the daily episodes as they are broadcast to a rapt audience! Mercer is glad that he does not have to make such decisions. He would be torn to a point of inoperability. For instance, here in one scene Hera is comforting Zeus in such a way that it will be certain to drive the spectators wild. In other scenes Hermes is exercising in the gymnasium, his clearly defined muscles glistening with sweat; Hephaestus works on another invention in rapt attention; Ares and Eris are doing target practice on the lawn with throwing blades; in one of the spacious great halls Dionysus is arguing vehemently with Apollo over something meaningless; and Athena's screen...is mysteriously blank.

Mercer is about to check on this when he is distracted to another scene playing out. On this other screen the beautiful Artemis is showering beneath the cascading waters that are spilling tumultuously from the courtyard fountain. No one else is present in the palace gardens, and the usually modest goddess is taking advantage of the opportunity to bare it all in the open.

Mercer leans forward greedily and zooms in.

Artemis unabashedly pirouettes beneath the fountain with her bare bronze arms raised high over her head as water flung from her long wet tresses sprays teasingly across the blushing frozen faces of the nearby marble statues. The sight sends a shudder throughout Mercer's whole body and he feels a lump catch in his throat. It is impossible for a fleshly man to view this image and not be profoundly affected. She is a goddess in every sense of the word! Mercer is stricken with an aching need to slip invisibly past the barrier of the monitor's plastic screen and into the scene playing out before him. He hears an audible moan of desire and then realizes that the sound comes from his own shuddering lips.

"Mercer?"

He reacts to the voice with a start, and then realizes that his assistant Seth has been calling his name for a few moments now. He has been so enthralled with the scene he hasn't even heard the interruption.

Embarrassed, Mercer coughs to clear his throat and then turns to face his assistant.

"What do you want?"

Seth looks at him in clear discomfort and then says, "There is a camera glitch in Athena's quarters. We're not getting anything. What do you want to do?"

"Let Team Athena worry about it. And get back to work. There is still a whole backlog of work to do."
* * *

"What do you think you're doing?" I ask Athena icily.

Startled, she drops the porcelain cup she's holding and it shatters noisily upon the marble floor.

"Mind your own business," she snaps, staring at the precious fluid spilled on the floor. But Athena's voice has a nervous quaver to it, clear proof that she's been sneaking and knows that she has been caught.

I walk up to her with purpose. Abruptly I grab her forearms and press her firmly up against the wall. She trembles in my grip, knowing I can hurt her if I want to. Athena is a deadly force in her own right, and we've pitted strength against strength more than a few times, but at the moment she clearly isn't in the mood to experience the inevitable results of such a contest.

I want to hurt her, but I don't. Not yet.

"Whose ambrosia are you stealing now?"

"Nobody's."

"I don't believe you."

"But it's true," Athena gasps, as my fingers bite deeply into the pale white flesh of her well-toned arms. Her gray eyes turn moist from the pain and she stares heatedly into my face. "I discovered how to get an extra portion," she claims through clenched teeth.

"You can't get extra ambrosia. This machine only provides eleven portions a day."

"Here, I'll show you," Athena pleads, struggling futilely in my grasp.

I let go of her abruptly and she clutches her arms painfully against her chest.

"Then do it."

Athena rubs her arms. She inspects them for damage.

I tap my foot impatiently.

She sighs resignedly and approaches the machine. Glances across at me. And then self-consciously starts removing what turns out to be an invisible faceplate with a crudely fashioned tool she slips from her pocket. When she's done she sets the faceplate aside and reaches inside the opening.

"I studied the wiring detail to see how its programming was set up," she explains sourly. "If I adjust this little mechanism just so," she concentrates on what she's doing. A small look of satisfaction crosses her face. "There. Try it."

Wiring? Programming? These words sound foreign as they leave her lips but I instantly know their meaning. How Athena was able to figure this all out on her own is a good question.

I approach the machine. Glancing challengingly at Athena, I hold a porcelain cup beneath the dispenser and allow my wrist to rest beneath the scanner to let it identify me. We've all had our ambrosia for the day so nothing should come out right now. But to my surprise the cup fills with the precious fluid. I stare at Athena with begrudging respect.

"How did you figure this all out?"

She gazes fixedly at me. "Promise you won't tell?"

"All right."

"There are rooms hidden below this place. Not just the empty tunnels you and Artemis discovered by accident," she says in a hushed voice near my ear, "but rooms bearing secrets. I've been learning many things.

"You can't tell anybody," she concludes. "It'll be our little secret. And I'll show you those rooms if you want."

"A secret now known by three of us," says a voice from the doorway, startling both of us. Zeus stands there frowning. I look surreptitiously at Athena. She stares back at me, refusing at first to acknowledge the presence of our unexpected visitor. Finally she shrugs.

"Okay. Three of us," she says, casting a guilty look back to Zeus.
* * *

"Just let it be. Don't do anything. Their greed and irresponsibility will only be to their own detriment."

Mercer glances at the spokesperson for Team Dionysus. What Gwenda says makes sense; it just raises his ire that she always seems to be so quick to open her mouth to offer suggestions. There are too many people wanting to be captains here and not enough willing to just quietly do their jobs. It's no wonder things are not going as smoothly as they should.

"I don't want to see my patron come to a premature end!" demands Theophilus, of the Athena group. "I don't know whose colossal blunder allowed this to happen in the first place, but we need to fix it!"

"You, of all people should not be talking," someone says bitingly. "From day one you have had no control over that troublesome Athena. Maybe you should figure out how to better manage your patron than critique others on how to do their job!"

"Those three Olympians don't even need the extra boost," another person adds. "They were already the most physically enhanced Olympians as it was. I don't know what they are trying to accomplish, but it's reckless. Don't they even care that they might be destroying themselves?"

Before he loses all control over this emergency conference he has called, Mercer decides to intervene.

"We will do nothing," Mercer states simply and unequivocally. All eyes turn to him for elaboration. He pauses longer, letting them wait while allowing for the words to follow to be received with an even greater sense of expectancy. Mercer gazes upon each in the room, making it clear that all viewpoints have been acknowledged but now here is the final decision.

"Yes, in fifteen or twenty years this breach will likely come back to bite them in their divine derrières," he begins, wearing a carefully placed half-smile. There are some nervous snickers. "But an expert I've called in says that the difference probably won't be significant. Greater danger may be experienced in trying to go in there now and intercede. Additionally, this ambrosia cocktail that seems to be causing all this trouble will no longer be necessary in a few more weeks. We will be implementing alternative methods to initiate the Olympian's full assimilation into their character profiles. Some of these methods are experimental; other interventions were already intended but just need to be expanded upon. As you can see, we are adapting to the changing circumstances and going forward uninterrupted."

Once again he stares around the room, his steely gaze quelling any thought of dissent. Finally he turns to a man everyone recognizes from his pivotal role as plot director.

"Now that this has been settled, Gordon here has an announcement to make. Please give him your undivided attention."

The man he has identified as Gordon steps forward and turns to the small crowd. "We have been working with the Mythological department and have worked out equitable solutions for each Olympian to begin his or her immersion into the designed character roles outside their palace home. As a start, approval has just been received to initiate a trial sequence involving Ares and Eris, and not wanting to delay progress any further we have gone ahead and scheduled this event for tomorrow. We will be closely monitoring both the motor and the emotional responses in these two Olympians in close cooperation with the teams assigned to them to see if the desired developmental patterns designed for these two subjects are being realized. This highly anticipated test will be initiated through a succession of carefully timed situational triggers that we are already readying for deployment, and which will commence upon our mark. If successful, and the sequence reveals comprehensive response to this manipulation of the subjects in question, other teams will then be notified of the schedules planned for their own patrons. As you are fully aware, these interventions are critical to the success of this project. Only if we steer these Olympians towards their desired character traits will they be the gods and goddesses the world is expecting. Oh yes, and thanks for your full cooperation in advance."

As the gathered throng begins to disperse, Mercer wipes a meaty hand across his damp brow. He played it cool in front of them, but he is far from confident. These Olympians are still virtual newborns, but they are already proving to be a handful.
* * *

"How long have they been gone?" Zeus asks.

"At least since noon," Hermes says, running his fingers through his curly blonde hair. "That's when I noticed they were missing. They were supposed to meet me for blade work."

"Who's missing?" Hera asks, overhearing the conversation. She languidly leaves the doorway she'd been hovering in and joins us beneath the late afternoon sunrays that have chosen to bless the outdoors with their fading warmth.

"Ares and Eris."

"So, what's the big deal? They're trouble anyway. I say forget them."

"We think they might be lost in the woods," Hermes says. His blue eyes are round and nervous. "They've never been away this long before."

"What's that? There!" Hephaestus points into the forest where startled birds take flight high in the treetops.

He's right. Something is clearly making its way through the trees. It takes me a moment to identify what it is.

"It's them," I say. "One of them looks hurt."

I take off running. Hephaestus follows at my heels.

When I get closer I see that it's Eris who's been hurt. And so I leave Hephaestus behind as if he's standing still. Eris leans against Ares. Pain clenches her sensuous angry lips tightly together. Both have ichor splattered on them, Ares down his front, Eris, down her side. I realize quickly that it all belongs to Eris.

"She took an arrow," Ares says grimly as I pull up. "I dug it out but she lost a lot of fluid."

For the moment I ignore the implication. I reach for Eris.

"Here, let me help you."

She grimaces as she slips her other arm over my shoulder. The fingers that press against my neck are cold to the touch and are still damp with her spilled fluids. I want to crush her dark untamed body against me. I want to protect her. I want to do everything in my power to make her feel better. Instead I simply reach for her ice-cold hand and squeeze it in reassurance.

"You'll be all right. I'll make sure of it."

"Thanks," she mumbles, managing a contorted smile. Her eyes meet mine briefly before glancing away. There is a haunted look in those beautiful dark eyes that belies the forced smile that she shows me. Something horrible happened out there. Something that has shaken her to her core.

Hephaestus joins us. "What happened?"

"She took an arrow," Ares says. I notice the troubled look in his eyes. They are both hiding something.

"She took an arrow from whom, Ares?" I deliberately ask. "What were you two doing? Who did you come upon?"

He sets his jaw and says nothing.

"Let him be." Eris snuggles closer to Ares. Protecting him from me.

Watching the two together, sharing secrets, makes something deep inside me ache, and I stay silent the remainder of the way back.
* * *

"I don't know how it happened! They are still looking into it. Maybe the thing died of natural causes. Those things do happen." The field worker standing before him–the bringer of bad news, wears a beleaguered expression on his face as he responds to Mercer's persistent questioning.

"Unacceptable! You people were given a simple assignment, and you here you go and blow it! Theseus was prepped and ready to go! The planned event was just days away! Now what are we going to do? It's not like we can just conjure up another Minotaur!"

The man just stares blankly back at Mercer and doesn't respond to his tirade. It would gain him nothing and he knows it. Mercer has little patience for such failures in the field. His entire reason for being here is the Olympians. Not to supervise the affairs of these freakish side-shows. Panagopoulos should have allowed the previous coordinator to stay on as a junior consultant and continue the stories that are not so central to the role of the Olympians. Mercer feels that these less important events are a waste of his valuable time. Yes, there is still an audience for these secondary episodes, but the Olympians are the ones for whom the demand has been astounding.

"Now I'm going to have to work something up with the mythology department. It won't be easy. These episodes are all carefully orchestrated. If even one thing goes wrong, it can destroy years of preparation. Now, get out of here! Be gone!"

The field worker leaves. Disgruntled, Mercer heads back towards his command chamber. Idiots! Why does he have to put up with such imbeciles?

At least the Olympians are back on schedule. Thinking about it, his mood begins to swing back towards the positive. Today, an interesting excursion has been planned for them. Everything is in place. Let's see if they behave predictably. Notably, will the trigger event they have planned for one Olympian in particular initiate the desired reaction?

Mercer can hardly wait.
* * *

"Don't go," pleads Hestia.

"You worry too much," I say, hefting the heavy bar over my shoulder and playfully pinching her soft dimpled cheek with my free hand.

"I just can't stand how crazy things are getting around here," she complains. "In the beginning, everything was so easy to understand; if not a little messed up. But then Zeus went mad and killed Cronus and Rhea. And then Ares went mad and killed that wild man in the woods who had shot Eris with an arrow..."

"...though she was completely healed the following day..."

"...then Hephaestus went mad and we caught him..."

"That's enough, Hestia," I cut her off by putting my hand over her trembling mouth. "We are all very much aware of what's been happening. That's why we're going on this trip to find out where that path in the forest leads to. We all want to know. Plus we need an opportunity to get away. Maybe this will give us something to focus our energies on, something to take our minds off things. We need an adventure; a common goal."

She looks up into my face, brown eyes misted over. "You don't have to go, too, Apollo. Please stay with me." She reaches for my arm. Clasps it tight.

"You'll be all right, Hestia," I say gruffly. "Just keep the doors locked like I told you."

"I'll be lonely."

"You'll still have Ganymede and Hebe to keep you company."

"I don't want to stay only with them."

"Then come."

She stares longer, then shakes her head fiercely and runs inside. The door slams shut behind her.

I shrug my shoulders and head toward the others waiting at the forest's edge. If I felt she meant it, I might be swayed by Hestia's pleadings. _Might be._ It's a big question mark. The insistent urge to follow this path is quite powerful, not only in me but in all of us. And I know too that Hestia's attentions are insincere. She's only trying to get her way. But she's not getting her way this time. She had her chance once before. And in the end she spurned me. I won't be a fool twice.

"She's not coming," Zeus says, seeing me return alone. "I knew Hestia wouldn't listen to you. That's just the way she is."

"She's a coward," Eris spits contemptuously.

"She hardly even goes outside," Dionysus mutters darkly, his oddly effeminate face twisted into a scowl. I know she wants to see what's down this path. She told me so herself. But she doesn't dare."

"We each have our own way," I say in answer, trying my hardest not to be judgmental. "We do accordingly."

"Even Hephaestus?" Eris asks suggestively. She leers at the craggy Olympian. Sudden sparkles of mischief appear in her sharply canted eyes. _She can be so cruel._ His face turns red beneath his beard and he looks toward the trees with a grim expression.

"Shut up, Eris," Athena warns.

"Hey, Artemis, wait up!" Hermes calls.

I look for Artemis and see her far down the path almost out of sight. Sometimes I wish Artemis hadn't gotten over her initial fear of the forest. Lately it's been difficult to keep her out of the forest. I can't help but worry about her safety.

"We better catch up to her," Zeus suggests starting forward. "I don't trust these woods."

The forest continues to darken the deeper we penetrate. Artemis seems to be in her glory as we walk beneath the thick canopy of leaves. Her smile is radiant and she looks even more beautiful than ever as she sings softly to herself and stares about in constant fascination as if each new leaf, flower and bird she sees is a wonder all unto itself. The name for each new thing we see pops into my mind, reconciling with the streams of data I've fed my mind. No doubt the same is true for Artemis also. She's read much the same books as I have. But these elements of nature seem to have greater meaning for Artemis than they do for the rest of us, and her appreciation is infectious. I move closer to her along the path.

"What are you singing about?" I ask her.

"Nothing," she replies, as she impulsively stoops to deeply inhale the fragrance of a yellow orchid before continuing on. _Platanthera ciliaris._ It's crazy that I can name the flower without giving it a second thought.

"You really do have a pretty voice," I tell her. And indeed, this is an understatement. She can probably charm anything out of the sky with the voice she is blessed with. I wish I could play for her but I am still without instrument. Someday I hope to rectify that.

"Thanks."

She stops suddenly and clutches my arm.

"What's wrong?" I ask, puzzled.

She stoops and peers through a canopy of leaves, biting her lower lip.

"There!"

"What do you see?"

She starts into the bushes. "Here, kitty, kitty," she coos, hand outstretched. I hear leaves crinkle as whatever the thing is that she's trying to entice makes a movement.

"Careful, Artemis..."

"I'm not going to hurt you, kitty," she softly promises, kneeling. I see a small tawny muzzle stretch forward and sniff at her fingers. It's a lion cub, the identity of the small creature suddenly occurring to me along with the realization that it probably wasn't left here abandoned.

A deep growl from somewhere close by warns me that indeed the cub is not alone.

"Get back, Artemis!"

Vegetation crashes apart. I see a flash of tawny fur and then Artemis is hurled towards me, ridden backwards by a snarling, clawing beast. Without thinking I drop the bar and leap upon the beast in defense of Artemis. Desperation infuses me with a terrible power. An exhilarating power. As we roll to the ground locked in fierce combat, my arms close upon the attacking lioness. I feel like steel. The musty odor of fur fills my lungs as I bear down and feel bones crunch and splinter apart like mere kindling within my arms. I roll to one side. Drag the heavy body with me. Rip apart the flailing limbs. Revel in the spilled moisture's warmth which flows down my arms and wets my face.

Then I feel the jolt of another body as this body suddenly comes into contact with mine. I try to break this one, also. But this one is strong. Too strong. I am bent backwards. This one will soon break me.

And a sharp slap across my face suddenly returns me to sanity.

Planted upon her knees in front of me, Artemis stares down at me in horror as I lie sprawled on the ground, her blood-smeared hand drawn back ready to slap me again. Jagged lines on her neck ooze ichor. She's been scratched, but not deeply. Zeus holds me down firmly beneath him.

"I'm all right now," I pant, struggling to move. "I promise."

Artemis slaps me anyway. The sting from it makes my cheek scream out in agony and my eyes burn like an inferno. I watch bitterly as she leaps up and trounces off. Her shoulders are rigid. Her thick undone hair is tangled with leaves. A hand clutches her eyes. _What's wrong with her?_ She didn't have to do that. I _saved_ her.

Zeus climbs off me. The others are all crowded around watching. Staring. Their faces reflect shock. I suddenly feel horrible and dirty inside. And they all can see it. For they've witnessed firsthand the horror of what I've just done.

"Sorry," Zeus simply mutters.

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry," I say quietly. Shakily I climb to my feet, miserably soaked in the creature's spilled blood; an unforgiving reminder of my lapse of sanity. "I don't know what happened. I guess I went mad."

"We all have the madness," Zeus observes grimly. "It's just crouching in the shadows waiting to be let loose."

Still shaking, I bend to retrieve the bar I'd dropped. Realize I don't need it. Not with these hands. I leave it lying there.

"There's that spring we passed further back," Hermes points out in a practical manner. "Maybe you three can clean up there. You're a mess. We will wait here for you."

"Good idea," Zeus says, glancing down at his clothes.

Artemis returns. Her eyes are moist. The small orphaned cub is cradled in her arms. She sniffles, leans towards the cub and nuzzles its fur with her nose.

"She's all alone now," Artemis says sadly, her face pointed to Zeus, purposefully avoiding eye contact with me. "I'm taking her with us."

" _She?_ "

Artemis nods. Then she turns away from us and starts humming softly to the cub.

Hera spins her finger beside her head. Athena nods solemnly in agreement. They think she's crazy, too.

I sheepishly approach Artemis. Apologetic. Hurting.

"Artemis, I'm sorry for what happened back there. I'm sorry that I lost my mind and scared you. I'm sorry I killed this lion cub's mother."

She ignores me and keeps humming, rocking the cub gently in her arms. Her face, arms and hair are smeared with dirt. She's also covered with her own spilled fluid, my fluid, and the beast's fluid. But she's still beautiful. Even more so than ever. And the lump in my throat hurts like crazy.

I swallow. "All I could think about was the possibility of you getting hurt. I couldn't let that happen."

No response.

Tentatively I reach towards her to pick some leaves out of her tangled hair, a once familiar gesture now suddenly made awkward by her aloofness. But she shrugs aside my hand and steps away from me. She is shutting me out. I guess it doesn't take much for a mere animal to rate higher in her estimate than I do. It is a bitter pill to swallow. I just hope her mood doesn't last. It's not fair to me.

"We ought to go now," Zeus says from behind us.

I turn sadly away from Artemis and follow after him.

We clean up as best we can after which we rejoin the others. No one seems to want to talk about my encounter with the lioness and I'm glad for it. It unnerves me that I was able to lose control so easily. The next time something like this happens, I am determined to have my wits about me.

'That time' happens surprisingly soon.

Our group breaks free from the trees and stumbles into a craggy rock-strewn area only to find our way blocked by a mob of twelve brutish-looking giants all armed with clubs. Three of the giants appear to be female; although being of the fairer sex in this case does nothing to soften their brutishness–they are just as large and heavily muscled as their male counterparts. These giants are garbed with little more than loin cloths, which seem to be the perfect choice of apparel to advertise the abundant body hair that completely covers their large frames.

They come to attention as we approach and heft their clubs over their shoulders.

"Fresh meat!" one of the giants grunts eagerly. Eloquence is obviously not one of their strong suites. I see a few of the beasts lick their chops with anticipation as they eye us appreciatively.

Suddenly I wish I still had my steel bar with me.

Zeus takes command of the situation. "Move aside, neighbors. We mean to pass through."

"We no move. We eat you," grunts another giant. A few of them lurch towards us, while the rest hold back, either content to let the more aggressive members of their clan have first claim, or maybe these ones are unsure of us.

Zeus steps forward. Clearly he is ready to make an example of the first giant that gets too close.

I don't know why I do it, but I put out an arm to stop him and take his place.

"Stop!" I say with a commanding voice. The approaching giants actually do stop short in obedience. They stare curiously at the unarmed spectacle before them. All they seem to be aware of is the puny figure trying to hold them off with merely an upraised hand. They have no idea that the group standing before them represents the ultimate level of creation.

"No one has to get hurt," I continue, filling somewhat silly with the somewhat inane conversation I am forced to have with these unreasoning beasts. "There is plenty of game in these woods to eat. You don't have to eat us. Besides, our meat is tough and does not taste good."

"You are tasty," the lead giant insists. He smacks his slobbery lips hungrily. "We eat you."

Unfortunately he doesn't seem to be someone to reason with.

"Okay," I reply. "I'll make a deal with you." My siblings turn and look at me curiously. "You send your strongest one forward to fight, and we will send our strongest one forward to fight. If your strongest one beats our strongest one, you can eat us without a battle. But if our strongest one beats your strongest one, we can do the same to you."

This challenge seems almost too complicated for the giant to reason out. His small beady eyes twist back into their sockets as though he were working on the most convoluted math problem imaginable. He finally comes to a decision. His eyes narrow as he looks at me.

"No deal. We eat you anyway."

I try to look as casual as possible, but my heart begins to race inside my chest. Actually, it is not from nervousness but from anticipation. _I want them to attack._ But I fight the nearly overwhelming feeling of aggression that wants to envelope me. I try to remember what happened earlier. I think back also to what happened with Zeus. We are not animals. We cannot simply lose control of ourselves. We are better than that. I force a reply that is certainly not in line with the forces that battle for control inside myself.

"You know, here's the problem with that. You see, we are stronger than you seem to think. Much stronger. We are Olympians. We are the gods of this world. Many of you will die if you try to do battle with us. I can guarantee that you will die first, since you are the nearest to us. Is that the way you want it?"

The quiet confidence imbued in my voice surprises even me. Maybe it's the heightened sense of danger that we find ourselves in, but my words seem to reverberate with a lethal intensity that I hitherto did not know I possess.

The giant looks at me with as much scrutiny as he can master, and then he looks at Zeus beside me. Either he is affected by my oddly enhanced voice or he sees something that he did not see earlier, because he finally nods his enormous head slowly. He spreads his enormous arms.

"Let it be done. I am our strongest."

I nod and wave to Zeus. "And he is our strongest."

I back away to give them room. The giants nearest to the action do the same. Anticipation weighs heavily in the air.

"We will be eating giant tonight," Eris sings gaily at my back, and then smacks her lips deliciously, very nearly breaking the somber mood.

"Thanks," Zeus says with a wry smile to me before turning his attention to his large foe.

The two combatants circle. Zeus actually looks small next to the colossal human he is matched up against. The club alone that the giant wields probably weighs as much as one of my statuesque sisters standing at my back. I wince at that odd comparison. I certainly would not want one of my _dear_ sisters wielded in such a way.

With a mighty roar the giant suddenly attacks. His massive club strikes the earth where Zeus stood a moment ago and the ground shakes from the impact. Zeus moves faster than the giant can follow and wrenches the club from the giant's meaty hands. In the same motion he kicks the legs out from beneath the giant and the ground shakes again when the giant falls ponderously upon it. The giant moans and tries to get up, but Zeus is instantly upon him. Zeus applies a choke-hold that the giant, even with his strong hands, can't break free of.

I release the breath I did not realize I have been holding when it becomes apparent that Zeus does not intend to slay the giant. He has taken the cue from my own actions to handle this situation with some adherence to values.

The giant grows limp.

Zeus disengages himself from the now comatose giant and joins my side as we march forward again to face the remaining giants. They look at their fallen leader in dismay and then nervously eye Zeus. This is clearly not the outcome they expected.

I state the obvious. "Your leader has fallen. Who will now speak for your people?"

The giants look at each other uncertainly. Their appetites certainly don't look as pressing as they did a moment ago. Finally one of the females separates herself from the group. She is a battle-scarred warrior and looks ancient. She lays down her club at the feet of Zeus.

"I am Oga. We will honor the terms Log, my mate, agreed to."

She seems far more intelligent than the others, and I begin to entertain hope that maybe here is an individual that can be reasoned with.

"As it turns out, we do not like the taste of giant," I begin.

"Says who?" I hear Eris' petulant voice pipe in from behind me.

"We seek other terms instead."

"What do you want from us?"

"You will serve us from this day forward. This roadway you will watch for us, and if one of the Olympians happens to pass through your midst, you will do the bidding of that one for as long as your services are needed. This all we ask of you."

Oga turns her head and regards her companions. There is a mix of emotions on the countenances of the other giants ranging from fear to unmasked resentment. I just hope that whatever decision is rendered by their apparent leader, it will be honored by the remainder. It would set a precedent for everyone gathered here today that violence need not be the only solution to conflict. Oga turns back to me.

"We will do as you say."

With that the giantess kneels ponderously before us and presses her nose to the rocky ground. Wow, is she huge! Even in this position her stooped shoulders reach to the height of my chin. Her muscles bulge as she chants something unintelligible into ground beneath her with feverish intensity. The power in these huge muscles must be incredible. Too bad these giants are so slow and lumbering. Otherwise, they could prove a great threat to us.

Oga finishes the ritual and straightens. "It has been done. We are yours to command."

I silence Eris with a wave of my hand as she begins to say something snide and regard the now submissive giantess standing before me.

"We accept your homage. You may take your mate and depart from our midst. There is game in the forest. This is what you will satisfy yourselves with and the meat of men you will eat no more. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes. But I have one request. Teach us your names that we might pass on that knowledge to the rest of our brethren."

"Certainly."

Thus we begin the strangely awkward process of introducing ourselves, after which the giants quickly disappear, with Oga dragging her fallen mate by his limp arm while another giant carries his massive club over his shoulder.

"Now, that was interesting," Hermes says thoughtfully while tapping his chin.

"Why didn't you let us fight?" Ares adds with a frown. "We so could've whipped their _huge_ behinds!"

"I'm thinking giant stew would've been better than what Ganymede and Hebe have been making for us lately," Eris pouts, her hand on her hip.

Artemis bites her lip and looks away from me. Marbles sits nestled comfortably in her arms but chooses this moment to shake free, causing a startled Artemis to drop her to the ground. She wanders off nearby to explore the hidden corners of a rocky outcrop with Artemis following close behind.

" _Everyone_ ," Zeus booms with an authoritative voice. "Listen to me. We did the right thing. Violence is not the answer to everything."

"Come on, really, Zeus?" Hera interrupts with a sneer. "Do you hear yourself? It's not as though you settled the matter with a game of cards."

"Enough!" Zeus glares around at each of us, and then satisfied that he has been heard, nods in the direction of the slightly worn trail that we had been following before the interruption. "We will continue on our journey with no more being said about the matter! Do you hear me?"

The other Olympians nod sheepishly and move to follow our clearly agitated leader. For a moment I wonder what has gotten him so worked up. But then I remember how I felt in the heat of the moment, being so stirred up with conflict during the whole thing. If I was affected so severely, Zeus was probably even more so with his amped-up testosterone. The one-sided battle we witnessed with the giant was probably nothing compared to the battle that raged unseen within the great Olympian.

If this is what it's going to be like every time we face physical conflict, it's going to be a tough road ahead. I seriously doubt we can keep the darkness out forever.

I fall in beside Artemis as an extension to the great forest looms up ahead of us. Marbles now trots at her heels, leaping repeatedly after the bright adornments attached to the leather footwear Artemis has chosen to don for this trek, but never quite catching the elusive trinkets. Artemis glances surreptitiously at me and then looks away quickly.

"Hi there," I attempt.

"What do you want?"

"Just checking to see if you're okay."

"Yeah, I'm okay." She is silent for a moment as we match stride for stride. Then she bites her lip and turns to me somewhat abashedly. "You?"

I feel a smile begin to spread across my face. "I am now."
* * *

Outside darkness has settled but the shades remain up. Bright lights dance on the living room walls, given life by the vid-screen hidden in the corner of the room. Two worn and comfortable chairs face this corner, and both are occupied. One, by a tired young woman, and the other by a marmalade cat cushioned comfortably upon a carelessly tossed jacket.

Just then the front door opens and the lights to the kitchen spring on.

"Jill, are you here?" a familiar voice calls.

One of the chairs grunts on the synthetic hardwood floor as its occupant sits up, yawns, and stretches. "Hello, grandma. I'm in here."

"What are you watching that has made you lose all sense of time?" her grandma asks curiously, peering in. The usual odor from the outside air wafts in with her; that of vending carts and restaurants, vehicle exhausts and sterile lobbies, and even the unpleasant but ever-present scent of urine that drifts up from the subways. Mother earth has wasted little time in wearing off on all its daughters. Even those found light-years away, such as here upon New Taiwan. Cities are the same no matter where you go.

"There's a new show on. It's the show that's been advertised for over a year now; the one featuring the world Panagopoulos just finished designing; the planet he named Hellas." She steals a glance at her grandmother. "How was work today?"

"Tiring. One of the girls was out sick. I had to cover for her. How was your day?"

"The usual. Boring. Tiring for me also; at least on my eyes. Tomorrow I think I'll start looking for another job. Something where I don't have to stare at a computer screen all day."

"I don't know why that should bother you; you stare at that vid-screen from the time you get home to the time you go to bed."

"That's different, grandma. This is actually entertaining. It's what refreshes me."

Her grandmother's look grows sober. "Do you really think that living vicariously through the exploits of twelve illegal _superconstructs_ is wholesome entertainment? You had better start thinking about finally getting a real life, Jill."

"This _is_ my 'real' life, grandma," Jill contests testily. "And incidentally, there's eleven, not twelve Olympians."

Her grandmother's eyebrows arch reprovingly. "Not according to mythology. There were supposed to be twelve Olympians in the pantheon of Greek gods. I thought this much-hyped show was going to at least try to make an effort to be as true to the fairy tales as possible."

"Something happened to one of the Olympians," Jill says quietly. "There's only eleven now."

"Eleven? Huh! Now that's not a very tidy number! I'd be surprised if this show lasts more than a month with that kind of a start. Up until now one would say that Panagopoulos has had the golden touch with every venture he's laid a hand on, but I think this time that man has badly miscalculated. He might as well blow the whole planet up and start all over again with a more practical design!"

"Hush, grandma. You don't know what you're talking about. This show is going to be HUGE! Besides," she glances with reproof at her grandmother. "It would be callous to destroy millions of living organisms just because you don't approve of their existence."

"'Approve of their existence?' Jill, you can't seriously think that those _creatures_ Panagopoulos has been said to have created are in any way _natural_ and deserving of life? Your mother–God bless her soul, would turn in her grave to hear you express such a thought!"

"'My mother,'" and Jill's voice turns biting, "would not be so hateful. I was only a little girl when she died, but I knew enough about my mother to know that she, at least, was not as prejudiced as the world around her. She had a genuine kindness to her soul, and I intend to copy that example! You are not going to poison me with your hate, Grandma, so don't even try!"

Jill's grandmother sighs wearily. "We fight over this all the time, Jill. I don't have the energy for it anymore. Let's just drop it, okay?"

"Fine!" Jill returns stiffly. "But you're the one who brought it up."

Her grandmother tries to change the subject. "Do you want me to make you up something for dinner?"

"No, I'll get something later."

"Make sure you don't forget. You're wasting away to nothing. No potential suitor is going to be able to see you, you're so thin. You're going to be left single for life."

"Maybe I want it that way."

"It would be a waste, you know. You are beautiful like your mother. Only _she_ had meat on her bones. Enough to attract your father, at least. Now, that man was a real prize–the most eligible bachelor in the whole quadrant when your mother met him. Too bad you never knew him."

"Whatever." Jill turns back to the screen and shushes her grandmother with a wave of her hand. "The show's back on. We can talk later."

Her grandmother huffs in resignation and returns to the kitchen. She worries about her beloved granddaughter. Jill is all of twenty-five, and still is not married. She doesn't even have a boy-friend! This new show will probably distract her even further from doing the things a normal, beautiful young woman her age should be doing with her time. Fortunately, this show will likely not last. It is doomed to failure.

Few _normal_ humans will want to waste their time watching the antics of mere constructs, no matter how super-engineered their construction might be. Yes, the grandmother breathes to herself with a mental nod of satisfaction, thank goodness that this will only be a temporary phase for Jill! Maybe then this stubborn granddaughter of hers will get on with her life. It's about time!
* * *

We gawk at the pounding surf far below us. Glimmering swells spread before us as far as eye can see. But there's also a patch of green where a large land mass enters our range of view from the east and greets the sea in a curdled line of foam. As we stare, hawks circle silently in the sky above.

Hera states the obvious. "We live on a mountain."

"A big one," Dionysus adds.

"Steep, too," observes Hermes, peering over the edge at the vertical drop-off below us.

I glance around the clearing. People have been here. Grass has been crushed flat and lines have been etched where wheels have rolled and left their trail. A shiny object partially hidden in the high grass catches my attention. I bend and pick it up. It looks like a small card, with infinitely small cities sprawled across one surface, the other surface blank but for myriads of tiny silver dots.

"What's that?" Athena asks at my side.

"I don't know." I slip the mysterious object into my pocket. "We can check it out when we get back."

She motions discreetly towards the others with a platinum eyebrow raised.

"Just you and I," I add in a low voice. "Our little secret."

She nods, satisfied that I've thought to include her. Though I've only done so because I respect her mind. If anyone can pick this thing apart, it's this superhumanly intelligent goddess I have for a sister.

"That looks like a city over there," Ares says, pointing. We follow his finger towards a distant glitter near the edge of the sea a short distance upstream from the mouth of a river. Indeed it is a city. Although its dwellings and thoroughfares appear to be nowhere near as congested as they are on the miniscule metropolis inscribed upon the card concealed in my pocket. Something tugs at me; a strong compulsion to visit that city. And not just that one city, but all cities of mankind spread out across the land below our mountain home. A feeling of responsibility to the inhabitants of those cities asserts itself. Those people _need_ us, just as we need them.

"I can't see any way to get down there," Hermes notes, standing frightfully close to the brim of the vertical drop. Suddenly Eris sneaks up behind him and grabs him around the waist.

"Here's a quick way down," she giggles, pushing him even nearer the edge. His face turns white and he desperately clutches onto her.

"Stop clowning around, Eris," Zeus says frowning. "Someone's going to get hurt."

She grins mischievously and relinquishes her hold on Hermes. He quickly moves towards safer ground but not before casting a resentful glare at Eris.

Artemis sits alone in the grass near the trees after casting only a quick disinterested glance to the view below, playing with the cub she's named Marbles–on account of its coloring, I suppose. I wonder what's wrong with her. Artemis hasn't been right since the incident earlier in the day. I hope she snaps out of it soon. Because I haven't been right since that time either, and she's the only one I can talk to about the way I feel inside. It seems unfair that when I need her the most, she's become so distant. I thought she was beginning to come around after the incident with the giants, but she has retreated again back into her shell.

"I want to go back," Hera complains. "There's nothing here to see."

"I'm ready," Athena says.

"Me, too," Ares adds gruffly, and beside him Dionysus nods assent.

Zeus glares at his siblings. "Don't you all get it?"

Hera raises an inquisitive eyebrow. "Get what?"

"That this is the reason we were brought to this overlook. To view our realm."

"What realm?" Hera asks with a hand shrug, casting a meaningful glance to the faraway landscape.

"What are you, thick?" Zeus' words are unusually harsh towards his closest companion. "Don't you have a clue why we are here? _We are gods._ Down there are our subjects. We need to stop being selfish and we need to start preparing ourselves to live up to our responsibilities!"

Zeus' words have a chilling effect on me. I know what he says is true, because it is how I feel. I wonder why the others don't have the same concern towards their intended roles as Zeus and I clearly have. Or maybe they do and are just not ready to accept the responsibility.

"Confound it, Zeus, you don't have to get so serious on us," Hermes says with a tight frown. "I know that is our eventual purpose, but can't we have a little fun first? Everything is still so new to us."

"Yeah," Dionysus agrees. "We're not ready to do all that. We're still adjusting."

"Of course you're not ready," Zeus counters darkly. "Some of you have a long way to go. But for now, appreciate what it is that you're seeing before your eyes. Seeing the world from this perspective, knowing what we are, should be having a profound effect on each one of us."

Eris snickers. "A big nay on that thought. Right now, I am only thinking about one thing as I look out there at the view; world domination!"

Ares puts his hand up. "I second that thought."

"Like I said, some of you have a long way to go."

"Hephaestus!" Hera suddenly screams.

We turn to look. He was standing near the brink of the mountain a moment ago with a faraway look in his eyes. Now he's gone.

We rush to the edge. Peer over. Far below a dark form tumbles. Tumbles. Tumbles still. Then finally, after what seems an eternity, it disappears from sight.

For the longest time we do nothing. There's nothing we can do. Except stare down and ache for Hephaestus. And remember the shame which must have driven him to this tragic suicide.

Zeus finally ruptures the empty silence. "All right," he says, turning aside from the mountain's edge, "Show's over. I think we should go home now."

And quietly we follow him.
* * *

Mercer watches in stunned silence as the battered Olympian pulls himself up onto the jagged rocks. _That was way too close!_ Just a little bit off, and this valuable Olympian body would've been smashed to uselessness upon the rocks. Who cares that his engineers had set their measurements upon tolerances that had first been carefully tested? Who cares that the footage of even a catastrophic result of the _fall_ would've captured unprecedented ratings? All Mercer knows, is that _he_ is the one who would've been held responsible if this event had gone wrong.

Mercer allows himself a congratulatory pat on the back for his choice of camera shots. Between the stationary shots and the slow, sweeping passes by the prepared aerial units, his editing team will be able to put together a most satisfying episode. Many will sympathize with this powerful construct's immense emotional pain. This was a pain great enough to attempt the taking of his own life. Not that this unfortunate Olympian had any choice in this seemingly rash decision. The compulsion the psych team had placed there would have been all but impossible to ignore. Mercer only wishes that the camera shot following the long plunge downwards could've been brought in closer. It would've been interesting to see if the Olympian faced death with his eyes open or if he kept them closed. _Oh well; you can't have everything._

Many will also be profoundly affected by the indestructibleness evidenced by this new Olympian-class construct. If it wasn't known earlier just how special these superconstructs really are, then it has now been proven in convincing fashion. No one should've been able to survive such a fall. It is altogether inhuman.

Mercer continues to watch in amazement as the battered Hephaestus refuses to stay down and rest but instead tries to push himself to his feet once clear of the surf. _You would've thought that he would've broken every bone in his body!_ Yet here he is, moments after falling an absurd distance, trying to stand erect!

It is a strain, but the Olympian finally achieves his goal. He unsteadily balances upright. Mercer watches curiously as Hephaestus prepares to place one foot forward. _Let's see if the subconscious trigger to influence his motor functions causes the desired result._

Sure enough, when the powerful construct lurches in the direction of the distant city, there is a very noticeable limp that was not there before. Seeing Hephaestus' awkward gait, Mercer feels a distinct satisfaction. Here is proof of his control over these powerful subjects. With simply the power of suggestion and the enforcement of his will, Mercer can steer them as he wants.

His earlier apprehension momentarily thrust aside, Mercer revels in the delicious feeling of power it gives him.
* * *

Iapetus looks one last time at the well-used fishing net strung out on the rocks to dry. The scene is a comforting one, the routine and smell of the air familiar. But this may be the last time he sees these nets for a very long time. Dorus, his business partner will be handling the fishing business until he gets back.

Iapetus tilts his head back and lets the sea air take over his senses. It is only in this environment that he feels so alive. This is what he was made for, to give and take from the sea. He is an able fisherman, always filling the nets with the bounty of the sea even when other boats come back empty. The waters seem to know him. Communication between Iapetus and the sea is a silent, but trusting thing. His fear of the sea's power is genuine, but his love for its comforting liquid arms even greater.

He will miss it.

Iapetus turns to go. Seabirds soar overhead. Their plaintive calls are almost mocking. He has a long standing love/hate relationship with these birds. At the moment it is swinging towards hate. These seabirds don't seem to care that Iapetus is being torn from the sea they have grudgingly shared by a responsibility that he cannot shirk. It is a weighty responsibility. For Iapetus is not a man who can deny the request of a dying man.

Iapetus' task is to bring his father to see Olympus, home of the gods.
* * *

"What do you make of it?"

Startled at the sound of my voice, Athena turns her head quickly while trying to hide the alien card in her hand. Seeing that it's just me, she relaxes and waves me over.

"This component is clearly something outside our range of knowledge, but I think I'm beginning to understand some of its purpose. See these tiny etchings?"

I peer closely at the detail Athena is referring to. "Am I supposed to be able to figure something out from this?"

"No, I don't expect you to. You're not me. Maybe given time you'd come to the same conclusions as I, but I'll make it easy for you and spell it all out." She ignores my glare and blithely continues. "These etchings constitute pathways that connect the miniature components you see fastened onto this card when a current of some unidentified force or energy is introduced here at this point of contact. Notice that this connective segment is proprietary, meaning that this card is intended to fit into a slot made specifically for a seamless joining. The force that imbues this card with _life,_ so to speak, is yet unknown to us, but I think it's reasonable to expect that given the nature of this discovery, there exists to serve 'others' (she puts her fingers up to show quotes for 'others') "a commonly used form of energy outside our sphere of knowledge that has purposefully been made unavailable to us by our makers."

"'Our makers?'" I look at Athena blankly and question her statement with upraised palms.

She nods distractedly as though the concept she has just introduced is a simple side point.

"Yes, our _makers_ clearly possess knowledge and use of technologies that are much more advanced than what we have been allowed. One might think that they are afraid of us. What do you think, Apollo? Do you think they _mean_ to keep us ignorant on purpose?"

The pitch and volume of Athena's voice has risen slightly in the middle of her last sentence, just enough for me to notice, but the suggestive thumb gesture towards the walls gives me all the clue I need that she thinks we are under observation. _From whom, though?_ Maybe she's paranoid, or perhaps delusional, but I decide to humor her and offer a barely discernable movement of my eyes to acknowledge that I have picked up on her warning.

"We're Olympians, Athena. Even if there did exist advanced technologies as you suggest, we have no need for such crutches."

Though my words are full of bravado, the words are hollow, meant only to satisfy Athena's eavesdropping ghosts. I know full well that if we are indeed able to discover such secrets, we will be truly powerful beyond all expectations. Dangerous, even. Unlike Athena, I'm not ready to throw down the challenge flag. I'd rather keep some things under my hat.

Athena merely rolls her eyes at me.

"Yeah, go ahead and believe that if you want, Apollo. Personally," and she speaks maybe a little louder than necessary for the benefit of any listener, "I choose a different approach. I lay this challenge down to anyone who would seek to control me: Do so at your own risk. If I ever find you trying to manipulate me, I will carve your guts out myself and string them so far across the land that not even the sun's rays will be able to find them to shrivel them."

I frown at the irrational word picture this gives me, but understand her thought and her emotion. I, too, bristle at the thought of someone trying to control or manipulate me.

I just hope for that _someone's_ sake that Athena is wrong.
* * *

Mercer stares numbly at the screen-image of the bristling silver goddess temporarily frozen in the middle of its sixth consecutive playback. It feels as though her words were meant specifically for him. Even though miles of atmosphere and two hours of time separate these words and his person, the threat and intensity of the message is such that Mercer finds it difficult to even breathe. True, the message itself frankly scares him, but something imbued in her voice scares him even more- a very real force or energy that transmits its power into his very psyche even across miles and a measure of time. The power that was generated would crumple him at this Olympian's feet in a quivering mass of flesh if he had been in her actual presence. He has never felt so unnerved.

It is with difficulty that Mercer forces himself to his feet. He beckons forth a face from a screen whose purpose he previously scoffed at.

"Jones, here." The hardened face of Mercer's chief security officer is somehow comforting to the shaken project supervisor.

"Yeah, Jones, I need for you to check on something."

"Yes, sir!"

"Can you run another battery of tests on the security measures set up for the Olympians? I just want to make sure we're not forgetting something crucial. We can never be too sure, you know."

"Certainly, sir! I'll start right on it."

"Thank you, Jones. Oh, and one other thing."

"Yes, sir?"

"Some routine questions: How many shuttles are in operation at any given moment? How do you keep them cloaked from observation by the natives? What measures are being taken to prevent the possibility of a shuttle from being compromised when it has to be landed? What is the exact protocol that is to be followed by a surface worker when making a visit to an inhabited zone?"

"Sir, my apologies, but I think maybe we need to meet in person to discuss these subjects more extensively than I can possibly do so over this connection. I am glad that you are showing an interest in the importance of our duties. Previous administrators have always seemed to underestimate the value of our role here, to be frank."

"Yes, yes, good idea. I will arrange for a meeting. And don't worry, Jones, I for one, will never be underestimating your value to this project."

Mercer breaks the connection. He feels slightly better now, but as his gaze returns to the image on the screen, a chill goes through him.

If these Olympians ever get loose, there will be all hell to pay.
* * *

The shades are drawn, a hot cup of tea nestles in her hand, and a marmalade cat is on hand to provide silent company in the only other chair occupying the room. It serves as the perfect backdrop to the riveting show that is about to take over Jill's world for the evening.

While the scheduled time slot for the show is technically of little importance, as it can be called up on her remote at any time after it airs, Jill is determined to catch the real-time broadcast. _Project Olympus_ has already been marked with a permanent holder on her remote, but she still has to navigate through the interactive menu selections to decide her preferred content for this evening. Last night she spent a lot of time viewing the footage of Hercules' most recent activities. While Jill drooled over his inhuman physique and hammered good looks, she was left dissatisfied. _He is such a total air-head._

So tonight, it's back to the Olympians.

She scans the choices. It appears that three episodes have been made available for tonight's installment. The Olympians who have story-lines attached to them for tonight's show are Ares and Eris, Apollo and Athena, and then Hermes. Jill raises an eyebrow at the lead-in description for one of these episodes and then selects it.

Jill is instantaneously transported to the gymnasium on Olympus. The special-effects imagery provided for _Project Olympus_ is incredible, and between the skilled camera angles and ultrahigh-quality lens employed, the ambience enjoyed by a viewer is almost as good as being there. Jill smiles to herself as she thinks about the proverbial _fly on the wall_. This gives new meaning to the expression. A viewer can live vicariously through these incredibly designed superconstructs.

Apollo strides into the gymnasium and Jill's jaw drops to the ground. He wears barely anything, having stripped down to just a loin cloth so as to be unencumbered during his training regimen. Jill watches as he chooses a long sword and then approaches one of the practice dummies. Something or someone must've gotten him riled up, because the way he attacks the poor dummy leaves it lying in shambles in just moments.

"How about trying that against someone who can actually protect herself?"

The camera, along with Apollo's own eyes, scrolls over to the speaker. Athena has entered the gymnasium also. If Jill could ever be swayed by the beauty of the female body this would be her moment. As perfect as Apollo is, Athena is his feminine equal. She too, has stripped down to the bare essentials. While being very much female and lithe of form, Athena has an athletic physique that looks quite at home with weapons. _A goddess' body._ She chooses a sword to match that wielded by her larger sibling and approaches him with confidence.

"I wouldn't want to hurt you, Athena."

"That's funny; I was thinking the same thing about you."

"I didn't know you practiced."

"This is _my_ usual time. No one was supposed to be here. But since you are here, you might as well serve as my sparring partner."

"Very well then. Prepare to get schooled!"

Apollo attacks and Jill is amazed at the speed of his footwork and his blade. But Athena is equal to the task. She moves with fluid grace, matching him blow for blow, yielding nothing. Soon sweat pours from their perfect bodies.

All of a sudden Athena slips on a wet spot. This is all it takes to change the course of the battle. Apollo is on her in an instant. Her blade is brusquely knocked aside and before Jill knows it Apollo has Athena sprawled on the floor with his blade pressed against her throat. His snarling face is planted against her own. The camera zooms in. Jill gets a close-up of the glistening beads of sweat running in rivulets down Athena's pulsating throat as the razor-sharp blade caresses the pearly white skin in a lover's dance.

Jill's heart pounds anxiously.

Apollo unexpectedly leans forward and crushes Athena's lips with his own. For a moment she responds with like passion, encircling the back of Apollo's neck with her free hand and pulling him closer. What happens next happens too quickly for Jill's eyes to follow. Jill blinks; there is a violent flurry of motion, and then Apollo is on his back with Athena's blade pressed against his own throat.

"This is what you get for getting sidetracked," she sneers through bruised lips.

"I'd say the price was worth it," he responds through a forced smile.

"Let's see what you have to say about it in the morning." With that she slams him on the back of the head with the heavy hilt of the sword.

Athena angrily pushes herself off the now-unconscious Olympian and groggily gets to her feet. For a moment she glares down at the fallen god with her fists clenched at her side. Disheveled locks of spun platinum flutter about her head like startled pigeons. Then it's Athena's turn to do the unexpected. She kneels down and tenderly kisses Apollo on the lips.

"Only on my terms," she mutters as she re-straightens.

Athena turns, and for a moment it seems as though she is staring straight into the camera lens with those penetrating eyes of pale blue. Uneasy, Jill flinches. She doesn't like the thought of eavesdropping in on a personal moment, but the feeling of uneasiness stems from something completely different. It is almost as though Athena knows that she is being watched.

With her attention only partly there, Jill lets the scene play itself out as Athena takes a few practice swings of her own on the dummy that Apollo damaged earlier and then eventually exits the playing area. Hoping for less drama, Jill next selects the episode featuring Hermes.

The scene picks up with Hermes sitting on the marble wall overlooking one of the smaller courtyards with his feet dangling down towards the inside. He is watching with unmistakable covetousness the white stallion Apollo had found in the forest last week as part of an earlier episode. The stallion prances nervously about, feeling the eyes of someone upon him. Three times the stallion begins to take a galloping run towards the lowest portion of the wall that imprisons him, but each time he changes his mind at the last possible moment and doesn't attempt the jump to freedom.

Jill prepares herself for a low-action episode. Some of these episodes aren't filled with action, and Jill doesn't mind that fact. The scenery is beautiful and such story-lines are true to life. Life doesn't have to be action-packed every minute of the day to be interesting. Especially the life of a gorgeous Olympian.

A moment passes before Jill realizes that Hermes has disappeared. He returns with a pair of footwear that only someone as large as Zeus could fit into. Jill watches curiously as Hermes exchanges his own with the pair that he had retrieved. His own shoes he tucks away safely in his garments. Hermes drops to the ground inside the enclosure and approaches the nervous stallion. Suddenly it occurs to Jill what Hermes is doing. She stifles a laugh by placing a hand to her mouth before realizing that no one on Hellas can hear her.

It takes Hermes a number of failed attempts before he is able to mount the stallion and gain control over it. Once this is achieved he makes his way to the gate and lets himself out. The last Jill sees of Hermes is him galloping away astride Apollo's white stallion.

The scene moves ahead to Apollo coming down to the courtyard to check on his stallion. He is holding the side of his head painfully and Jill places the scene as occurring the day after Apollo's fight scene with Athena. This discrepancy of a day's difference in elapsed time doesn't bother Jill because she knows that these scenes don't always follow in sequence. Film naturally has to be edited so it only stands to reason that episodes might be aired even days after they happen.

It doesn't take Apollo very long to learn that his stallion is missing. Instead of losing his head and screaming bloody murder, he decides to investigate. He finds the evidence of large footprints that Hermes had left for him to find. Apollo races away in a rage.

He returns with a bewildered Zeus in tow. Zeus looks at the prints in question and shakes his head. Apollo seems about ready to argue but then he snaps to attention as though suddenly realizing something.

"Hermes!" he cries. With that Apollo leaps the wall in one bound and races into the forest.

Jill doesn't like how the story ends, with Apollo catching Hermes by surprise while taking a break during his illicit ride and beating him senseless, but decides that this is the part many viewers are probably waiting for. Anything with violence, and unfortunately there's been plenty of that so far in these episodes. She thinks it's ridiculous how grown males can behave. _Females, too_ –Jill reminds herself. Some of these Olympian goddesses can be just as rough as their male counterparts.

The final episode involves Ares and Eris. They slip like shadows through the forest with spears cocked and ready. The filming is uneven, as the cameras used to obtain the footage are fitted to aerial units designed to look and behave like natural birds. Since Ares and Eris are moving quickly along, the coverage weaves and bobs in a like manner, as these _birds_ aren't able to alight and produce a stable shot. Jill finds the effect somewhat dizzying.

Ares and Eris startle upon a band of warriors gathered in a small clearing. There are six in all. These warriors appear unkempt, exhausted, and totally unprepared for battle. At the approach of the two Olympians they rush to arm themselves.

The cameras finally get a chance to stabilize, and Jill almost wishes that the detail with which they capture the following events isn't so crystal clear.

Ares and Eris don't even bother to interrogate the warriors. The startled band scatters before them. Eris doubles over with a gasp of effort as she hurls her weapon across the clearing at a fleeing target. There is an exaggerated _thud_ as a tree trunk stops the flight of the hurled spear, although not before finding an exposed torso and carrying the pierced body along with it. Jill flinches at the graphic violence; the wanton bloodshed. Ares hurls his own spear, likewise finding flesh. They quickly retrieve their weapons, yanking them free impatiently, and dash off after the remaining warriors that flee before them in terror.

Jill finds that she cannot watch much more. She is beginning to feel sick. She cuts short the episode prematurely. It's the first time that she's done this. But this is wrong. There's no need for the killing. Some might feel a construct life is disposable but to Jill to take _any_ sentient life at all is to murder.

Jill lifts herself from her chair feeling somewhat dizzy and heads into the kitchen to pour herself a cold glass of water. Her marmalade cat watches her go, unbothered by the graphic violence that had upset the human roommate. After all, mice are shown little more regard when the lure of the hunt takes hold.

Jill returns and plunks back down in her soft chair. She fingers the remote. At least she has a replay option on her remote. There is no need to be left with horrible images in her head. Not when she can choose what she wants to see. She goes back to the first episode. Pauses on a scene that interests her the most. She strokes her lower lip lightly with a fingertip.

How would it touch feel if it was her lips instead that those lips crushed?
* * *

Some things are just plain irritating. I sit with my back propped against the trunk of a lone tree at the end of the meadow and fume. Once again I try to blow through the hollowed-out shaft of wood. Nothing. All that results from my effort is a bare whisper of sound made static with my spit. A black raven sits nearby and laughs at me. I wave my arm at it in irritation and the unimpressed raven beats its wings and moves off to a safer distance.

When I had started this project, it seemed that making an instrument would be a relatively simple affair. I had carefully theorized upon the principles involved and worked out what I thought were the proper equations to determine the correct size and distribution of the holes I needed to make along the sides; the wall thickness of the tube; and the correct length-to-diameter ratio of the instrument. I thought I had accounted for everything. Now I know I was wrong. The proof is in its silence. I glare at the useless piece of wood in disgust.

Then have a sudden thought. It occurs to me that there are two factors I may not be accounting for. One is that the _theoretical_ length for the sound chamber I've designed as well as the wall thickness at any given playing hole might not in reality be the _actual_ length and thickness. This would occur if a false length were to exist at each end of the sound chamber and on each side of my carefully placed holes. I realize now that this is probably the case. The other factor would involve the inherent spiral motion of the air being passed through the sound chamber upon blowing. I'm seeing now that such an effect would cause the length necessary to increase because the spiral motion would make the air have to travel further than it would were it to move in a straight line. Understanding this, it's simply a matter of accounting for these previously unforeseen factors and then hopefully I'll be able to come up with something that actually makes a passable sound.

Glancing up at a disturbance I see Ares and Eris returning from the forest. They've fashioned new spears for themselves and as I watch them approach, they carry these iron-tipped spears far too casually at their sides. They say they use them only for target practice. But lately we've been finding stray bodies of hairy men in the woods whose sides have been pierced through by something sharp and applied with a violent thrusting motion. All this evidence makes Ares and Eris look like the guilty parties.

I set aside my instrument-in-progress and climb to my feet.

"Eris!" I call.

She sees me and trots over, leaving Ares to make his own way home. Eris and I have good days and bad days with each other. On the good days we mesh almost as comfortably as do Artemis and I. On the bad days we would just as likely kill each other. Her moods are so capricious. You never know what you are going to get. I hope today is one of those good days because I have something serious to discuss with her.

"What?"

"Want to take a walk?"

Canted eyes twinkle mischievously. Whatever Eris has been up to has given her a big high and it shows. She is clearly pumped right now and feeling lavish with the attention she is willing to render. "Why?"

"I want to talk about something."

"Okay."

She follows me into the woods. Her face tilts sideways, looking expectant yet restless. I am torn. Eris is in one of those rare good moods and part of me wants to capitalize on that. If I show Eris the attention she craves and needs, keeping it positive, she will be like putty in my hands. But the other part of me is the responsible side; the side that sees the long-term effects of things. This part tries not to be so selfish. This is the part that finally wins out.

"Why have you and Ares been hunting humans?" I ask her outright.

"What makes you think that?" she asks in feigned surprise.

"Eris," I say, stopping and turning to her with a hand laid lightly upon her forearm, "I know that's what you've been doing. I just want to know why."

She shrugs my hand off and abruptly turns a cocoa cheek aside. "I don't have to listen to this. I think I'll leave now."

I want to grab her and make her understand that what she's doing will ruin her, but I let her march stiffly away from me. And that she does. I feel as though I have little hold on her anymore. The tenuous bond we've sometimes shared is slipping away. And she knows it and doesn't care.

"Just remember this, Eris," I hoarsely call out after her. "If you keep it up, there will come a day that when you drive home that point on your spear, it will no longer hurt at all."

With that Eris breaks into a run, her guilt-laden hands clutched tightly over her ears.
* * *

Mercer feels a strange reluctance to give the approval that will initiate the sequence. This has never been a problem before. In fact, the feeling such power gives him is usually intoxicating, to know that these hands of his can shape the fate of beings far more powerful than he is.

But this time it's Artemis who is involved. Beautiful Artemis. His favorite. And he knows that this episode will hurt her severely and steal away the innocence that he finds so appealing in her.

He is torn.

What to do... He drums his fingers on his desk. Presses his fingers against the sides of his temples. Leans back in his chair and squeezes his eyes tightly shut. It doesn't help. Nothing helps. Mercer knows that he must man up and make the decision.

But then he thinks about it more deeply. Is it actually HE who is making the decision? Or is it only the obedience soldier who is pushing the buttons at the orders of his superiors? Another words, is he simply a mere pawn in the grand scheme of things? If so, does this relieve him of guilt? _Does he really have a choice?_

Mercer comes to a decision. Or rather, he makes the decision that was never really his decision to make. He is a mere pawn, after all. The realization is humbling, yet at the same time feels oddly comforting. He summons forth the screen he had earlier put on hold. It is with carefully contrived effort that he tries to make neutral the sound that leaves his lips.

"Go ahead, initiate the sequence."
* * *

"She'll be back." My fingertip gently brushes aside the warm moisture spilled on her cheek.

"But she's never been gone this long," Artemis mourns anxiously, concern written into every pore of her alluring face.

"She's getting bigger. You have to expect her to be spending more and more time on her own."

Artemis sniffles back the additional tears that threaten to spill and shakes her head vigorously. "No, I know my Marbles. I know she wouldn't leave me this long. It's not like her. Something's wrong."

I sigh with impatience. Artemis is over-reacting. She had seemed to be gaining her confidence and growing more independent, but now I fear a set-back. I glance threateningly at a bold bluebird perched arrogantly on a branch watching us. _What are you looking at?_ The time I spend with Artemis is personal alone time. I don't feel like sharing it with a bird. The bird does not move even though we are closer than a wild creature would normally allow for us to get to it. I consider throwing something at the foul thing but then sigh once more and turn back to Artemis. "Just give her a little more time, Artemis. She'll be back."

But Artemis shakes her head again and looks towards the forest with sudden resolve. She wipes her hand over her eyes as though that motion alone can change the tone of expression on her face. "I'm going to look for her."

She reaches down to her side, yanks the spear from of the ground, and starts for the trees with her jaw firmly set with determination.

I shrug my shoulders and follow after her, remembering how much she used to be afraid of the woods. That's been changing, thanks in part to her pet Marbles. The growing feline is a natural creature of the forest, forcing Artemis to spend longer and longer periods of time within its boundaries. But I can't let Artemis go off alone. With her emotions all over the place right now, I fear a set-back. Her deeply held fears might begin to reassert themselves if she finds herself lost and alone in this barely explored forest. That is not going to happen if I can help it.

"You're never going to find her, Artemis," I try to tell her after a few moments following her through the winding maze of tree trunks. "Why don't you just go back and wait a little longer to see if she shows up?"

"I can't wait. I _know_ something's wrong."

There she goes with these feelings of intuition again. However I don't open my mouth to question her because her intuition has usually proven accurate. So I quietly follow behind her and think glumly about the dinner I'll probably be late for, now that Artemis has managed to drag me into this fruitless quest.

We eventually come to a craggy, hilly area full of loosely strewn boulders that is broken by quick running streams. The noisy water gurgles in amused laughter at the two wanderers traversing back and forth across its pebble-strewn streambeds. I've never been in this part of the forest before and I don't think Artemis has either. Yet she stalks forward with no hesitation.

"What makes you think she went this way?"

"I don't know. I just have this feeling."

"Oh." _That again._

Suddenly we see a red wetness sprinkled on the green leaves hanging low to the ground on some overhanging tree limbs. Also torn earth. All of this is evidence that a vicious fight must have ensued here.

"Marbles!" Artemis cries, running forward. Blindly, she plunges through a dense area of underbrush with me close at her heels. Branches snap in anger at her passage.

Suddenly she stops short and shrieks. I look past her and see the thing that has caused her horror. All that remains of Artemis' pet Marbles is what hangs macabre-like from the lower reaches of a stout tree. The juvenile lion has been impaled on the shattered branches, her sticky insides trailing to the blood-soaked ground below.

I hold Artemis close as she sobs wretchedly into my shoulder. Her fierce wet tears grow hot against my flesh as they soak through my garments. I stroke my fingers through her thick black hair and try to console her without much success. When she tenses in my arms I can feel it instantly.

Abruptly she pulls away from me and clenches her spear tightly in her fist. Sniffling back any residual tears, her raw eyes begin to search the area for evidence. Her thorough gaze finally comes to settle upon a deeply imbedded set of tracks. She starts out after them. I say nothing, but only follow. If this is what it takes for closure, I'm all for whatever Artemis has in mind. But I draw forth the long knife at my side just in case.

Doggedly, Artemis tracks Marble's unknown assailant. Even when my eyes fail to see a trail, her keen eyes fall upon a crushed leaf, an overturned stone, a slightly bent twig. I follow after this natural-born huntress, amazed by the seemingly-supernatural woodland skills I never knew she had.

Above, the sky starts to grow dim. We're not going to make it back by nightfall. I don't like the idea of being out here in this forest after dark. But Artemis is undeterred. And as the moon slides up in the sky and darkness fills the voids, Artemis seems to become bathed in a radiant glow. I can only stare at her as she is transformed before my eyes. Artemis truly is the moon-goddess; that is for certain. Her wish has come true. And as if in homage startled moonbeams begin to play upon her black-swept head as she raises it to the moon and looks ahead through the dark foliage.

"There," she indicates quietly, stopping me with an up-raised hand. She gestures towards a tightly bunched cluster of trees. Dry brush has been piled up at haphazard angles in an attempt to conceal the area within. A lair–but for what?

"Wait here," she requests quietly.

I nod that I will and sink further into the cover.

Her fingers grip tightly around the wooden shaft in her hand as she advances upon the lair alone.

Something grunts from within the lair. A deep grunt. I hear it repeated. Whatever the beast is, it sees Artemis. And it's huge. She approaches steadily, spear poised and ready. A night creature suddenly swoops over her shoulder and momentarily distracts her, but she redirects her attention back to the trees in front of her.

Boughs splinter apart with a great crash as the beast suddenly charges forth with a monstrous squeal. Marble's mysterious assailant proves to be a huge boar, whose wickedly curved tusks flash angrily in the moonlight. Saliva sprays to and fro as it tosses its head, and sounding like a thousand squealing geese rising from a pond, the boar bears down rapidly upon the slim dark silhouette poised unflinchingly in its path.

I watch Artemis' arm draw back and her smooth muscles tighten. Her eyes blaze like twin moonbeams as moves to meet the charging beast. All I see is a blur of motion as she bends and hurls the spear forward. The spear sails like a missile fueled by afterburners. With a grunt like a thunderbolt the boar takes the shaft full between its eyes. The spear rips through both hard bone and cartilage and passes clear through the boar's massive body, exits beneath its tightly kinked tail, and then with a noisy squirt and soft thud wetly imbeds itself into the rocky soil halfway up its vibrating shaft.

Artemis gasps suddenly and collapses upon the ground beside the fallen beast. Her grim task accomplished, she is left utterly spent of emotion.

I rush over and drop down beside her. She holds herself tightly with her arms wrapped around her knees and rocks back and forth sobbing quietly. Gently I stroke the back of her heaving shoulders. Without warning she suddenly shrieks and pushes me away. She flails on the ground kicking and screaming and crying. I reach for her and try to hold her still. Little by little the frantic savagery of raw emotion ebbs from her. She finally quiets. Her body trembles in my arms.

"It's over, Artemis," I whisper reassuringly into the softness of the hair pillowed against my face. "Marbles can rest in peace now."

And quietly she sobs, seeming somehow broken, her innocence lost.
* * *

Mercer is angrier than usual. He doesn't know why. All day he has been screaming at the never-ending stream of inept people who have been passing through his office. He's even had to fire two workers when they didn't respond quickly enough to clearly expressed orders.

It doesn't help that the Hercules project has run into a snag and that Edwards is expecting Mercer to call him back earlier than later to discuss some details about the impending Zeus introduction to the masses of waiting faithful.

He forcibly lets out his pent-up breath and feels slightly disgusted at himself for the blubbering sound his lips make as the air passes through them. He knows he is overweight. He knows he needs to take better care of himself. It's this job though. With the huge amount of stress associated with it, there is no way he can concentrate on himself. His preoccupation is with the Olympians. He has no time for himself. Mercer feels that in this regard he is totally _selfless_. Maybe there will come a day when it will be all about himself. Until that day he is forced to feel and look like the slob married to his job.

Mercer is finally ready to face the first order of business. He calls upon the appropriate screen. The face that responds turns out to be only a mere assistant to the head of the Hercules project, and even this makes Mercer angry.

"Get Lipton! Now!" he demands.

It takes far longer than he deems necessary, but finally the head of the Hercules project appears.

"Sir?" he squeaks.

The man looks thoroughly rattled, and this pleases Mercer. His anger begins to subside just a notch. Still, he puts the appropriate amount of venom in his voice as he delivers his demand.

"Tell me what is going on down there! I don't want to read it in a report. I don't want to hear it from an underling. I want to hear it directly from your own lips. _What has happened to your charge?_ "

"Hercules?" Lipton asks innocently, as if he has no clue that the sole responsibility of his entire crew is anything but this legendary hero. His blatant stupidity renews the anger that had fueled Mercer.

"Yes, you idiot! Hercules! Who else do you think I would be talking about?"

Lipton winces visibly at the harsh verbal assault and struggles to get his thoughts in order. "There is nothing _physically_ wrong with Hercules, sir. I guess you would say that it's just his heart that is out of sorts. Hercules, we believe, has lost faith in the gods."

"What do you mean; he 'has lost faith in the gods?'"

"Just that, sir. He doesn't believe that they exist. He is starting to proclaim himself to be the one and only god. No one dares challenge him, and we are worried about the affect this may have on the populace at large."

"When did this start?"

"In going over the recent series of playbacks, we've determined that the first expressed occurrence of this thought appears to have taken place one week back to the day, sir. Much of what Hercules says we simply have dismissed in the past as just talk, so we didn't pay much heed to his choice of words at the time, but now we can see that a clearly discernible pattern had been appearing, one that now shows itself in the thoughts he had been expressing to others."

"Do you have a plan on how to fix this?"

Lipton looks at Mercer somewhat apologetically. "We do. But frankly it depends upon you, sir. As a team, we feel that the best and only solution to completely squash this type of thinking is to release the Olympians without further delay."

After he makes this recommendation, Lipton flinches as though expecting to be hit even though he is not in the same office as his superior.

Mercer wants to be angry, but he knows that what Lipton suggests is true. Also, he approves of the manner of subservience this man shows to him. This project needs more people like him. Even if he shows occasional moments of stupidity, at least Lipton knows how to show the proper deference. Mercer allows himself a resigned sigh.

"I agree with you, Lipton. I will follow through with your suggestion. Dismissed."

Mercer catches a quick glimpse at the look of surprise on Lipton's face just before it disappears from the screen. 'Now, that is a good example of a properly disciplined subordinate,' he thinks to himself.

Mercer lingers before proceeding with the next order of business. Maybe it is because he senses the momentousness of the decision he is about to make. Maybe he needs time to clearly think through the ramifications of what he about to do. Or maybe he is just scared.

Eventually Mercer knows that he cannot put it off any longer. He calls forth the screen that will summon up the plot director. Gordon's face appears rather quickly, as though he has been waiting expectantly for the call.

"Gordon here."

"It's time," is all that Mercer says.

The plot director nods sagely. "I'll get things ready."

"When will it happen?"

"We will begin to put things in place; initiate some sequences... I'd say this time next week give or take a day or two."

"This is big, Gordon."

"Yes, many worlds will be watching."

"Let's just not screw it up."
* * *

"I didn't take it," Athena claims.

"Me neither," insists Dionysus.

"Don't look at me," Ares says.

I turn next to Eris. Electric eyes meet mine. Sparks ignite and grow into a conflagration.

"What? You think I took it?"

I look steadily at her. Pink spots begin to grow at the high points of her dark cheeks. The indignation changes to chagrin. She drops her eyes.

"Ask Hermes," is all she says, before quickly jumping up and stalking out.

Hermes? Why would he take my homemade flute, which I still haven't gotten quite right? I start out in search of him.

"Have you seen Hermes?" I ask Hera, passing her on the eastern walkway where she's picking flowers and arranging them prettily in her hair. _Look out, Zeus_ , I smile to myself. _She's in that sort of mood._

"He was walking out to the other end of the meadow earlier. Why?"

"Just looking for him."

"Is it important?"

Just like her. Nosy as can be.

"No."

"Oh."

I feel her eyes follow me as I start out across the meadow. Birds sweep across the sky above my head. A mild breeze stirs the high grass and makes a song out of it, beautiful, haunting, telling me of earthen secrets that only the ground can share. But as I top a rise I see that it's not the wind I hear at all, but Hermes' lips upon my flute.

"Hermes!" I call down to him angrily.

He stops playing, and looks at me, guilt plainly written all over his face.

"Oh... Ah... Hi, Apollo."

"What are you doing with my flute?"

Ever the smooth talker, he recovers quickly.

"I think I fixed it. Listen." And he plays such beautiful strands of music, that as I start to storm towards him I altogether forget my rage.

"How did you do it?"

"The design of your mouthpiece was off a fraction. Everything else was functional enough. I changed it like this." He shows me the minor adjustment he made to the mouthpiece. "I made this, too."

He reaches behind him and pulls a seven-stringed instrument out from hiding. Instantly I know what to call the suddenly familiar instrument. _A lyre._ The word appears in my vocabulary to stand alongside so many other words, expressions and concepts that have materialized unbidden in my mind over time. But the word _lyre_ feels special to me, as though the word has been waiting just for me to come find it and claim it for my own. Marveling, I take the stringed instrument from his hands.

"How did you make this thing?"

"I don't know. The understanding and means to make it just came to me out of nowhere. All the parts I needed were right there in the shop."

I nod appreciatively and stroke the strings. The sounds which spring forth are like the sounds of children laughing and playing in a park. I don't know how I would know what that sounds like, but I do. Spontaneously, I begin to play a brief tune that randomly comes to mind. When I finish playing I notice that Hermes is staring at me with his mouth ajar.

"That was beautiful," he whispers in awe. "How did you do that?"

"It was just there in my head."

"Play something else."

I shake my head and hold up the lyre. "Only if I can keep this."

I expect him to be angry at my out-of-character-lately bullying tactic. Instead his eyes twinkle with mischief. "Now you sound like me; always looking to bargain. Okay. But now you owe me," and he glances meaningfully at the flute still in his hand.

"Go ahead, you can keep that. I don't need that flute if I have this lyre."

"Thanks. This flute feels more suited for me."

Good. We're both happy. Surprised at how easy it went yet joyous, I hold the lyre against my lap and launch into a song of pleasant beginnings.

For now I have the instrument these fingers have long craved.
* * *

Jill is having trouble picking out a favorite character. It comes down to four finalists. She likes the strength of _Zeus_ \- it makes her feel safe. She is attracted to the smooth muscles of _Hermes_ \- the texture of his long body somehow reminds her of melting butter. _Ares_ has a certain 'bad-boy' way about him that she finds strangely exciting. And then there's _Apollo_. Apollo -he seems to have a little of everything. But what holds her back from falling for him completely is seeing just how _conflicted_ this Olympian really is.

She taps her fingertips against her forehead and thinks about it. Each one's strengths and weaknesses run through her thoughts. Certain episodes gained points, other episodes took points away from the four contestants. _Do I really have to pick a favorite,_ she wonders? _Can't I have them all?_ She decides to get tough with herself and force herself to select just one character to focus on and root for. And the winner is...

Apollo.

Yes, _conflicted_ soul and all. He is the Olympian who _does it_ for her the most. And who knows? Maybe it's because Apollo is the way he is that she feels inexorably drawn to him. Despite his obvious physical strength and the air of command about him, there is also a vulnerable side to him. Maybe it's the maternal instincts that she has inherited as a woman that wants to nurture him, but it's a very real driving urge.

Yes, Apollo is the right choice.

Jill understands that while she will still follow the exploits of the others, the part of her that she knows will get completely swept up in the storyline will totally belong to Apollo. She will be happy when he's happy, she will be sad when he's sad, and she will want what he wants. _Unless of course, if it's a woman._

It's decided then.

Jill looks at her timepiece.

It's early yet, but she turns on the vid-screen.
* * *

"This place is so creepy."

I hear Hera's spooked voice coming from behind me in the corridor. I can just picture her huge eyes bugging out as she stares into the shadows. She, Zeus, Hermes, and I are exploring the first of the three large buildings I discovered hidden deep within the forest earlier this morning.

It's strange how I discovered these buildings. I don't even know why I had the urge to explore these parts of the woods. But something kept urging me on. It was almost as if a velvet noose had caught me around the neck and was leading me onward like an eager colt to a greener pasture.

And then all of a sudden I came across these buildings. I was tempted to see what these buildings contained right then and there, but I realized the right thing to do was to go and get the others. Well, Zeus, Hera, and Hermes actually. The other Olympians were not readily in sight so I took those who I came across first.

So now here we are.

It took all of Hermes' skill to break in, so tightly locked against all intruders was this first building of our investigation.

Ahead of us in the corridor, Zeus pushes his way further into the darkness, as the torch I hold chases our shadows up the walls.

"What's this on the wall," Hera asks as we follow Zeus into a spacious open area. I glance at the conspicuous projection she's pointing to.

"It looks like something that you can push either up or down," I observe. "Maybe it's a switch. It's down right now. Try pushing it up."

"I don't know if we should," Hermes says from behind us all, his voice a hollow echo in the empty space. "Never know what might happen."

"Try it," Zeus prompts in his deep voice.

Hera bravely reaches forwards and pushes the switch lever all the way to the up position.

We cry out and duck as light explodes all around us. When nothing bad happens we cautiously uncover our eyes and blink against the brightness. I set it aside the torch in my hand and as I suddenly understand the form of energy that is responsible for the sudden light source. _Electricity._ Myriads of possible arrays suddenly appear in my mind as I comprehend the endless potentials of applications and the circuitry required for this newly revealed form of energy. The strange card Athena and I had studied fits seamlessly into this newly awakened understanding of how things work.

"There's candles in the ceiling," Hermes murmurs in a voice hushed by awe as he stares at the ceiling overhead.

"They're called fluorescent lights," I reply absently while studying the room we're in. Evidently not all of us are privy to such revelations. Great pillars line both walls, shadows concealing what is hidden behind them. Beneath my feet a scarlet patterned carpet that runs the full length of the room explains the softness that I've been feeling underfoot. As I search further through the room I notice a large double set of doors leading from the room and framed by a row of six large pillars on each side.

"What are those?" Hera asks. We trace the direction of her extended finger. Along the far wall are twelve alcoves spaced evenly apart. All but one of these spaces contains the busts of human torsos.

These alcoves and their mysterious contents seem to hold more interest at the moment than the beckoning doors so we head for these.

"They have our names on them," Hermes says in alarm as he reaches the compartments first. Sure enough, placed above each alcove, is a gold placard embossed with our name.

"Look at what else I've found," I point out. Each bust is draped with a cloak of a peculiar fabric, and has a pendant hung loosely around the cut-off neck bearing a gold chain. Also, an interesting object or two is placed within each partition, each object different from the objects in the neighboring partitions.

I find the alcove bearing my name. The cloak set out for me is of a rich gold color, and the pendant is shaped in the form of a musical instrument. I look closely. _A lyre_. Go figure. I look at the golden bow leaning in the corner of my partition and the quiver of arrows associated with it. Reaching into the partition, I brush my finger against the gentle curve of the bow. I feel a peculiar surge of energy that runs through me upon contact. Quickly I draw my finger back as though burnt by the touch. I notice that Zeus has had the same experience with some sort of zigzag staff that stands positioned at an angle in his alcove and he stands looking at it rubbing his finger. We turn and stare at each other.

"What do you suppose these are?" he asks.

"Mine is a weapon. Maybe yours is, too?"

"Maybe. This other one seems to be a scepter, though." He reaches in and pulls out a golden rod, turns it in his hand, and then smiles. He looks at the rest of us haughtily. "Behold, the king of the gods!"

"Don't hurt yourself bragging. I've got a scepter, too," Hera boasts, as she holds out a golden scepter topped with a golden pomegranate. "That means I'm queen of the gods."

"Don't speak so soon," Hermes says, showing us a winged rod entwined by serpents.

"That's only a silly staff," Hera laughs contemptuously. "A staff like a shepherd would use. Lucky for you it looks like there's some weight behind it. Maybe you can use it as a weapon to beat some fool on the head."

Hermes looks at his staff sheepishly.

"It's sure pretty, though." He reaches inside his alcove and pulls out a pair of winged boots. "And I bet you don't have anything like these."

She rolls her huge eyes in scorn.

"Gratefully, no I don't."

I turn away from them and finger the cloak in front of me. The material is unlike any I've ever felt before.

"I think we're supposed to wear these," I say, feeling a strong draw to do just that. "Maybe they have special properties built into them."

"I wonder who put this all here," Zeus muses as he runs his fingers over the gold cloak in his own alcove. Other than my own, his is the only other gold cloak; the others are all of different colors.

"Why do you suppose there are twelve setups?" Hermes asks curiously, gazing at the empty space in the twelfth alcove.

We walk over to the empty partition. There's no name. Nothing. It certainly is a mystery. We soon lose interest and each of us return to our own alcove. No one says anything about another alcove, one containing a large gold hammer which will never be taken up by a strong Olympian arm and swung.

"Let's check out the others," Hera suggests.

We observe that both Ares and Eris have similar helmets and breastplates in their alcoves, along with lethally equipped weapon's harnesses. _Just what they need to get into even more trouble._ Hestia has an unlit golden torch. Athena, an object which for all intents and purposes looks like a sculpted owl, as well as a breastplate even fancier and stranger than the pieces for Ares and Eris. Dionysus has a spear topped with an assortment of jewels. And Artemis, strangely has nothing. That's not fair.

"I wonder what this is," Hera asks, reaching towards Athena's owl. "Ouch!" She draws her hand back quickly and rubs it.

"What's wrong?" Zeus asks, coming over.

"I got a terrible shock when I went to reach inside."

"Here, let me try."

He, too, draws his hand back with a grimace.

"They must be synchronized to the molecular make-ups of each one of us," I muse thoughtfully. "Only the rightful owners must be able to handle their own belongings. It makes sense."

I lift the gold chain from the bust in my alcove and place it around my neck. Somehow the chain feels right resting here against my skin. Like it's part of me. I have an odd hunch that this chain will never leave my neck again.

"I suppose we should get the others," Zeus says as he shrugs into his gold cloak. "This is a significant discovery. It's hard to believe these buildings have been here all this time and we didn't even know it. I can hardly wait to find out what's contained in the other buildings."

"First, I want to check out this room over here," I say, heading over to the set of double doors. The need to do this is overpowering.

"I'm coming with you," Hermes announces, following behind.

The doors open smoothly into a huge chamber far more spacious than the one at our backs. I find a bank of light switches and turn them on without hesitation. And stare in amazement. Equipment fills much of the area. Set on tables, left on the floor, placed on the countertops, and probably filling all of the cabinets lining the walls, too. Most of it is unrecognizable stuff. At first. But then words start to form in my mind to describe the name of each item and its intended use. Athena will go crazy when she sees all this. Hephaestus would've... I drop the thought.

I approach a strange-looking device stationed in front of me and run my hands over one of its graceful wings.

"What do you suppose that is?" Hermes asks at my back.

"I think it's meant to fly."

"You mean like a sky-car?"

I glance at him. The word that floats to me to describe this device is a flyer, but I see no reason not to humor Hermes who obviously is not benefiting by magically appearing thoughts in the same manner as I am. So I smile lightly at him. "I like that. That's what we shall call it; a sky-car. If it really does fly, that is."

I know for a fact that it will.
* * *

Jack twists his long neck to see what's going on at his rear.

"You're such a nosy old boy," Iapetus lightly scolds. He gives the old donkey a playful swat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, your treat is coming."

Iapetus fastens down the last pouch, runs his hand across the thick cloth positioned carefully on Jack's back to smooth it, and then flicks the donkey's large ear affectionately.

"Okay, I'll go get what you're looking for. But you have to promise me you'll behave."

Jack the donkey just looks at his master plaintively.

"All right; that's good enough. I'll take that as a promise."

Iapetus disappears and Jack waits patiently for his treat. An early arisen neighbor passes by and sees the donkey laden down with supplies.

"The fisherman must be leaving to visit relatives," the neighbor murmurs out loud. "I wonder who's going to take care of the old man while he's gone." He doesn't realize it but the 'old man' is finally leaving the village for good. He is about to make the final journey of his life.

The neighbor passes on by scratching his head.

Jack's large ears perk up when he hears the approach of his master. He smells his favorite fruit long before he sees it and whinnies with anticipation. But if forced to wait for the treat while Iapetus helps his father make his way over.

"Good boy," Iapetus says. "You waited for us. Just for that, here's your treat."

Jack expertly scoops the succulent fruit from his master's hand and sets right to work on it, paying little attention to Iapetus' laborious efforts to mount his father comfortably astride his back.

The load is finally cinched tight and then Iapetus takes Jack's reins in his hand and without further fanfare begins to lead him away from home. Iapetus gets to the crest of the hill above his home and stops for one last look back. The sea spreads out before him as a beautiful backdrop to the small fishing village Iapetus has called home all his life. Dotting the slope leading down to the rocky shore, the humble homes of his countrymen continue to slumber on peacefully, unaware that one of their own is about to embark on the adventure of his life.

Iapetus is not aware of this either.

# PART TWO

* * *

"Why does _she_ get to go?" Hera complains sourly, glaring at Athena who sits smugly behind me in the sky-car.

From his position in the seat beside me, Zeus impatiently glances down at her.

"We've been over this before, Hera. If anything goes wrong, Athena knows best how to fix this chariot."

"Apollo does, too," Hera notes, looking at me sullenly.

Out of the corner of my eye and out of view of Zeus I can see Athena mouthing the words; _I've got brains,_ while tapping the side of her head for emphasis. She smiles sweetly at Hera, whose face turns into a dark mask of rage.

"We need them both," Zeus explains, oblivious to it all. His tone turns stern. "And I won't say it again; for this trip it's only going to be Apollo, Athena, and myself. You'll get a chance later. In fact, as soon as they're all put together, you'll have your very own sky-car as will everyone else." He turns to me. "Take us up, Apollo."

We lift off, leaving behind the upwards staring faces of the others. This is not going to be like the previous flights. For this is not a practice run. We're going to pay a visit to the seacoast city we saw from our mountaintop.

I direct the craft expertly and marvel at the responsiveness of the controls. After we've gained enough altitude I suddenly feel a little mischievous. I bank the sky-car sharply. Athena shrieks and I smile, pleased. I allow the craft to level out and duck a swat aimed at my head.

"Cut it out, Apollo! That wasn't funny!"

"It was for me."

Zeus allows himself a slight smile, completely unfazed by my antics. "You've been up here before; will you be the good tour guide, Apollo?"

"Okay passengers, now pay close attention. I don't know if you can still make out the field we took off from, but if you look off in that direction over there, (I point with exaggerated formality), you can just about make out the palace."

"I had no idea the forest was so huge," Athena exclaims. "It doesn't seem to ever end!"

"It does. You'll see that in a moment. Olympus was actually placed at the summit of a nearly inaccessible mountain. I suspect that this mountain was specifically engineered for this purpose–for Olympus–for us. It doesn't seem natural for a mountain of this size and altitude to consist of sheer vertical sides and a generally flat summit."

Athena nods soberly. "I suspect that there are many things about this world that are not natural."

"Us, for instance," Zeus agrees.

Below us the forest continues to roll away and soon we finally see an end to it.

"We're about to go where no Olympian has gone before," I say dramatically. "I've never made it this far from Olympus in all my practice flights."

As we race towards the forest's edge and what also looks like the world's edge, we see in the distance the rolling swells of an endless sea. All of a sudden the forest and all things material fall away in an instant, taking our stomachs along with it. We are a solitary bird soaring impossibly high in the heavens. For a moment we feel inconsequential–like a tiny speck drifting asunder, caught within the majestic fabric of creation. It is a feeling I decide that I don't like. The feeling it gives me goes completely against my own nature. For I am an Olympian, born to rule. I don't like to be made to feel puny.

I bank the craft and we begin our descent into the realm of man. Locating the jagged coastline and then the city of our destination, I begin to entertain thoughts about what might possibly await us. _What are real people like? How will we be treated? Are their cities clean like Olympus? What do they do with their lives? How many people are there?_ I wonder if Zeus and Athena are having similar thoughts. They sit quietly, lost in their own thoughts.

I decide to break the silence. "What do you think we will find?"

"People. Lots of them. Lots of stupid, gawking people."

I glare reprovingly at Athena and then turn to face Zeus when he begins to weigh in. "We will find a people that needs us; a people that have long been waiting for our arrival. We need to be considerate of their needs, and we need to be responsible." He turns and looks meaningfully at Athena.

"What? Why are you looking at me that way?" she asks with her palms raised innocently.

Zeus rolls his eyes and continues. "But we are also their gods. We cannot show weakness."

"No problem there!"

"So, are we ready then?"

Athena and I both nod seriously.

"Then let the gods become real and dwell among men."

Far below us, necks crane to see us as we slowly circle the city in wide loops. I stare down curiously, just as interested in seeing what the people of Hellas look like as they are to see us.

"Shall we go down?" I ask Zeus.

"Very well," he replies.

The sky-car dips forward as we swoop and scatter the throngs of pedestrians who had been staring upwards along the section of the dirt-packed roadway I aim for.

We settle down upon the road, which as I saw from above is one of many roads leading into the city. Dust swirls in our faces as the engine grows silent. We climb forth. People gawk at us. They are a small people (or maybe we're big), of diverse and varied garb. Tunics of saffron, red, pink, blue, violet and yellow surround us, some with colored stripes and some with fringes. Many of the men wear beards. The hairstyles of the women vary. Some part and tie their hair back with colored ribbon, others are coiled into buns or worn with short straight bangs across their foreheads. Mantles are ubiquitous among the women; thrown over the shoulders like a shawl, draped over the right shoulder and under the left arm, or pulled up over the head in protection from the sun.

An old toothless man who carries the sour smell of basketware steps forward. He bends ungainly to one knee. The soiled lower fringes of his plain-white tunic sweep aside the dust at our feet.

"Amphion, at your service, my lords."

"I am Zeus," Zeus declares in greeting.

"We know, my lord," the old man creaks weakly. He cringes in our presence as if waiting to be struck. Ratcheting back to his feet, he points a trembling finger in my direction. "And this one is Apollo, the sun-god; and she is Athena, the goddess of wisdom. We have your statues and your temples. We've just never before seen you incarnate."

"Well, get used to it," Zeus says gruffly. I can tell he is a little disconcerted with the attention. Despite Zeus' brief anticipatory speech, it is clearly not so easy to take on the aspect of a god with so little advance preparation, even if we have been designed for it.

I swat at a fly. Sweat beads upon my brow from the intensity of the hot midday sun. Experiencing these mundane discomforts puts things in perspective. To these people we're supposed to be gods, but I feel altogether human as I stand here before them. Squinting against the glare, I run my gaze over the people in front of us, noting expressions. From what I see, they all share the same attitude towards us as the old man. Despite whatever I feel inside, to them we're gods. I guess that's all that really matters.

"We wish to view your city," Athena says.

"The gates of humble Olympia are wide open to you, O magnificent ones," the old man proclaims meekly, gesturing ahead towards the towering gates.

"You said you have statues of us?" Zeus asks, keenly eying him with a strange intensity.

The old man vigorously nods his head. "Yes, my lord. We have a famous likeness of your very lordship right inside your temple."

"Take me to see this likeness of which you speak."

"Of course, lord. Thank you." And he bows profusely many times, before straightening and running ahead of us eager to carry out his proud service to the gods.

We stride confidently through the city gates, followed by a jittery crowd. Long-haired children in short linen tunics stop playing in the street outside their mud-bricked homes when they see us. Women stop their spinning, weaving, pot-cleaning and other domestic duties and look up. Dogs begin barking and running towards us, recognizing that there is a strangeness to things. Sharp yells try to call them back, but most go unheeded and the dogs yap and bark around us, desperately pursued and checked by the people in the crowd. But one breaks through, leaps at Zeus, who to the dim canine mind is merely an ordinary stranger presenting a threat to his people. With a small casual motion he kills the attacking creature, and a small child runs out and sobs over the broken body that is left twitching behind in the dust.

I glance ahead and see in the distance a glimmering white building ascending above all else, still separated from us by a haphazard jumble of residences, decorated walls, and buildings of various design.

"What is that structure?" I ask the old man.

"But that is the temple of Zeus, my lord," the old man offers uneasily, huffing and puffing heavily, trying to stay ahead of us. Better to keep quiet, I decide. I probably just insulted them. Gods ought to know the temples dedicated in service to them. Otherwise, the people's worship is well for naught.

The closer we draw, the more magnificent the surroundings become, and the workshops, pottery shops, factories, residences and other buildings we now pass before are now great elaborate structures, some constructed of marble, many with small windows that open towards the street from the second and third stories. I see faces in some of the windows staring outward at the growing procession, transfixed by what their eyes are telling them.

The thoroughfare leads us into a large open area- the city's agora, an offered thought tells me, crowded with even greater throngs who hurry about their business, jostling one another, the human herd a heaving mass of voice. The local market is located here, with separate sections for vegetables, olive oil, fish, and meat, with a whole wide range of goods all loosely organized throughout the area. Craftsmen sit in the shade of the cool marble buildings, their wares laid out on the ground before them. As I glance past the stalls for general goods I see the booths of bankers where people wait in lines to exchange money; also a platform beside a fenced-in area, where slaves are being bought and sold; stockades of goats, sheep, swine and cattle. Perfumes and spices fill the air, yet these aromas don't mask completely the smell caused by many bodies being put together in one space beneath a hot beating sun.

At our arrival a murmur begins to spread throughout the agora and suddenly it is relatively quiet except for the clink of pottery from inside a building as factory workers continue their work unaware of us, and the ranting of a mad-man as he stumbles past the fruit stalls waving his arms about.

We continue past all this, past hostels, baths, and places offering many other conveniences as well as accommodations for the nearby athletic installations which- by the extent of it all, must be quite a big thing here, until we finally come to the walls of the sacred precinct with Zeus' temple rising up ahead of us. Trees, ornamental shrubs, and flowers of all varieties decorate the surroundings in exquisite fashion. A shadow is cast by a large hill to one side of the sanctuary, but does little to diminish the gleam from the new white stucco finish that has been applied to the great temple of Zeus. The pillars, too, shine from frequent maintenance, and fresh paint enlivens the sculptured decorations that adorn the front gable and makes dramatic and lifelike the frieze that runs above the front porch.

We ignore the smaller temple nearby, as well as the terraces, the decorated walls, and the pillared structures of all sorts and sizes distributed throughout the sanctuary area, and follow Zeus as he walks directly towards the temple that exists in his honor.

Priests and priestesses with clean white tunics edged at the bottoms in gold bow low at the sides of the walk as we approach. One of the priests is draped in finery greater than the rest, and it is he who addresses us.

"Your servants welcome you, Lord Zeus."

Zeus looks oddly at him but says nothing, and walks past him toward the front porch.

Once inside the temple, he finally comes to a stop before a great gold and ivory statue. The magnificent bold figure of a man seated on an elaborately wrought throne is none other than Zeus himself. In fact, the statue is a perfect representation of the man standing before me. If I didn't know better I would've been certain that he'd posed for the statue. In his right hand, he holds a winged victory, made of precious metals; in his left a gold scepter. A great cloak of pure gold covers his tall majestic body, bordering, but not hiding, sturdy feet shod with sandals rested upon a stool adorned with lions of gold. Finally, a wreath of olive leaves crowns his flowing hair. Only the long curly beard enveloping his face is absent from the living, breathing Zeus, otherwise they'd be completely identical.

The three of us stand alone in the presence of Zeus' likeness. The procession we have slowly been accumulating has stayed behind in the sanctuary and we can hear their anxious voices murmuring outside.

"What is so important about this statue that you had to see it?" Athena asks him curiously.

"I had to know something," he explains distantly, staring at himself.

"What did you have to know?"

"I had to know why we were made. And now I think I do."

And though we pressure him, Zeus says no more.
* * *

"I don't care who she is! Nobody is being allowed clearance this close to the Olympians! Tell her to take it up with Panagopoulos. That is the policy and I'm not breaking it for anyone!"

Mercer impatiently listens to the response on the screen. The message he hears causes his head to turn an unhealthy shade of red from the rage that suddenly causes it to swell in size.

"What do you mean, she's here already!"

He listens to more of the message, disbelieving. "How did she..."

Then, "Who allowed her to..."

Finally, in a more subdued voice, "When?"

Mercer nods numbly and then checks out of the screen. He pauses for a moment, and then contacts an assistant.

"Ling, I'll be out of the office for the rest of the day. I need you to handle anything that might come up. I'll have all calls and communications forwarded to your office."

"Certainly, sir. I'll do my best."

Mercer nods absently as he dismisses her. He checks his appearance in a mirror. This morning he had decided to dress casually as he expected it to be a quiet day, and now he regrets the decision. He wishes now that he had chosen to wear one of his more pricey _power_ suits. Then, he would be more prepared to meet a member of the high council. _As if one is ever ready to meet one of these high-ranking officials._

Mercer curses softly as he reaches for the door opener. Why does this woman want a tour of _Hades_? Why didn't she call ahead and make arrangements beforehand?

Mercer knows the answer to both questions. One; this space station serves as the headquarters for the hugely successful Project Olympus. This is where everything starts, from the plotting to the implanting of thought and purpose in the now-ridiculously-famous subjects–to the final editing of product. Second; her name is Anabel Rodriguez. She goes where she wants; when she wants, and how she wants. She probably has a conscripted warship hovering over Hades even now. Three entire worlds are at her beck and call. Anabel Rodriguez is not a woman who needs to make an appointment. And considering her reputation, she is probably hoping to catch the project staff with their pants down.

For a brief instant Mercer wishes that he was not the project supervisor of the most celebrated and controversial media production in existence. How easy it would be to slip into a background of anonymity and unaccountability. But that is not his way. Mercer knows he is gifted and that he must use the prodigious assets he has been given in a manner worthy of his talents.

He is the right man for this job. And he will project that confidence even to a member of the high council.

Except that when he confronts her in the reception area a short time later his knees are wobbling, his hands are clammy, and his throat suddenly feels as though it has been filled with frogs.

Three bodyguards step forward to meet him; (at least he assumes they are bodyguards due to their extremely fit physiques, their dark suits, and the dark glasses they wear even though they are inside a space station). Mercer gets another clue that they are bodyguards when they pad him down quickly and efficiently. Mercer wants to feel insulted but he is too scared by the deadly efficient treatment and by the men's palpable lethalness.

"You are the project supervisor?"

The way she says it is as though she is looking at all of the frogs in his throat instead of at him. If Mercer doesn't already feel flustered, he now feels it twice over.

"Yes," he manages, though it sounds as though one of his frogs has just croaked the response. He coughs, and hopes his voice is firmer. "I am Mercer, project supervisor of Project Olympus."

He takes a moment to surreptitiously examine the famous woman. In person she is not as tall as he had imagined, but she is much better looking. Not quite middle-aged, she carries herself with a regal bearing with a dark pair of intelligent eyes that look past you as though trying to find something else- anything else, to focus on than the bore she must deal with. She reminds him of a panther, and he is not even worthy of being considered prey.

"I am Anabel Rodriguez, as you no doubt know. I wish to have a tour of your facilities."

"It would be my pleasure, Anabel."

"Ms. Rodriguez," she corrects him with a displeased frown.

"My humble apologies, _Ms. Rodriguez_. It would be my pleasure." He pauses, turns his head sideways. "But maybe you would prefer a tour by our public relations..."

"No, _you_ will serve the purpose just fine. As the project supervisor I trust that you have a thorough working knowledge of this facility."

"Thank you, Ms. Rodriguez for your confidence in me." Silently to himself, Mercer adds a highly descriptive word to his response to describe his opinion of this woman. "Come this way then."

Her entourage follows along as Mercer leads her down the corridor towards the plotting facilities. It seems to be a logical starting point.

"What accounts for your interest in this station?" he asks politely, trying to make small talk.

"I want to determine if you are sitting on a ticking time bomb," she replies crisply. "My feeling is that you are. I also want to see what measures need to be taken to quarantine this world if and when anything goes wrong. We couldn't stop this project from happening but we can stop the fallout from a botched operation from affecting the rest of civilization."

"I take it you're not favorable to the project."

"My personal views are not at issue here."

"I hope not," Mercer says in a low tone, surprised at himself for speaking so forthrightly.

She glances at him sharply, but says nothing.

Mercer pauses before the doors to the plotting facilities. "As you know, we carry out the entire production here at Hades. This includes the pre-production stage, the production stage, as well as the post-production stage of each episode. But due to the nature of this project we break the process down differently than that. In here is where the ideas come from. We have a team of about twenty researchers and writers who compile the script..."

"Just show me the facility. I can figure it out from there."

"As you wish." Muttering under his breath, his newly tagged synonym for this woman nearly slips out. But Mercer keeps himself in check and pushes open the doors.

Heads poke up from the desks scattered around the large open area that has been divided into a number of different working sets and eyes grow large as they recognize the famous woman taking a tour through their hidden realm. Mercer leads the team through the huge work area and allows Anabel Rodriguez to pause at various stations to peer down at someone's work in progress as they assemble, sort, and edit a wide range of ideas for upcoming episodes. Mercer is glad that Gordon is not in sight. Gordon gets so excited about his work that it would be next to impossible to keep him from gushing about his ideas to this frigid high official and possibly risk causing a public relations disaster when things don't go as hoped.

The Production studio doesn't seem to interest her much either. Not much seems to happen here, as most of the real action happens planet-side, with the real-life Olympians and assorted cast the major participants. This huge space primarily serves as a relay point and reconnaissance center for the select crews responsible for making any necessary trips to the planet and boasts three complete bays along one wall for incoming and outgoing vessels.

The next leg of the tour is the Surveillance and Filming facility, actually part of the production stage of the work here at the space station, but deserving of its own space due to the magnitude of the assignment. Anabel Rodriquez asks a few questions to some of the staff and seems most interested in the technology used to keep the miniature cameras undetectable to the inhabitants of the world below and most notably the Olympians.

"Of course, there is always the possibility of mechanical failure, isn't there?" she asks at one point. "Couldn't this raise suspicion in one of the Olympians if it happened at an inopportune moment?"

"Their cognitive powers have been preconditioned to dismiss as unimportant anything to do with the hardware we have in place to film them. Something would have to really hit them square between the eyes for one of the Olympians to so much as notice anything being amiss," assures a confident director of photography.

Anabel Rodriguez leaves the Surveillance and Filming facility shaking her head and muttering something about running an operation by the seat of your pants and counting on blind luck to save you.

The woman shows only a cursory interest in the Editing and Post-Production Studio, the next stop on the tour. At one point Mercer thinks Anabel Rodriguez almost looks impressed when it is explained how many exhaustive details are sorted through when an episode is crafted. Even he gets amazed time after time when he sees how convincing a story line can be made to seem with just the right scenes and images inserted at just the right moments. It is really a form of art. And his people here at Project Olympus have mastered the art to the ultimate degree.

When they finish the tour Anabel Rodriguez pauses in the hall outside.

"I have no problem with the production phase of this project. What I _am_ concerned about, are the unknowns associated with it. What exactly _is_ it that you have on your hands here?" While her gesture seems to indicate the operation upon the space station only, Mercer understands that she is referring to the chief cornerstones of the project; namely the Olympians themselves. Anabel Rodriguez corroborates his perception as she continues. "Tell me about the technology used to elevate the physical capabilities of these Olympians above the traditional construct."

Mercer considers her question. While not available to the general public, a woman like Anabel Rodriguez no doubt has access to the technical data sheets detailing the Olympian's numerous enhancements and the methods used to achieve these. He decides that her question is directed from the perspective of a lay person rather than from an interest in the technical aspect, and from one experiencing the typical reservations of a pure human when confronted by the formidable superiority of their own creation. He tries to set her mind at ease.

"As you know they _are_ stronger and quicker than anything previously designed. But keep in mind that the methods used to enhance the actual muscle fiber and neural responses of these subjects are proprietary to this project; they will never again be repeated in any other subject as per contractual agreement–copies of the original genotypes having been destroyed, and because the likeliness of such a renowned panel of genemasters being assembled ever again is quite remote. But we are well aware, Ms Rodriguez, of what these Olympians are capable of, and what their limits are. They will remain well within our control."

"But in what direction is this type of experimentation taking us? What precedent is this setting?"

"I don't understand. What do you mean?"

"Okay, here is an example. Is it true that the females have a similar strength index to the males, despite having a much lesser mass? What I'm getting at is this: has the potential for enhancement been fully attained, or does there exist the possibility of even greater achievement somewhere along the horizon? Some opponents think this project is being used as an excuse to play god, by starting down a path that will eventually lead to the creation of something no longer human; something to truly fear."

Despite his distaste for this woman, Mercer finds himself getting momentarily caught up in the subject. While he by no means considers himself an expert, if it means assuaging her concerns, than he will give her what she needs to hear in order for that to happen. At the same time, he discerns quite clearly the folly of sharing with her what he truly believes–that maybe her greatest fears have already been recognized in the creation of these Olympians.

"I know what you're thinking, but no, the general consensus among the genemasters is that the ceiling for improvement has been reached with these Olympians. The method applied to the augmentation of the female's muscular system has been done differently from that of the males, and leads to no such conclusion. Much of their enhancement involves a reconfiguration of the fast-twitch muscle fibers and goes beyond simply packing these cells together more densely to add more volume–a patented technique of one of our genemasters that has been experimented with before but refined in the Olympians. It involves a total redesign of the muscle fiber itself. As I understand it, what the female Olympians gain in peak performance they lose in endurance and in overall power. For brief snatches they might _seem_ to be able to match up to a male counterpart in their ability to apply peak force, but with their lesser bulk they would clearly be at a physical disadvantage in any comprehensive comparisons. These eleven genotypes are the apex of human potential, yet we remain their masters."

Anabel Rodriguez purses her lips. "I'm still not convinced that this project is safe. Nothing I've seen so far has led me to reevaluate my thoughts on the matter."

Mercer spreads his hands. "What can I do to change your viewpoint?"

"I would like to meet with your security staff," Anabel Rodriguez declares authoritatively.

Mercer nods impassively but inside he is seething. This woman has no appreciation or respect for the work being done here. It is clear that she came here with her mind already made up. This request to meet with the security staff is just one more indication that Anabel Rodriguez' sole intention for this visit is to undermine and find fault with the project. _What is her reason?_

He notifies Jones of this request and then begins to lead the small group towards the far end of the space station where Jones' office and training complex is located.

By the time Mercer ushers the visitors into Jones' outer office, most of the available security staff has already been assembled; twelve very capable looking men and women. Such is Jones organizational skills. Mercer nods imperceptibly towards his chief security officer as a way of warning and then makes brief introductions.

"There is a disturbing level of doubt among the high council that the containment measures in place for these dangerous constructs are enough," Anabel Rodriguez states point-blankly.

"Are you here in an official capacity, Ms. Rodriguez?" Jones asks respectfully. "Or, are you just here on your own?"

Mercer is somewhat irked, yet at the same time is glad that _someone_ has the guts to stand up to this woman. He just wishes that this _someone_ were himself.

"Does it matter?" she asks stiffly. "I _am_ a member of the high council, don't forget."

"Yes, I think it does in fact matter," he returns with a look of bland innocence. "Our employer, Mr. Panagopoulos has passed this project through all the required legislatures. A detailed outline of our proposed security arrangement is on file where you can access it easily along with copies of all of the required permits. Again, I ask, is your visit here confirmation that these measures will not be honored by the high council? And please note," he gestures towards a member of his security staff holding up a recording device, "this conversation is being monitored for Mr. Panagopoulos' benefit as well." And Jones smiles like a wolf, his demeanor and stance every bit as tough and unforgiving as Anabel Rodriguez' three bodyguards.

Spittle nearly flies from her mouth from the indignation Jones' mildly reproving words arouse in her. "Are you saying that I am being refused access to this request?"

"Not at all! I will be glad to set you up at a work station where you can access and review at leisure the information we filed more than a year ago with the proper authorities. If you would like to interview me or one of my staff members in more detail, I would be glad to send a memo to Mr. Panagopoulos stating your request. If he is not busy or otherwise involved, I'm sure this request can be entertained and approved before the end of this working day."

Anabel Rodriguez sputters with rage, clearly not used to being handled this way, especially not by a man so far beneath her.

"How dare you treat me like some common visitor! I will have your job!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Ms. Rodriguez."

"This is not over!" she threatens. "You will hear about this!"

Anabel Rodriguez takes her trio of bodyguards and storms out.

Mercer looks at Jones and raises his eyebrows.

"I hope she doesn't get lost finding her way back to the docks," Jones says with a grim smile.

"I hope she does," Mercer counters darkly.

Jones chuckles darkly. "Yes, that would be sweet."

"You have made a powerful enemy."

"I think she already was."
* * *

"Who spoke to you of this?" I ask Hermes doubtfully.

"A wise man named Epimenides. A shepherd introduced me to him. Would you believe Epimenides is said to have slept in a cave for fifty-seven years before awakening and finding himself possessed of prodigious wisdom?"

"And you would believe someone like that?"

"He seemed very wise."

I chuckle. "Don't let Athena hear you speak about his wisdom so glowingly. She can be touchy when it comes to things like that. You know as well as I do that she thinks she's the wisest person in the world."

Hermes grins boyishly. "Don't tempt me. I like seeing her get angry." He turns serious. "But anyway. Are you coming, or not?"

"I suppose if such beasts actually do exist beyond the northern mountains, I'd like to see them for myself."

"Then climb in."

I hop in beside him and soon we are soaring swiftly across the countryside. Farmers stop what they're doing and stare skyward. Shepherds, goat-herders, and swine-herders also stare. We have become a frequent sighting but the human population is still not used to seeing an unnatural object in the sky.

Forest fills our vision. The reaches of this forest stretches endlessly as we soar onward. The landscape breaks into a breathtaking scene of mountains and valleys. We drift above an inland lake. Climb above even more mountains, these mountains incredibly high and their peaks inaccessible and dripping with white icing. These precipitous peaks harbor a chill that reaches all the way up here into our sky-car and makes me and Hermes shiver uncomfortably and huddle in our cloaks. Eventually the mountains give way to foothills, and soon, a featureless marsh.

Suddenly our sky-car begins to cough and sputter. This has happened to me before, when I had pushed the range of my sky-car heading due south of Olympus on an exploratory trip. It seems as though a maximum range has been built into these crafts and they will no longer operate properly when we exceed that limit.

We begin to descend upon a wind-stirred plain, back-dropped by distant forests and low rising hills. The engine of our craft begins to smooth out as we approach ground. This is the same behavior I had experienced in my earlier flight when I had pushed the boundaries of a sky-car's range. We still won't have much of an allowance to head northward–continuing in our original destination, but we should have enough control of the sky-car to function for a short distance further.

"This is as far as we can go," Hermes acknowledges. "But I think we are here."

He peers closely at the land below. "This is where Epimenides said they'd be. Now just keep an eye out for them. They usually travel in herds."

"You had better be right."

"There!" He triumphantly points to a distant herd of what appear to be innocently grazing beasts.

Our speed picks up and then we're circling above the suddenly anxious herd. They stare up at us in wonder, the long dirty hair that streams down their backs billowing in the wind, their very human torsos naked to the elements.

Centaurs, they are.

These bizarre beings are pony-sized creatures, shaped with the lower half of a horse, and whose human upper halves look hardly more advanced than their bestial portion. As we circle the herd and look down upon them with wonder, they mill about in fear beneath the roving shadow of our craft.

"Check her out!" Hermes suddenly whistles with enthusiasm. He points below. Radiating like a solitary wildflower arrayed with the glorious brilliance of the sun upon it, one centauress stands out in striking contrast to the crude creatures dotting the plain. She is breathtaking to behold. In fact, I can only describe her as nearly magnificent as a goddess. Prancing nervously in the high grass, a delicately crafted cheek turns to the sky to behold the terror that soars high above. She watches in trepidation along with her fellow herd members as we circle the sky above. Hermes furiously cranks down the convertible top for better visibility and the sudden rush of air whips against my face.

"She's but a horse, Hermes," I object, feeling a shameful blush of heat fill my cheeks as I reject the forbidden desires that stir at the sight of the centauress.

"Only half horse. The other half is as pretty as our sisters. I'm going down there to introduce myself."

And with that he causes the sky-car to swoop towards the herd. But as can be expected, the centaurs are not in any mood to meet beings that soar in the sky. Instead they panic and stampede in all directions. As Hermes focuses in upon the beautiful centauress and tries to herd her away from the others in an effort to isolate her, a group of large males see our intention and reform their ranks, galloping in tightly to cluster around her in protection. These centaurs seem to consider themselves the centauress' personal bodyguards. Sod kicks up behind their hard driving hooves as they race before us. The centauress is all but swallowed up in the midst of their heaving shoulders. We pursue them doggedly, but the furious curtain of dust stirred up by their pounding hooves cause us to choke on the dirty cloud and lose visibility. We are forced to veer back to the sky.

Hermes clenches his jaw in determination as we circle around once more.

"I'll not be thwarted sp easily," he declares stubbornly.

And again we dive earthward. His enthusiasm is contagious. For a moment even I am caught up in the exhilarating sport and my wild yell mingles with his as we descend madly upon the herd.

Flying expertly, cutting this way and that, Hermes finally manages to split the group and separate aside the unfortunate centauress from her protectors. Staring over her shoulder in wild terror, she gallops frantically before our craft in a mad effort to escape us. Her long dark hair billows in the wind like a mane caught on fire. Relentless, we steer her ever onwards, further and further away from the safety of the other centaurs. Ahead looms the fringes of a dark forest. She leans forward and gasping with all her effort, strives to reach the haven of trees. For a moment it seems like she's going to get away. But all of a sudden we accelerate until we're directly over the terrified creature.

"Here, take over," Hermes requests with a boyish grin. "I'm getting out here."

And with a gleeful cry he dives over the side of the sky-car, lands squarely on her back, and buries his face and hands in her wildly flying mane.

She lets forth with a full-throated scream, the whites of her eyes rolling backwards and showing huge. Twisting her arms backwards she claws frantically at her unwanted rider, trying to dislodge him. But laughing with pleasure he wraps his agile arms about her shapely torso and clings tightly to her back.

Just then about two dozen centaurs suddenly appear from the nearby trees. Unlike the other centaurs behind us, these large males are armed. They grip in their hairy fists heavy clubs and jagged limbs torn from trees. And before Hermes can leap free from his unwilling mount, he is quickly surrounded on all sides by these dirty, weapon-brandishing centaurs.

I swallow hard and swing the craft about in a full circle. With my hands busy fumbling with the controls trying to get it back under control, I find that I am unable to wield my golden bow. I can only watch as Hermes is roughly dragged from the back of the sobbing centauress and escorted swiftly towards the deeply shadowed canopy of branches. He turns once to look back at me as I fly over. I expect to see fear or apprehension in his eyes. But far from being daunted by his apparent plight, his blue eyes twinkle merrily in anticipation of adventure.

I clench my teeth into a snarl.

Figures!

Here I am getting worried and he's having the time of his life. I'll fix him! Let him find his own way home!

And at full throttle I charge into the sky. My body is pushed hard against the back of the seat as the craft continues to accelerate. Turbulence assaults me with a vengeance until I shut it out by restoring the convertible top back to its closed position. The long trip we took to come here repeats itself in reverse, only at a much faster pace. Marsh land whips past. Foothills. Endless mountains. The glimmering wetness of an inland lake. More mountains and valleys. Forest. Then familiar countryside, moving past me in a blur. And finally I see the high peaks leading up to the great flat summit of Mount Olympus. Only then do I begin to decelerate.

Artemis is there when I arrive. Munching on a crisp fruit, she casually saunters over as I dismount.

"I thought you left here with Hermes," she says between succulent bites.

"That's right," I respond with rude abruptness, brushing past her.

"Where did he go?"

I face her, still angry. "He fell in love with a horse."

She looks questioningly at me, mouth full of fruit.

"All right," I concede, feeling my anger recede as her beauty permeates my mood. "She's only half horse."

She swallows her mouthful and tosses aside the finished husk. "A centauress?"

"Right." I look at her curiously. "How did you know what a centauress is?"

"A centaur lives in a forest I was visiting last week. Goes by the name of Chiron. A fellow of excessive habits, I'd say, but otherwise he seemed pretty decent. I liked him a lot better than the satyr I met later the same day. The satyr's human half was just as unwashed and smelly as his goat half. He tried to..."

I cut her off. "You didn't tell me that you went out alone without me. It could've been dangerous."

"Since when have you decided to start trying to be my father?" she demands, hand on hip, eyes flashing in sudden resentment. "I _am_ quite grown, as if you didn't notice!"

"Artemis..."

"I can handle myself just fine!"

I turn brusquely aside and start marching away from her. I can't be bothered with this right now!

"All right," I snap back at her. "Go out by yourself! See if I care!"

Frowning crossly at me, she follows in quiet pursuit as I head towards the palace entrance. "So what did you do with Hermes?" she finally asks in a conciliatory tone.

"I left him behind."

Her large dark eyes grow larger still. "You didn't!"

"Yup. I certainly did."

At first my blunt reply feels good coming off my lips. And the look of shock upon her beautiful face is wonderfully fulfilling. But the look Artemis now gives me changes the feeling and I begin to feel guilty. Artemis can do that to me. Work my moods just as easily as I play my lyre. I don't know why I allow her to have this power over me.

Artemis grabs my arm sternly and tries to steer me back towards the still warm sky-car. And helpless to resist her, I let her.

"We're going back for him," she declares with determination.

"But I'm hungry," I complain, glancing longingly at the waiting palace where Ganymede and Hebe would just now be putting the finishing touches to a well-prepared meal.

"Then Hermes is probably hungry too. And you left him all alone out there with no way to get home."

"Ah... he wasn't exactly alone when I left him."

" _She_ doesn't count."

"I wasn't talking about her. Ah...he was sort of taken captive by a bunch of those centaur things," I mumble guiltily in a low voice, avoiding her eyes and kicking at a stone half-submerged in the ground.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see her staring at me in horror. "And you left him there by himself? I can't believe you!"

"All right!" I say dismally. "I'll go back and get him. But you have to stay here. It's not safe for you."

Artemis shakes her thick black mane firmly. "No! Absolutely not! You're taking me with you! And that's final."

I look at the fierce determination in her eyes and shrug. No use arguing with _that_ look.

"Then come," I say with resignation. "See if I care."

And so with Artemis now at my side I retrace my course in the sky and eventually settle the sky-car down at the edge of the thick cover of vegetation not far from where I last saw the centaurs disappear into the forest.

"Do you think the sky-car will be all right here?" Artemis asks doubtfully, eying the grounded craft.

"Oh, I guess I haven't told you; we discovered that the circuitry of these vehicles will only respond to the touch of an Olympian. And if I set this switch," I reach inside and make an adjustment, "anybody even touching the sky-car with so much as a little finger will get a nasty surprise."

I notice her reproving look. "Don't worry. It will only give them a shock."

Artemis fingers the blade at her side, setting her mind on other things. "Now how many of these centaurs did you say there were?"

"A few. Nothing we can't handle."

We start forward. Trees slip quietly past us. Shadows within shadows murmur softly to the accompaniment of familiar forest sounds. But this forest is by no means of a familiar sort. The low growing bramble which swishes roughly against our legs as we walk through its midst is an evil and distorted thing, and has a raspy toughness to it. Even the trees seem particularly harsh, clothed with a deep textured bark that is abrasive to the skin when we happen to brush against it. Many of the trunks glisten and stir gently. They look like bizarre hybrids; a cross between a tree and a beast as a result of the fur rubbed off into their coarse bark from the centaur's hairy bodies. I let my mind wander off to thoughts about the magnificent centauress. It's hard to believe that anything so beautiful can live in such conditions. This is a place of twisted, distorted things, aptly suited for beasts such as the male centaurs. Not for things of beauty.

We haven't gone far when Artemis directs my attention to the trees around us. Hair is embedded everywhere in the grain of the wood in even greater measure than earlier. We must be getting close to their lair.

"I guess these trees make for good back-scratchers," she says smiling, trying to be lighthearted in the midst of our depressing surroundings. "We should plant one outside the palace for Dionysus."

I nod sourly and keep walking.

"Do you smell something?" I ask suddenly, tilting my nose towards a scent wafting towards us. It is a scent that was already very much present here in these woods but is now becoming even more obvious.

She crinkles her fine nose. "It smells like horse."

"And well it should," I smile wryly, "for these centaurs certainly have the business end of one."

She gives me a disgusted look and nudges me sharply in the side.

"At least it means we're getting close," I grimace, holding my ribs.

Suddenly we hear sounds drifting towards us from up ahead. We crouch low to the ground and begin to creep forward. And then we see the encampment. Dropping to our bellies, we wriggle in closer for a better view.

Crude dwellings constructed of animal hides stretched over long wooden shafts nestle in a rocky tree-filled valley. Centaurs of all ages move about engaged in various activities. Some kick up water with their hooves in the stream running through the center of the valley, playing, bathing, or possibly both. Since I'm obviously not an expert in centaur activity I can only guess. Some centaurs carry bundles of sticks in their arms to add to a huge pyre being assembled–a task that worries me somewhat, taking into consideration the centaur's recent capture of my traveling companion. And still other centaurs prepare food in great wooden bowls. When I observe this last activity, it causes my stomach to growl loudly.

"Shh!" Artemis hisses in annoyance.

I raise my arms helplessly and think dark thoughts about the injustice of missing out on dinner.

Forcing myself to think about more pressing matters, I search throughout the encampment for Hermes but see no sign of him. Maybe he's in that large tent over there where centaurs can be seen clustering tightly around the entryway.

"If you have any ideas, now would be the time to share them," I whisper to Artemis close beside me.

She glowers at me. "You mean to tell me that we came all this way and you don't even have a plan?"

"It wasn't exactly my idea to come and rescue him in the first place–if I may so remind you as such."

"But it _is_ what you _should_ be doing, if you have any sense of valor for what's right!" she hisses in reprimand.

"What's so important about valor, anyway?" I mumble sullenly. "I think the whole concept is highly overrated, if you ask me."

Artemis glares hotly at me for a moment, and then glances back at the encampment. "Maybe we should just walk in and ask for him back," she finally suggests in a thoughtful tone.

I roll my eyes in disgust. "Great idea! I should've known I was making a mistake in asking you for your opinion."

"No, seriously. Think about it. What argument do they have with us? Is it either your fault or mine that Hermes fell in love with one of their ladies?"

"Actually, there _was_ a little more to it," I confess after a moment.

"Oh?"

But we're interrupted by the loud sound of someone crashing through the brush behind us as this new arrival rapidly approaches. I see the sweat-soaked flank of a madly galloping centaur flash past our concealed position and then moments later he bursts into the encampment.

"Sileni!" he cries. "I saw a band! They're coming!"

"Sileni!" A terrified cry goes up. The encampment below becomes a sudden madhouse. Centaurs scramble in all directions. Younger and weaker ones are pushed under cover, and wooden clubs are taken up by others.

As we continue to watch with interest, Hermes suddenly appears from out of the same structure I had originally supposed he was in. He is surrounded by agitated centaurs of obvious rank judging by the greater number of beads and trappings adorning their human portions.

"I guess that answers the question about how we're going to rescue him," Artemis says with a slight frown, nodding towards Hermes.

For there he stands, by no means a helpless prisoner, but as one casting orders this way and that. Centaurs hasten to act on the instructions he gives them. Leave it to Hermes to talk his way out of a sticky situation!

I shrug lightly and turn my palms upward. "See, there was no need to worry about him."

"And obviously you weren't," Artemis declares heatedly.

I begin a retort, and then decide that she's madder at Hermes than at me.

Artemis kneels backwards. Restless, she tosses her thick mane of hair. Bites her lip. She glances into the forest at our back, her mind clearly racing. "I wonder who and what these Sileni are," she muses out loud. "Could they be as strange as these centaurs? Are they anything to worry about?"

"We'll know in a minute," I reply, pushing myself to my feet. For off in the distance I begin to hear the din from an approaching band of intruders.

"Maybe this is not a very good spot to be in," Artemis observes. She has noted our vulnerable position sandwiched between the two opposing groups.

"I suppose we should join Hermes' side. He looks like he could use our help."

She looks at me slyly, reminding me for a moment of Eris. The adrenalin for battle is beginning to touch her and adds color to her cheeks and fire to her eyes. "You're not afraid, are you?"

"Me? Afraid? I'll show you what afraid is. Come!"

"But Hermes is over that way."

"I know," I say over my shoulder. "And the Sileni are this way."

"I was just kidding, Apollo," she says, running lightly at my heels. "I know you weren't really afraid. You don't have to try to prove anything."

"Too late! You challenged my courage. Now I have to prove myself."

"But it's starting to get dark," she complains sourly. "You won't be able to shoot your arrows straight."

"Don't worry. There is still enough light in the sky for my eyes to pick out these brutes. Anything cursed with such a silly name should be cinch to take out," I assure her. I pause to draw forth my golden bow and sling it with a ready arrow from my inexhaustible quiver. "And if I were you, my dear sister, I'd find somewhere to hide until the fighting is over."

Artemis looks darkly at me.

"I do not hide," she declares fiercely. Drawing her hair back out of the way, with a practiced motion she binds it nimbly with a piece of ribbon pulled from her pocket. She draws forth her blade and clutches it tightly in her fist. Fiery eyes meet my own. Hers are filled with determination. "I am an Olympian. I will fight alongside you."

I glance down at the clumsy piece of metal in her hands. "Do you actually think you're going to do something with that?"

"It's better than hiding like some old weak woman!"

"Remind me to get you a better weapon."

"Fine! I will!"

"Okay, just stay out of my way for now."

If she had something other than a blade in her hands right now she would probably throw it at me. I'm lucky this is not Eris with me.

The sileni draw close to our waiting position. They are chanting as they come. The sound that rises from their march has an almost festive mood to it. The rhythmic accompaniment of a hypnotic drumbeat almost works to drown out their many footfalls.

We see an indistinct figure begin to emerge from the darkness. The bold creature marches confidently towards us, singing out with a deep resonant voice as he leads the march of sileni warriors. Nearly inaudible beneath their sound, I hear the dry snap of branches as the lead creature coming toward us pushes against the resisting undergrowth in his steady advance. Metal glints from various sources in the fading light; from the breastplate, helmet and the spear that he carries in his naked fist. Finally I am able to see the creature clearly as he emerges from cover. Beside me Artemis gasps in disbelief.

For as strange as the centaurs are in their appearance, this creature is even stranger. The approaching figure walks astride two great powerful legs shaped like the hind legs of a horse. A stiff horse's tail swishes from side to side at his rear, moving in time to the beat of their music. At his wide waist, this bizarre lower half merges upwards into a massive man-like torso, crowned finally by a beastly human head. The sileni's ears though, are horse's ears. And his nose, while marginally human, reminds me somewhat of a horse's nose. In one hand he carries a heavy iron-tipped spear while his other hand beats upon a small skin drum slung from his side.

I suddenly feel sorry for the poor ugly fellow. Whose cruel joke was he?

The creature suddenly sees me. He stops short and his singing abruptly ceases. He stares with an intensity almost matching my own. Then he turns and calls excitedly into the woods at his back. The chant halts all the way back up the line and soon other creatures resembling this first warrior come forward and join his side. In all there are about twenty of the bizarre warriors in number. I point the notched arrow in their direction and their beastly expressions suddenly turn very uneasy.

In the woods at my back, with an Olympian's superior hearing I can make out the sound of hooves muffled by forest floor debris as the centaurs from the camp cautiously creep forward. Artemis hears this too, and glances momentarily behind her before turning and facing the sileni at my side.

"What argument do you have with us, O Lord Apollo?" the first viewed sileni who is evidently also their leader asks. I abruptly start at the sound of my name. _Just how well known are we anyway?_

"Why do you march against the centaurs?" I call toward him.

"It is our way, Lord Apollo," he replies in a perplexed tone, spreading his thick arms and turning his palms upwards in a gesture of bewilderment. "Every year at this same time we always fight the centaurs and take away one of their maidens. It is part of our worship. As one of the gods, you know this, Lord Apollo."

An interesting solution suddenly occurs to me.

"And tonight, that is what you've come here for? To take away one of their maidens?"

They nod uncomfortably.

"We have performed all the proper rituals, Lord Apollo," he continues earnestly, "we are sure of it."

"That is not the problem. The problem is this: the god Hermes has decided to take for himself–in your stead, one such maiden as you have described. Now tell me, would you be ever so generous as to grant him this small desire? Or," my voice grows hard, "would you rather risk an argument with the gods?"

Dismay shows on their crude faces but they put their heads together and talk it over in low tones, occasionally glancing toward us with unease.

Finally their leader steps forward. "We beg for you not to grow wrathful, O Lord Apollo, but some in our midst doubt that you are in fact the archer god, but rather feel that you might be in truth an _imposter_. I, personally, will take it upon myself to severely punish these unbelieving ones when we return home, but if you will, my lord, just furnish us please with some small proof of your divinity, so that those of us who do truly believe will be vindicated."

"You want _me_ to prove to you that I am Apollo?" I ask in feigned outrage.

He nods meekly.

"All right, I'll give you proof! If anyone present here does not think that I am truly Apollo, I challenge you to raise your spear, and I will fill you with an arrow so fast that you won't even have time to pick a spot to fall!"

A small number in the posse swallow thickly and glance uncomfortably at their neighbor, but none choose to take up the challenge.

I turn back toward their leader. I frown with displeasure.

"I thought you said some were skeptical."

"Apparently they changed their minds, my lord Apollo," he says, nervously wetting his lips with his tongue and letting his beady eyes dart from my poised bow to my filled quiver.

"And especially will they do so after I do this..."

And in quick succession I release twenty arrows.

A loud cry of fear goes up as each sileni stares in horror at the quivering arrow sunk in the wooden spear shaft next to his hand. Each creature drops his spear in alarm as the arrows immediately start to sizzle and begin to disappear. I still haven't figured out how these arrows actually work, but the _wow_ factor they produce is enough to make me grin from ear to ear.

"You see my friends, I truly am the archer god," I say graciously, maintaining the smile.

"Forgive us, my lord," the leader pleads, now sweating profusely.

"Don't you think it's time for you to turn around and go home now?"

"Yes, my lord," he agrees, nodding his head vigorously up and down. He turns to his comrades. Barks a command somewhat lacking in confidence. They tentatively gather up their dropped spears and quickly begin to filter back into the trees, with frequent worried glances cast over their shoulders.

When they're gone I flash a wide smile at Artemis who is busy smirking at me.

"Why are you smirking?"

"No reason."

"Tell me."

"It's just that you... Oh well, it's nothing. Forget it."

I frown at her and then turn to face the dark woods at our back.

"Okay, centaurs. You can come out now."

They begin to emerge from invisibility and come forward, Hermes along with them. These centaurs are not as large as natural horses, but they are still big enough that I have to wonder with some degree of amazement how they were able to hide so effectively while I dealt with the sileni.

"I had it all under control, Apollo," Hermes claims. "You didn't even have to show up, you know."

"Then why were you hiding?" Artemis sneers.

"Apollo was on a roll. I didn't want to interrupt him."

"Sure," she sniggers skeptically.

"Anyway," Hermes says, "I'd like for you to meet my friend Admus, king of the centaurs."

A noble-looking centaur steps forward and bows before us. Around his neck he wears a bone necklace. His long hair has been plaited into thick braids. "Thank you, my Lord Apollo, and Lady Artemis, for coming to our aid. I have but one question, though." He pauses while he glances at me curiously. "You spoke to the Sileni about a maiden the Lord Hermes has decided to take for himself. Who is this maiden of whom you spoke, may I ask?"

I glance inquisitively at Hermes. He gives me a look of bland innocence and shrugs his shoulders.

"When you met Hermes," I say, staring hard at Hermes "was he not in pursuit of one of your maidens?"

"Indeed he was not, my lord Apollo! The Lord Hermes has explained to us that he was in fact rescuing her from an invisible spirit who was seeking to attack her! We were planning to honor the Lord Hermes tonight with a grand meal and celebration of his bravery."

I fight back a smirk as Hermes blushes and glances away.

"And you have thoroughly questioned this maiden about the matter?"

"She will not talk to anyone, my lord. Fear has closed her mouth I'm sorry to say."

I nod, and then turn to face them all. There is one way to fix Hermes good for all the trouble he's caused me.

"This is to be my judgment, then: This maiden of whom we speak shall be offered up in sacrifice to Hermes in payment for the protection I've provided to you from the Sileni."

King Admus gasps and his face grows white. "But Lord Apollo! Princess Cybele is my only daughter!"

_Figures_. But I've had enough already.

"You will have to take that up with the Lord Hermes, my friend." I turn to Artemis. "Come on Artemis, it's time to leave."

She glances questioningly at Hermes. He stares at us in consternation, his cheeks beet-red.

"We'll pick you up tomorrow," I murmur into his ear as I walk past him, Artemis at my heels.

"I can't believe you're actually leaving him," Artemis says to me during the flight home.

"Don't worry, Artemis. I think he'll be just fine."

And I smile to myself, wondering how he'll talk himself out of this one.
* * *

"Please don't tell me that you paid all that money for that ticket."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

"But you did! I know it!" Jill's grandmother looks at her in disbelief.

Jill slips the precious ticket back into a safe spot. "Hey, it's my money. I gave you my half of the rent money; what are you complaining about?"

"It's like throwing your money away! Don't you have any sense? Save your money! Invest it, if you have that much that you can afford to spend it on some ridiculous ticket!"

"Grandma, I'm not irresponsible. I do have a little saved up. I just wanted to do something a little exciting for a change. You know, take a chance. It's not like I expect to win. I'm not naïve. Only six people can win the lottery. There are potentially billions of contestants all going after the same prize. Do I think I have a chance to win? Of course not! But it's something I want to do."

Her grandmother shakes her head, and then looks long and hard at Jill. She doesn't want to fight. She decides to humor her granddaughter. "So, what happens to the people who win?"

"It's so cool! They actually get to go to Hellas. They get to role-play, while remaining totally undercover. They might even get to see a famous character from one of the shows. Hey, anything can happen. It's even possible that they might see an actual Olympian."

Jill's breathless response leaves her grandmother rolling her eyes inwardly.

"Jill... honey," she says, searching for words that won't antagonize her granddaughter even further. "Don't you know that this is only a publicity scheme? It's only purpose is to make money for Panagopoulos, while at the same time raising hopes in imaginative young viewers, only to crush these hopes when reality comes crashing down upon them. This entire thing, the whole project, is simply an escape from the real world. It offers no lasting benefit. I just wish you'd see that."

"You're such a killjoy, grandma. I'm just trying to have fun. Lighten up, will you?"

"I just want the best for you, Jill. You know that, don't you?"

Jill slips her slim arms around her grandmother's ample waist. "I know you do, grandma."
* * *

"That's not the point." Mercer says acidly. "I don't care that things worked out for an even better storyline than planned. _This was not the script you handed to me!_ "

"This is how it happens sometimes," Gordon responds quietly. "We set in place the parameters, run the script, and sometimes the story finds its own path. There's nothing we can do about that."

"That is unacceptable! It makes us look like fools when we advertise one scenario and then we deliver a completely different scenario! Our viewers will stop taking us seriously." While his argument feels valid, Mercer realizes that the reason he is so worked up right now is not because of this concern at all.

He is scared. Scared, because he thought the control they had over the Olympians was enough to predetermine everything that the Olympians did. And this is not the first time they diverted from the script. It is getting to be a pattern. The Olympians are not conforming as readily to the embedded signals and to the triggered stimuli as expected. Given time, it can only mean trouble.

"I really don't think we need to worry about our viewers," Gordon continues with one eyebrow raised. " _Project Olympus_ is still rising in the polls at an unprecedented rate."

"I don't care about the polls! It's the product I care about!"

Gordon sighs in resignation. "I'll get in touch with Blake. Maybe we can set up a conference with his team of genemasters and assistants. Certainly there is something that can still be done at this stage in the game."

"Yes, you do that. These cursed constructs are their creation after all!"
* * *

Iapetus watches his father perform his morning rituals, which includes prayers to each of the Olympian gods. While Iapetus respects the devotion the elderly man holds dear to his heart, he does not share his father's faith.

Iapetus is an atheist.

His father finishes his devotions and then creaks to his feet. He glances reprovingly at his son. "It wouldn't hurt you to offer a prayer. Choose any god you want. It just might help to smooth out the road ahead."

"I am not the same as you, father. You know this to be the case. Don't try to change me."

"You are not the same as any man I know. I don't know what I did wrong, to raise a son who is not a believer in the gods. It is unheard of!"

"Father, you did nothing wrong. The choice not to believe is my own."

The old man doesn't respond. He carefully picks his way towards the nearby thicket to make his morning contribution to the dew-soaked ground. Behind him, Iapetus sets to work dismantling their temporary camp. Nearby yet hidden behind the shelter of a tree, Jack snorts impatiently in an effort to get some attention. The morning has a routine feel to it. Yet the old man is uneasy. He has a feeling that something bad is about to happen.

And they have but his prayers to ward them.

When the attack happens it is totally unexpected. They've only been traveling for two hours when three bandits erupt from cover from beside the road. Fortunately for the fisherman and his father, these attackers are not hardened criminals but merely desperate men driven to this practice by hopelessness and hunger. Their dirty garments hang from their limbs as tattered rags and their coarse beards show months of untended growth making them knotted and ugly. Neither do these bandits have suitable weapons with which to carry out a successful enterprise. They bear merely clubs and farm tools to supplement the one knife they share between all three of them.

Iapetus thinks quickly. He gives Jack a slap on his hindquarters and sends him on his way. It is a good thing that his father has a rope binding him securely to Jack's back, otherwise he would probably fall off when Jack launches forward with a speed uncharacteristic for a donkey. But Iapetus is not surprised by the sudden alacrity shown by his animal. He and Jack have developed an unspoken awareness of the other's thoughts and needs. Iapetus knows that Jack understands the gravity of the situation and will keep running until danger no longer threatens.

Meanwhile, Iapetus is left facing three desperate bandits with nothing but the clothes on his back. He wonders if having nothing is a good thing, or a bad thing. Anything of value taken along for this journey is still attached to the fleeing donkey. He has nothing on his person of which to be robbed other than his clothing, which he fully expects to lose at the very least. It is for this reason that these bandits might just as well slit his throat out of spite.

Iapetus is thrown to the ground mercilessly. Something hard strikes him on the side of his head and he feels wetness form where the blow landed.

"You stupid fool," one of the bandits growls in his ear. "You will die for that!"

Iapetus buries his head beneath his arms as the bandits begin to kick him and beat him with their makeshift weapons.

"Careful of the garments!" he hears someone shout. The sound seems so far away, blunted by the pain that has begun to take over his tortured body.

Iapetus feels a pang of regret that this life may have to end so soon. While he has done nothing of note for which to stand proud, he has led an honest, hardworking life. Still, he did have dreams; dreams that he painfully realizes may never see fulfillment. And what of his father's dream? Without the help of Iapetus, he will never see Olympus. So much for his father's prayers! Yet Iapetus feels no resentment towards his father's gods for there is nobody to pin the blame on. He feels only an empty sadness that no gods exist who can mock this wasted effort of father and son to reach the elusive abode of the gods.

Iapetus tries to shut out the pain as the punishment becomes unbearable.

He is finally rewarded with unconsciousness.

It feels like days but it is probably only hours when Iapetus wakes up naked and throbbing with an excruciating pain that covers him from head to toe. Something dabs at his crusted lips with the wonderful feel of dampness. It takes a while for his thoughts to form but then he identifies the source of relief. _A rag soaked with water._ Somehow he manages to force one eye to open. A worried face peers back at him, that of a travel-worn middle-aged man, probably a traveling merchant who found him on the road.

"You must have been left for dead," the man says. "The fact that you are alive shows that you certainly have been touched by the gods."

Iapetus groans and tries to push himself up to an elbow. His benefactor watches him wordlessly as Iapetus examines himself for broken bones and any other major injuries. Miraculously he seems to still be in one piece, other than for the extensive bruising and minor cuts that are spread across his body. He decides that he will be fine after some rest, some healing herbs, and given time to mend the injuries.

_His father!_ Sudden concern pushes aside thoughts of his own difficulties. Hopefully Jack will have stayed far from the danger that waits for him on the road. Iapetus' father would try to make the effort to come back for his son as only a father would, but Iapetus is confident that Jack will stubbornly try to resist those efforts and will instead wait at a location where he feels safe, hoping his master will find his way back to him. In some ways the donkey is wiser than the old man. Iapetus is surprised to find himself smiling at the thought.

Iapetus has to move on. His body balks at the effort but he manages to make himself upright with only a little support lent from the helpful merchant. Iapetus feels a pressing need to reach his father and Jack before they give up on him. Somehow, he will manage travel.

Accepting the gift of an old robe from the merchant, Iapetus thanks him for his kind spirit and heads out. Hopefully the bandits will have moved on. Otherwise they will probably finish the job they started if they happen upon him again. If they find him now, surprise won't even be necessary. He is in no condition to run from danger.

In fact, he is barely in any condition to walk. But somehow he does, and painful mile after mile inch past beneath his bare and swollen feet. Thankfully he sees no sign of the bandits and passes only one curious traveler.

Jack detects the approach of his master before Iapetus sees his separated party of two hunched by the side of the road up ahead. With a delighted bray the loyal donkey ambles forward to meet the struggling fisherman, jostling the old man still pinned to his back in his haste to complete the reunion.

"I see you're still alive," Iapetus' father observes with a frown that is a cross between relief and accusation.

"Barely, I'm sorry to say."

"You do look a mess. Let's fix you up. You did pack herbs and bandages, did you not? And a change of garb?"

"Yes, father. I packed what you told me to pack."

"Then get me off this stupid donkey so I can work on you!"
* * *

"I really do think it is Hephaestus." Athena peers through the crack in the heavy wooden door. Her platinum head nods to herself in confirmation of her earlier suspicion.

"Hephaestus?" I hiss in objection. "But he's supposed to be dead!"

"Here, take a look. See what you think."

I move to the opening and peer inside. Through the smoke-filled haze of the cluttered workshop I see a shadow stooped over a fire pit. Sure enough, the muscular figure bent over the flames, hammer in hand, a soot-stained apron pulled tightly over his huge frame, looks remarkably like the same Hephaestus who leaped to his death from Mount Olympus. Still ugly. But now his beard is thick and full, and glistens with the sweat of his labor.

Then, maybe the rumors Athena and I have chosen to investigate are true. The rumors of a powerful god who lives among men, and who fashions things no human has been known to fashion. But how could Hephaestus have survived such a fall?

"It's him," I agree.

She tries to open the door but it won't budge. "It's locked," she complains sourly.

"Let's go in anyway," I suggest.

Athena nods in agreement.

I put my shoulder against the solid door. Concentrating my power on the focal point of where my shoulder meets the immovable timber, I project that power suddenly outward. The door splinters apart and the heavy timbers collapse to the floor in a cloud of dust and debris.

The bearded giant turns to us with a scowl, startled at the intrusion. His eyes widen.

"Yes, Hephaestus, it's us," I say, striding into the smoke-filled workshop with the dust of the fallen door doing battle with the forge's hot vapors as these opaque combatants swirl angrily around us.

"Apollo and Athena, your beloved siblings," I announce.

"Go away," he says roughly. He turns back to his flames and pounds on the heated tool before him with great blows of his hammer.

"What is the matter, Hef?" Athena coos. She approaches to what seems daringly close to an angry god with a weapon. Her voice is soothing as she rests her slim pale hand upon his deeply-corded hairy forearm. "Haven't you and I always gotten along before? Why won't you talk to me now?"

He looks up. His meaningful glare ventures past her and fixes on me. He turns his attention back to the tool he's working on. _So it's me is it? What have I ever done to him?_

"I've never held anything against you, Hephaestus," I assure him. "We all have done things we regret. We all have our secrets. Your only mistake was that one of these secrets came to light. Come back with us. Things will work themselves out, if you just give it a chance."

He glances up briefly.

"I'm happy here. I don't need your stuffy Olympus."

"But _we_ need _you_ , Hef," Athena hastens to say. "You have a skill that no one else can master. We have things we need you to make. There are things that you are destined to make. You know that as well as I do."

"I can make anything I want to make at this humble forge. Why would I want to go anywhere else, least of all back to Olympus?"

"You left us too early, Hef. You need to see what we have found. With the technology we've discovered you'll have at your disposal the means to make things far surpassing anything that may be hewn from a forge of fire. We already have the laboratories and the supplies. We need also the craftsman these things were meant to serve."

Hephaestus glances briefly at her. "I am not interested."

Athena sweeps her arms across the workshop. "What, so you are content with this shabby workplace? Is this all that you aspire to? _There is nothing here for you, Hephaestus!_ It is a dead-end!"

"I like this place."

"Listen to me, Hef. In the workshops of Olympus you can craft wonders of which this world has never known. We have begun to discover technology of which you can only dream. We have found tools and devices that we are just now beginning to learn their function. You can help us. With your mind and your hands you can lead the world to discoveries that we can only guess at."

Despite himself, his eyes begin to gleam with the birth of a dream as he listens to Athena speak her promises with convincing persuasion. He slowly sets aside his huge hammer and folds his thick arms across his chest.

"If I go, I will want total privacy in which to work."

"You will have it."

"I want the freedom to come and go as I like."

"That, too, you will have."

"And I want to be able to select all my own attendants and bring them there to Olympus to work with me."

"We will arrange for that too."

"I will go then," he finally concedes, stripping out of his apron and tossing it carelessly onto a cluttered workbench.

As we walk out of the workshop together, Hephaestus with a pronounced limp, I turn to him and ask him the question which has been troubling me.

"Hephaestus, how did you survive, anyway?"

He grins wickedly at me through his thick beard.

"Didn't you know, Apollo? We are gods. We can't die."
* * *

"Now, isn't that a lovely little story? All of them back together again in the fold. It almost brings tears to my eyes."

Gordon glances wryly at Mercer, who is watching the reunion on a screen out of Gordon's line of sight.

"Don't get all teary-eyed just yet. Things are about to get a lot more heated up down there. The purpose of this production is to astound, shock, and awe; not to romanticize things. We have adventures lined up for each one of those Olympians that will have people sitting on the edge of their seats."

Mercer briefly breaks his gaze away from the screen his eyes have been glued to. "That was sarcasm. I was not being serious."

"I know. But it's true just the same that finding a sentimental moment like this one will be a rarity from this point onward. The ancient Greeks were known for their tragedies so that is what we will be recreating. Our viewers also want nonstop action and that too we will supply for them. You've reviewed most of the storylines; you already know what is in store for them. Don't you agree that it can only get better, my friend?"

Mercer scowls at the man's presumption of such a relationship yet nods in agreement.

"Yes, the future should prove interesting indeed."
* * *

The city of Thebes is a frightening place for a common fisherman from the country such as Iapetus. Particularly when floundering in the busy agora here at the center of the city. Craftsmen sit in the shade of their long, cool marble buildings with their wares laid out before them for sale. Nearby, a slave auction is in progress. A crowd presses in upon the proceedings, potential customers determined to get a good view of the offered goods before risking their precious coin. Bankers line one side of the Agora, engrossed patrons filtering past the pillared facades of their stuffy institutions. Iapetus wonders why there are so many available choices for banking purposes. All he needs is somewhere to exchange currency.

Iapetus continues to gaze around at his surroundings in an attempt to get his bearings. Along two sides of the Agora spreads the expansive market, divided into sections for convenience. The smell of perfume fills the air; also that of spices, of baking. Children run through the open plaza. Their cries of excitement barely pierce the constant clamor of sound that results from squeezing thousands of people all into one space.

"We need to exchange our money," Iapetus' father says with deliberate practicality from his place atop Jack. "If we are to restock our supply of healing herbs and basic food items, then we will need local coin."

"Yes, father. Where do you suppose we should do that?" Iapetus extends a gesture to the wide choice of options in bemused frustration.

"Why, the stall that bears the standard of Zeus, of course."

"Of course, father." Iapetus suddenly grins to himself, knowing before the answer is given the choice his father would make. He is also pleased at the enthusiasm he sees in his father's weathered face. Iapetus knows that it has been many years since his father has been back to visit a city, let alone a city the size of Thebes, and judging from the stories his father used to tell, he richly enjoys the opportunity to dwell–even if only briefly–right within the hub of these crowded centers of civilization. While Iapetus certainly does not share this enthusiasm, he likes to see his father happy. Hopefully this will help him to endure the brief stay here.

They make the needed exchange suffering only a minimal loss of value to their available funds, and decide to splurge and pay for a place to stay under cover for the night. The other option would be to stay in one of the outside shelters provided for those traveling through on minimal funds, but Iapetus knows that there will be many more nights that will be spent out-of-doors and wishes to keep those occasions to a minimum for his father's sake.

The first place they come to won't allow the two weary travelers to keep Jack inside with them, but after a few queries they finally find a suitable place to spend their coin. The small room they procure is dirty and the floor lined with musty straw, but at least Jack will have a relatively safe place to spend the night, and Iapetus' father can stay relatively warm. Iapetus leaves Jack behind to look after their supplies and supports his old father on his arm as they make their way to one of the beckoning taverns.

Darkness is beginning to descend as they enter the establishment they choose, a place called 'The Gray Owl.' Iapetus leads his father to a table against the far wall still steeped in shadows. A servant lights the candle on their table and heads off to retrieve their meals.

Meanwhile more patrons filter into the tavern. It doesn't take long at all before the place is filled with patrons from all sorts of backgrounds. Conversations ebb and flow across the tavern, and Iapetus picks up snatches of the conversations that drift over to him from the nearest tables. Because he doesn't hear all of it, some of the words make no sense and some simply tantalize.

"They say it was Athena in the flesh. It could be no other. Only a true goddess would have that kind of an effect on a crowd."

"Can you imagine a ship that sails the sky? What I would give to see such a thing!"

"But why did they suddenly decide to materialize just now? Is something about to happen that we don't know about?"

"I agree. But this can only be good for the economy. Maybe this is a good time to expand the family business. Here's what I'm thinking..."

"Don't expect Zeus to show up here in Thebes. If you want a shot at seeing the god you will have to travel to Olympia. They say..."

Iapetus' father perks up at the mention of Zeus. Zeus is his favorite deity, after all.

"Are they talking about Zeus?" he asks his son, as he works at expelling his breath through weak lungs onto a spoonful of stew in an effort to cool it.

"Yes, father. I hear talk that Zeus is said to be walking the land in the flesh. What do you make of that?"

"Why should that be any surprise? A god can go where he wishes."

Iapetus just nods to himself, getting the response he expected. While he does muse absently at the nature of the various news bits he is hearing, he is sure that if carefully investigated, some overly devout worshipper of the gods would prove to be the source of each of these sensational stories, and if pressed would admit to a little embellishment of the facts. Truth be told, in the deep forests and unexplored regions outside the twelve major cities there does exist many a fantastical wonder in the world of Hellas. Stories abound of fearsome monsters, ethereal creatures of beauty, and remarkable heroes from whose exploits legends are constantly being made. It's not really much of a stretch for the simple folk of Hellas to attach god-like attributes to some of these unusual beings. Most people seem to feel an innate need for a higher power to be present in their life and fill this need however they can.

Iapetus glances discreetly at the other patrons in the tavern. So many distinct faces seem for a moment to combine into a single face–a one united throng of humanity. In this face he sees merchants, tradesmen, travelers; even a few priests who appear to be taking a meal outside their temple grounds. In some ways the crowd is quite disparate but in some ways they are one. This is the face of Hellas.

It does not include him. Somehow Iapetus feels strangely different, standing alone as an outsider away from their communal warmth of compatriotism. It has always been this way. He doesn't know why.

Iapetus is but a simple fisherman. If he were a philosopher or a scholar he would better understand the thoughts that clutter what otherwise would be a tidy and comforting world view of things. But he is no such man. Instead the thoughts that fill up his mind with turmoil strip the world of hope and leave him asking _why_ to an empty heaven.
* * *

The sky-car descends rapidly from the pearl-colored sky of an overcast day, almost recklessly. I prepare to upbraid Hermes for his typical brand of brashness when it lands. Instead, as it approaches, I see the thick mane of black hair billowing like a cape behind the rash pilot. I realize that it's Artemis in the pilot's seat and not Hermes as I'd thought. Why is she flying so irresponsibly?

I walk out to meet her as she lands the car in a furious swirl of dust. She leaps over the side before the sky-car has fully settled and races towards me. Artemis' dark eyes are ablaze with fury. But fear too, is etched deeply into her huge sockets, making her look agitated. Something must've really scared her.

"What is it, Artemis?"

"You've got to kill it, Apollo!" she cries. She grabs hold of my hand and pulls me towards the idling sky-car. Artemis' hand trembles and is cold to the touch.

"Kill what?"

"Just come! I'll bring you to it!" She sneaks a peek at my golden bow. "Good, you've got your bow with you!"

"You're not making any sense, Artemis," I say, putting on the brakes to Artemis' great consternation. "Tell me exactly what the problem is."

She looks at me impatiently. "A huge serpent...it tried to swallow me! You've got to kill it for me!"

"Calm down, Artemis. Now tell me; where is this serpent?"

"Near Delphi!"

"Why did it try to swallow you?"

"I was only trying to talk to the priestesses there."

I smile inwardly, knowing Artemis. "And that's all you did, was try to talk to them?"

"Well they...the priests...they wouldn't let me. They said the oracle wasn't available today. Even for me. So I... I kind of threatened them."

"And then what?"

"They still wouldn't let me see the priestesses."

"So...?" I prompt.

Artemis looks at her feet. Then she looks sheepishly up at me. "I struck one of the priests. He made me so angry!"

"Did you strike him hard?"

"Very hard, I'm afraid. He died." She stares at me with sudden fervor and bites her lower lip, the way she always does when she's nervous or when she's hiding something. "But you have to understand, Apollo, it was an accident! I didn't mean to kill him!"

"And that's when they sent the serpent after you."

She nods glumly.

"You've got to kill it, Apollo. For me," she pleads, tugging on my arm.

I sigh. "Very well. Take me to your serpent."

She grins triumphantly. Every last trace of unhappiness instantly vanishes. The grin on her face stretches from ear to ear as she leads me the remainder of the way to the waiting sky-car.

As we speed towards the site of the incident, the rocky summit of Mount Parnassus begins to appear from out of the cloud cover ahead of us. Artemis banks the sky-car towards its lower slopes. Below, a wide sweeping valley begins to take shape, and then as we draw near I see buildings, a theater, and a stadium dotting the landscape. People milling outside the structures stare up at the sky over their heads as we swoop across the heavens.

"There," Artemis finally points. She indicates a large dark cave entrance cut into the side of the rocky slope not too far from a cluster of white-washed buildings and near a river. The ground outside the cave entrance is littered with the bleached bones of both man and beast alike. This must be some serpent!

"Let me out above the opening," I direct. "And I need you to lure the serpent from its den. Do you think you can handle that?"

She nods, but swallows thickly and again bites her lip. Her hands are clenched tightly on the yoke. This creature really has her rattled.

"Good."

I leap over the side, bow in hand. Artemis takes the sky-car down the slope a short distance. She grounds the craft in an open space. After a moment of hesitation she leaves the sky-car. She fearfully approaches the mouth of the cave. I know this is the last place in the world she wants to be but she forces herself to continue forward. When she reaches the opening she peers for a moment into the blackness. Then she bends down and picks up a fist-sized rock from among the litter of bones just as two dark birds choose this moment to arrive. Our two spectators circle overhead expectantly. They seem to be watching us a little too closely.

Drawing back her arm, Artemis hurls the rock into the cave mouth with great force. She shouts a challenge after it that echoes deep into the bowels of the earth.

_That's my girl_.

I notch an arrow. Then I wait. It doesn't take long for results to show. I see Artemis' eyes suddenly widen. She steps backwards. Drops a second stone she'd just picked up back to the ground. A large arrow-shaped head suddenly extends from the cave mouth, reared up to a height greater than the height a tall man stands. It is menacingly brilliant in a velvety skin of scarlet, yellow and orange scales. The creature's girth is greater than that of a large bull. Its weight must be unfathomable. The huge serpent hisses in warning. Its flame-red tongue flickers as it tests the air, darting forth and then retracting. The terrifying creature sinuously draws even further from its lair, the angular head casting a sinister shadow on the rocky slope as it continues to rise higher into the sky. It has Artemis in its sight and is coiling to strike.

Unflinchingly I pierce the head through with an arrow.

The serpent quickly withdraws back into its cave. I scramble down the slope after it amidst an avalanche of rocks and debris. Artemis stands unmoving nearby, her mouth ajar and her knuckles pressed against cheeks grown white beneath her sun-browned coloring.

I continue to follow the blood trail until it disappears into the darkness deep within the cave. Pausing just briefly, I cock my head and listen. I hear the heavy sound of coils being dragged slowly upon the dry earth a short distance deeper into the cavern. Breathing upon my arrows to activate them, I shoot them into the darkness as fast as I can, guessing by sound at the location of my target. Silently they spit forth from my bow. The arrows erupt into flames when they hit true, bathing the bowels of the deep cave with an intense orange light. I'll have to remember to thank Hephaestus for this new arrow design. The ugly god's a genius. These arrows not only have that huge _wow_ factor I like so much; they're perfect for something like this.

The huge serpent hisses with great agony. At some point the creature abandons its retreat and changes direction. It slithers forth like a flaming river of lava. I push myself back into a hidden crevasse in the cave wall. The serpent twists its head sideways to snap at me with its savage jaws as it thunders past. A powerful blow to the serpent's hard scaled head momentarily stuns the beast. While its coils quiver in response and seek to draw together protectively within the narrow confines of the passageway, I leap aside from a retracting coil and fill the serpent so full of arrows that it begins to look like a porcupine.

Why doesn't this thing just die already?

Finally it grows still and the light fades from its eyes.

I shoulder my bow. Then I grab the moist set of jaws by gripping the serpent's long fangs, bend my back, and proceed to drag the huge monster from its lair out into the sunlight. The lifeless body is incredibly heavy but I'm running on adrenalin right now. Already the arrows that I'd shot are vanishing, leaving behind but a trace of static discharge. All that remains are bloody puncture marks where the arrows had penetrated. Such is the nature of the temporarily solidified shafts of energy particles that comprise these arrows from Hephaestus. _A neat trick, this._ Staggering under the immense weight, I pause outside the cave mouth to catch my breath.

Seeing that the serpent is safely dead, Artemis approaches timidly. She gapes at the brilliantly colored carcass. Even in death, I have to admit that the creature is beautiful in a horrifying sort of way.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Skin it. Here, hand me your knife."

She fumbles for her blade. I ask for her blade because it too is a special manufacture from Hephaestus and can slice through anything. I'm still waiting for a similar model of my own. Since he did prepare these arrows for me I guess I can't very well complain about the delay. I take the blade from her and squat down beside the large carcass and begin slicing through the pale underbelly. Artemis turns her back to me and looks like she's going to be sick.

"At least this serpent will never bother you again," I point out with a grin.

She casts me a quick glance over her shoulder.

"I need a bow like yours. Only I want it to be silver. Then I will be able to take care of my own troubles without having to bother you again."

I look sharply at her. She's serious. This is not the response I would expect. She has grown tougher than I realized. And what she says makes sense. I don't like the thought of Artemis putting herself in harm's way, but if something were to ever happen to her when I'm not there I don't know what I would do. Maybe it would be better if she did have weapons for additional protection.

"All right, Artemis. I'll see if I can get Hephaestus to try to replicate my bow."

She nods assent. Again she glances over her shoulder to meet my eyes briefly. Her smooth forehead creases into a frown as her gaze travels to what I am doing.

"What are you going to do with that skin?"

"Give it to the priests who wouldn't serve you."

She looks at me with a question mark on her eyebrows.

"Why?"

"So that it will serve as a constant reminder to them that they are now in the service of the god Apollo."

She gives me a look of disgust. "You're so vain, Apollo."

I smile.

"No, Artemis. I'm simply opportunistic."

The balding middle-aged man of portly persuasion who's brought out to meet us refers to himself as the hieromnemon of the temple precinct.

"I'm a humble deputy of the council, Apollo my lord," he explains, dabbing with a worn linen cloth at the sweat pouring forth from his forehead, cheeks and neck as he stares aghast at the great serpent-skin stretched out on the road. "I came as quickly as I could when I heard that you slew Python."

I wish I knew this thing had a name. Maybe I would've had second thoughts about killing this snake.

"You manage the affairs of Delphi?"

"We are twenty-four in number, my lord. And each of us is assisted by two pulagorai."

"I don't care what you call yourselves, just get everyone together."

"But...my lord! I do not have the power to call an assembly. Only Amphilodus the Thessalian can. He holds the presidency these days."

"You forget yourself, hieromnemon. Maybe you don't have the power to call an assembly, but _I_ do have the power. Go now!"

My voice strikes upon the man as would a physical blow, and he staggers back up the road the way he had originally come and disappears into the coarse block walls of the sanctuary.

"What do you want to do with that, pray tell?" Artemis asks regarding the brilliant skin lying beside us where I'd dragged it. She pinches her nose delicately as if in suggestion. "The hot sun seems to be causing it to ripen rather quickly, don't you think?"

I glance at a mixture of citizens and pilgrims who are gaping at us from the roadside.

"These kind people will take it from here."

I bark a command and a few bystanders timidly come forward. It takes them a little convincing to even touch the scaled serpent-skin, but I finally get them to handle it. They drag it a short ways, moving painfully slowly, but soon grind to a stop, and then look back at me with a fear of punishment weighing heavily in their eyes.

"It's too heavy, my lord," one gasps.

So I have to impress others into service to help them.

I leave the recruits and walk on ahead, with Artemis beside me, toward the sanctuary. People are still streaming forth from the walls to come out and see us. The crowd that gathers separates down the middle as we approach, allowing us to pass through their midst uninhibited. Once within the walls of the sanctuary, we are greeted by monuments and richly decorated treasuries that line the main roadway that passes down the center of the enclosure.

"That one has to go," Artemis says, her fine nose crinkled in distaste, as she points to a prominently displayed monument depicting the brilliant coiled form of the very same serpent now slowly being dragging along the road at our backs. "I hate snakes."

"For you, of course, it shall be removed," I reassure her.

We approach the great limestone temple. It is being frantically swarmed over by white-robed priests who are busy making preparations for the offering up of many sacrifices. Possibly the priests feel someone's been offended by what I've done today, and that _someone_ must be sufficiently appeased or they will be the ones who'll suffer for it.

Examining the temple as we near it, I observe that its conspicuously featured friezes are covered with sculptured metopes depicting Python in various scenes of combat and repose. I didn't realize just how prominent this huge snake was in these people's worship. Apparently, Python was at the very center of it.

Beside me, Artemis frowns, whether at the scenes being depicted so abundantly and so graphically or at the priests themselves, I'm not sure. Both _are_ rather annoying. The scenes–because the artist seemed to have an aversion to including clothes in his sculptures and many of the subjects included are us Olympians; and the priests because their devoted fawning is so incredibly stifling.

The hieromnemon I'd talked to earlier reappears, this time with about twenty other white robed men.

"Here is Amphilodus, my lord," he says directing me to a white-haired man with rich embroidery embellishing his crisp white robe. "He is in charge here."

Presidency or not, I have little patience at the moment for those who would refuse to grant Artemis an audience. As this Amphilodus opens his mouth to speak I wave him to silence.

"Follow me," I command them all, and continue to advance toward the temple.

I finally come to a stop before the great structure. A great crowd of priests appear from within, many crowding together on the raised temple porch above where Artemis and I stand with our escort.

"Listen!" I shout in command with a loud voice. The assembled priests stand still and the deputies and officials cringe together to hear what the destroyer of their famous defender has chosen to proclaim.

"Today I have slain Python. I now claim Delphi as my oracle. From here forth, you will answer only to me."

Subdued murmurs follow my statement.

I turn toward the temple. "My first command is to burn down this building. I want gone all traces of Python. You have three days to get this abomination completely out of my sight."

There are gasps of disbelief and more murmurs.

"My second command is to begin the construction of another temple where this one now stands. This will be a much greater temple, built to my own specifications."

I slowly pan my audience, and let a silence grow until my listeners become nervous.

"And to you priests," I continue, fastening my gaze upon them. "I make this inquiry: I want to know who was responsible for sending Python against the goddess Artemis."

There is absolute silence and no one moves.

I pick out one priest who observes from the porch, a man with a gold ribbon woven into his robe who leans lazily against the rail. In an instant my bow is drawn, an arrow fitted, and then shot. The priest screams and erupts into flames. Those near the unlucky priest dive away. Arms flapping madly like an ostrich attempting flight, the unfortunate priest tries to run, but then finally his body receives the message that it has been mortally wounded and he collapses on the temple steps. It only takes moments for the flames to consume him. Panic fills the plaza as people scramble about in preparation to flee.

"Stop!" I command in a voice that they cannot ignore. "The next one who moves will follow after him!"

The threat manages to corral them, at least for the moment. But undercurrents of murmurs and weeping remain.

"Now. Back to my question. Who sent Python?"

Finally, six terrified priests are pushed forward by their companions. The six men stand exposed out onto the temple porch, quickly abandoned by their fellow priests.

I gaze harshly at the cringing priests, letting their fear intensify. Then I turn to Artemis, and try to read her expression. Her eyes blaze as she glares at the men responsible for her humiliation. No mercy there; only judgment. _I'm on my own._

I mount the steps that lead towards the temple porch, leaving Artemis to wait below. Priests who find themselves standing in the way scatter aside frantically. I come to a stop at the center of the porch. Standing over the six guilty priests, I let my gaze bore into them as they huddle together in dread.

"Is it generally your policy to ignore the request of a goddess?" I inquire icily of them.

"We were never visited by a goddess before, my lord," one of their number replies, a tall thin man whose hair is beginning to gray at the temples. "There was no protocol to follow. We erred greatly in judgment, I admit."

"What do you suppose your punishment should be?"

"Allow us to live and we will serve you for all time, Lord Apollo," another pleads fervently. "Our lives will be devoted completely to you."

I look quizzically at the man who has spoken. "That is a punishment?"

"Since our crime was primarily against Artemis, my lord," the first one continues, "let her be the one to scourge us, and to do with us as she may."

I smile suddenly, liking this man. He has guts.

"Here then is my judgment! You six priests will be the very ones to oversee the demolition of this temple. When this has been completed we will hold a festival at which time your punishment will be meted out. This is what it shall be: For all eternity, six special priests, beginning with you six men today, will lead an annual commemoration of Python's slaying, in which you will reenact the events that happened here today."

I turn and face the gathered crowd below. "That is all. You may disperse."

As they follow my orders I turn to the priests remaining nearby. "I want to see the priestesses."

Glum responses greet me:

"The Pythonesses are not here, my lord. It is an off-day for them."

"They are likely touring the countryside, my lord. That is what they like to do on their days off."

I pick out the tall thin priest. "Then I will find them. And you will help me."

"As you wish, my lord. How can I help you?"

"What should I look for? How will I know these priestesses?"

"They wear white gowns, my lord. They should be easy to spot."

"Yes, that does help a bit," I say with a wry smile, getting a funny mental picture of priestesses out scouring the countryside in white gowns. "But it would probably help to know how many gowns to look for."

"There are but two Pythonesses, my lord. The sibyl Circe and her trainee, Delia."

"Thank you. That helps."

Walking back to the landed sky-car with Artemis at my heels, I finally become conscious of how my conduct just now must've appeared. When it hits me, it happens so suddenly that I stop short in the road and Artemis nearly runs into me.

"What is it, Apollo?"

"I just realized what I was doing."

"Which is...?"

"I was acting like a god."

"And your problem being...?"

"I don't like it. I mean...what gives us the right?"

"How about considering the little detail that we _are_ gods?"

"We do have more physical power than they do, but that would only make us bullies."

Artemis rolls her eyes as she hops over the side of the sky-car into her pilot's seat. "Get in, bully. Let's go find those ladies."

Flying over the countryside while keeping in sight the road leading from the temple, it doesn't take us long to spot two white gowns that have ventured not far from its track. Artemis sets the craft down near the two frightened priestesses. She hops over the side and approaches them.

"You have no idea how difficult it has been to obtain an audience with you," Artemis moans dramatically while they cringe before her. I stay back near the sky-car and watch the interchange as a simple observer.

"What do you mean, my lady?" the older of the two women replies. I notice that the younger trainee is quite fetching in a pale, austere sort of way, with dark shading around her eyes, dark lipstick and wearing dark fingernail polish on fingers clenched tightly to the knobby rod in her hands.

Artemis throws up her hands in exaggerated disgust. "I mean, we had to get past a horrible snake, take over a temple, and fly halfway across the countryside in order to find you. I just hope all this effort proves to be worth it."

The priestesses look at her wide-eyed.

"How can we help you, my lady?" the younger priestess asks. I decide her voice is cute. She sounds like the golden-breasted bird that used to be a regular visitor back at the palace on Olympus, with a slight warbling resonance to her voice to give it that unique pitch.

"I have a question I need answered."

"But, my lady," the senior woman exclaims, "we are not near our tripod! We have no laurel! And we can only ascertain the will of the gods while in a trance!"

Artemis claps her hands enthusiastically. The suddenness of the action causes the two priestesses to jump in alarm. "It just so happens that you are in luck today! Two of those gods are right here before you. Scrying up an answer for me should be an easy thing for the two of you to do!"

"You don't understand, my lady! Of our own selves, we are nothing! We need our things!"

"Do you mean to tell me that _anybody_ can do what you do?" Artemis' tone turns dangerous. "That all they need to have is the correct paraphernalia?"

"I will try to answer your question, my lady," the younger priestess suddenly asserts with a quick sideways glance at the other.

"Very good! Let me pose it to you." Artemis steers the younger priestess to one side while casting a disappointed glare at the older priestess. Beside the frightened mortal Artemis stands out as the goddess that she is; tall, regal, faultless, and stunning. Artemis stops a safe distance away and whispers something into the priestess' ear.

The pretty trainee's cheeks begin to blush, the added color making her a bit more than simply pretty. I fervently wish I could overhear what sort of question can cause such a reaction in this priestess, but even with my Olympian hearing it is closed to me. _Later._ This girl will surely give up the secret when I get her aside in private.

I watch with curiosity as the priestess takes a careful moment to deliberate, and then whispers a response into Artemis' waiting ear.

Artemis suddenly smiles, and then to my surprise hugs the just-as-surprised priestess.

She turns and strides happily back to me.

"What was that all about?"

"A girl's moment. But then, you wouldn't know about that sort of thing, now would you?" Artemis says with a mysterious smile.

"I don't know; try me."

She punches me on the shoulder before leaping back into the sky-car. "Get in if you don't want to walk back to Olympus."

I huff with annoyance. All of this just for one little question that I don't even get to hear! I protest out loud.

"You know, sometimes you annoy me, Artemis."

"But that's why you love me so much," she concludes with a smug smile.
* * *

At first Iapetus wonders if the huge figure approaching them on the road is a giant. Iapetus has never before seen a giant yet he knows they have a reputation to be cruel. He prepares to flee as quickly as Jack's short legs will allow. But as he goes to tug on Jack's halter he steals a glance back. He sees with relief that the traveler is not a giant at all, but a common man. Alas, an inhumanly large man.

Still, Iapetus keeps to the side of the roadway to allow the large man plenty of room to pass. Fortunately his father is fast asleep atop Jack's back. Sometimes his father can say more than he should to strangers. With him safely dozing, Iapetus hopes that there will be less opportunity for a confrontation to develop that might have negative consequences.

However, the approaching traveler veers over to Iapetus' side of the road and stops before him. Up close, Iapetus sees that this man is so incredibly muscled that he looks almost freakish in nature. The scant garments that attempt to clothe him with modesty are of high quality, and the expensive jewelry that adorns his ears, his wide neck, and his thick wrists seem fit for a king.

"I am Hercules," the large man declares with a voice that matches his appearance. "I am looking for directions."

The name rings a bell. Iapetus has never been in the habit of gathering with the men in the pubs and so he does not keep up with the news of the land, but he decides that he must have heard this man's name mentioned by either one of his hired deckhands or by someone at the docks. He suspects that this man is famous.

"We are strangers in these lands, but I will help you if I can," Iapetus responds, careful to keep his head lowered to the ground in a submissive posture.

"I am searching for the district of Nemea."

"I am sorry to say that I have not heard of such a place."

"Does not this road pass through Argolis?"

"I believe we are near Argolis." When they passed a group of merchants earlier Iapetus heard that name spoken aloud.

"Then the district of Nemea must be nearby. I have a chore to do there."

"I hope this chore proves successful."

The traveler named Hercules chuckles darkly. "So do many others. You see, stranger, there is a large lion on the loose that has brought great fear to the district of Nemea. Twenty people has this lion slain. This beast is considered to be invincible. The hide of this lion is claimed to be impervious to weapons. My task is to defeat this lion. This chore is the first of ten difficult tasks that I have been assigned to carry out."

"Even more reason to hope that this chore proves successful."

Iapetus surreptitiously glances towards the thickets to make sure no tawny shapes crouch in hiding.

"I will vanquish this lion, for I am the strongest man in the world."

Iapetus looks up at the man through his eyelashes. Inhuman muscles of this order can probably pull a tree from the ground by its roots. He nods sagely.

"Yes, I don't doubt you."

Hercules departs after a parting caution to watch out for lions, and as soon as he disappears around a bend in the road Iapetus' father begins to stir.

"Did I hear you talking to someone?"

"Yes, father. A stranger passed us on the road. He asked for directions."

"That is all?"

"Yes, father. His cat went missing. Are you ready to take a break?"

"Not yet. This area looks dangerous. Too many hiding places for bandits and predators. Maybe we can find a safer spot."

"That is wise counsel, father."

Iapetus steals another look at the roadside cover and hurries on.
* * *

I search into her deep brown eyes seeking a cause for her troubled mind; find none.

"Your behavior is irrational, Hestia. You need to leave this place, even if only for a day."

"Who made you the judge?" Her eyes flash with indignation as she speaks, and I feel a small victory at igniting the rare spark of emotion from her.

"It's not just me, Hestia. We are all worried about you."

"That's a lie, Apollo, and you know it!"

"Like it or not, Hestia, we are all in this thing together. Our fates and our destinies are all intertwined. You may have your differences with some of your siblings, but there is no one else out there who is like us. We are alone in a world that is new to us; a world that has been prepared for us; a world filled with thoughts and perspectives much different than ours. We need each other and we need to make an effort to get along."

"That's where you are wrong, Apollo. _I_ don't need anybody. Now, if you would just go..."

" _Listen_ to me, Hestia. You are not right in the head. Something has affected you."

She stares at me wide-eyed. "Are. You. Kidding. Me? 'Something has affected _me_?' Do you hear yourself, Apollo? Do you even see what has been happening?"

"What are you talking about, Hestia?"

"Don't you see it?" She waves with her hands to indicate all of her surroundings. "You are all being controlled like a puppet on a string. Your minds are being altered even as we speak. Everything in this world has been set up to change who you are and to twist you into something evil and dark. I see it happening more and more each day and you are completely blind to it!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Hestia." Though actually I do, but I'm somewhat disconcerted that Hestia is bringing up a subject that I thought I was the only one worrying about.

"Think about it, Apollo. Do you think the series of recent adventures had by the Olympians were simply random events?"

"Please elaborate."

"Okay; take Dionysus, for example. Do you think it merely coincidence that he lost his way in his sky-car and had to make an emergency landing on Mount Nysa? That he happened to interrupt a ceremony being held by those dreadful goat-like creatures..."

"Satyrs," I supply.

"...whatever they are? ...that one thing led to another and before you knew it Dionysus had slain their leader and proclaimed himself their master? Do you think that the manner in which everything worked out was simply random chance? Dionysus hasn't been the same since! He has even begun to take part in their unscrupulous activities and ceremonies!"

"Now, Hestia, how can you even begin to say that this was all arranged?"

"Each small incident in our lives has happened for a reason, and that is to allow for a progression into the next occurring step, creating a snowball effect of circumstances. Don't ask me for a specific proof of each intrusion of purpose, because I don't have any to offer to you. But I do know that the whole thing was contrived just as clearly as I know that my own name is Hestia!"

I decide not to pursue her line of reasoning regarding Dionysus. That particular sibling of ours already had shown inclinations towards the macabre so it wasn't surprising that affairs worked out as they did. Hestia's thoughts on the matter do seem somewhat overly imaginative, but not out of the range of possibility.

"That's Dionysus," my tone noncommittal. Even if I don't necessarily agree with Hestia's take on matters, I do want her to open up and talk about the things that are troubling her. Who knows? Maybe doing so can serve as a form of therapy for her. So I continue, "Who else do you feel has been affected?"

"Like I said- _everyone_! Let me tell you what I think happened to Hermes when he faced the giant Argos. Zeus, of course, was off somewhere being his usual self, when got himself in trouble with the beautiful maiden Io. Predictably, Hera wasn't happy when she _mysteriously_ found out about this liaison, so she arranged for Io to be captured and taken to the cave of Argos to be guarded by the giant and kept apart from Zeus.

"Here's what is strange about that: one, how did Hera find out about Io? Two, how did Hera get involved with a human force of arms to begin with, when she has consistently shown herself to be painfully aloof of humankind? And three, why choose the much feared giant Argos to keep the maiden prisoner, knowing that Zeus could likely defeat the giant and free his lover? The answer? Hera was not acting irrationally, but was being manipulated by both her emotions and by some unseen agent in such a way as to lead to the eventual outcome.

"This hitherto unpredictable outcome was that Zeus managed to persuade Hermes to be the one to free his lover instead of his having to do it himself. Apparently Zeus was worried that the giant would slay his female captive if the giant's frightened minions who served at his cave warned Argos of Zeus' presence, and thus Zeus decided upon a more subtle approach. Having heard that the giant had a soft spot for music, Zeus chose Hermes to do his bidding as it seemed a likely strategy.

"And it worked! Hermes lured Argos from his cave by playing beautiful melodies on his flute, and then in the ensuing series of events that transpired, slew the giant with a well-placed rock between the eyes. I don't think Hermes meant for things to go that far, and now that he has the death of the giant on his conscience, Hermes is not himself anymore either."

"Well, I see you know the story, at least. Though you left out the part where Hera chased down the fleeing Io and ripped her to shreds with her bare hands."

"I was going to get to that, as one of the incidents that has left Hera deeply changed as well, and not for the better."

"Hera was already of a mind to kill someone when it came to that someone getting between her and Zeus," I observe wryly.

"Maybe. But this situation only served to solidify that leaning." Hestia bites her knuckles and then continues. "Consider too, what happened to Athena, when she rode a chariot into battle against the giants who were attacking the city of her namesake, namely Athens. Some claimed that she purposefully chose this manner of comportment to match the conditions of a prophecy that spoke of such a battle and her subsequent victory over the giants. But from what I'm told, everything laid out perfectly even without Athena's intervention, so that all of the elements of the prophecy were fulfilled in striking detail. In the course of the battle, Athena was said to have slain six of the giants all by herself; three with her spear, two with her sword, and another with her bare hands. By the end of the battle she was so covered in the blood and offal of her victims that eyewitnesses to the massacre claimed that she had transformed before their eyes into a flaming angel of death. You know as well as I do, Apollo, that Athena, in her right mind would have never stood for getting even the slightest touch of grime on her, let alone gallons of giant's blood. Athena was _touched_ , you might say, in a manner completely out of her control, similar to what you yourself experienced."

"I've said it before. We all have a touch of the madness. What happened to Athena was not exceptional. It can be explained as a fault of our make-up, not as the result of a supernatural form of tampering."

"I'm not calling it that. All I'm saying is that forces outside our control are hard at work trying to make us into the sort of creatures that mankind will fear and blindly obey."

"I'm listening, Hestia."

"I can go on and on. But the point of the matter is this; these circumstances are not natural happenings to occur to _anyone,_ let alone to one of us. They clearly have been contrived, with the intent of influencing the Olympians in a negative way."

"How can you say what is natural for a god?"

Hestia rolls her eyes with impatience. "It is impossible to reason with you! This is a waste of my time! How can I possibly convince you when you are just as much a victim as the others?"

"Unlike the others, I am not the mindless victim you think I am. Maybe this will come as a big surprise to you, but I do happen to be aware that forces outside our knowledge are at work in seeking to manipulate us. I have seen and felt these efforts attempting to influence me. Maybe having this knowledge has given me a different perspective, but I'm no longer fooled by their purpose. Outside forces still tug at me, but I refuse to conform. So don't talk to me about being a victim."

"But you still are, Apollo. Don't you see it? Why do you take those frequent trips out to the countryside? Why do you form the alliances that you do? _Why do you do any of the things that you do?_ See? You are playing right into their hands."

"It's called _living_ , Hestia. This is what normal people do."

"You are being manipulated, Apollo," Hestia insists.

"What? So you hide here in the palace so that life doesn't happen to you?"

"I give up!" Hestia cries as she flings up her hands, exasperated. "Go ahead! Let them have their way with you! See if I care!"

And with that she storms away.

With sadness I watch her hurried departure. Hestia speaks about victims of circumstance, but she doesn't seem to realize that she is herself a victim. Hestia's own fear of change has claimed her. I realize that this is probably the intentional will of our unseen and unwanted guardians. It is what they want for her; that her heart is trapped and bound to this palace home here on Olympus.

If so, any efforts of mine to free her can only be in vain.

My heart is troubled as I make my way towards the gymnasium. Any hope I've had of seeing my siblings make progress is at an all-time low. It seems hopeless.

Heavy vapor rolling through a door left ajar makes me stop outside the bath house. I wonder who is home and who would have the heat turned up so high. Trying to be somewhat discreet in case it is one of my sisters, I peek inside.

I barely duck in time as a throwing blade meant for my head imbeds itself deeply in the doorframe. But through the steam I catch a glimpse of a very naked Eris falling back into a bubbling pool of scalding hot water. Livid burns already cover her body from the super-heated pool. A deadly-equipped weapon's harness lies abandoned beside the pool with stray weapons scattered nearby amidst discarded pieces of clothing.

"That's what you get for surprising me!" Though her words are spoken with her customary tone of defiance, the quaver in her voice alerts me to the fact that something is very wrong with her.

I cautiously enter, prepared to duck if any additional weapons are thrown my way. Pushing my way through a thick curtain of steam I approach the smoke-filled pool.

"What's wrong, Eris?"

"Go away!"

"What are you trying to do? Burn your skin off?"

She huddles in the bubbling cauldron on her hands and knees. Instead of the smooth light cocoa it should be, her bare back and shoulders are nearly crimson. She sinks down onto her haunches. She makes no effort to cover up. Only a tangled mass of black locks cascading down across her steeply curved bosom makes for any attempt at modesty.

"I said, go away!"

"I'm not going away, Eris. I need for you to come out of there and tell me what's going on." I sit down on the ledge beside the pool and reach out a hand to her.

She peeks through a sea of knotted hair at me.

"Go away," she snarls.

I discern that the rawness around her eyes was not caused by the steam. _What could possibly make Eris cry?_ It's not like her.

"I'm not leaving." My hand remains outstretched.

She does what I expect. But I'm ready. When she tries to yank me into the boiling pool, I instead pull her out of the water and into my arms. I gasp at how hot her wet body is. _Temperature hot_ , of course. She struggles fiercely for a moment, even managing to slam my jaw painfully with the side of her head. But then her fight abruptly vanishes and she folds into my arms as tame as a kitten.

It takes a moment for me to realize that she is sobbing. My protective instincts take over. I tuck my chin against the sharp angle of her bare shoulder blade. Heat rises from her badly blistered body like the smoke from burned toast. _What is she trying to do to herself?_

"There, there," I coax. "You are safe now."

Her whole body stiffens.

"Safe?" she mutters. "You worry about _me_ being safe?"

"What's wrong, Eris? Tell me."

"I kill, Apollo," she says savagely. "That's what's wrong with me. Do you have any idea how many people I've killed?"

"Okay," I allow. "That might cause a person some inner turmoil. It's understandable if you are upset about what you've done. I get it; you're a natural predator who kills simply for sport. The feelings of guilt this can trigger can naturally be overwhelming at times."

Eris twists in my arms and pushes her face close to mine. A stiff pair of upwards thrusting mounds presses against my chest and tries to distract me, but it's the look in her eyes that holds me prisoner.

"You see, there's the problem, Apollo. I enjoy it."

I stare back at her. _What do I say to that? Nothing._

She's not done. "Four-hundred and eight-six."

I blink at her. "Huh?"

"That's my tally so far."

"You keep count?"

"With these cursed memories we've been given, I can't help it. I remember to the minutest detail every moment of every kill like it was yesterday."

"If you enjoy it so much, then why were you boiling yourself alive just now?"

"Don't you get it?" she hollers into my face. "I don't want to enjoy it!"

"Hmm," is my helpful response. The truth of the matter is, I'm finding it hard to concentrate with the naked wet body of a goddess pressed tightly against my torso. Her exotic eyes burn into mine, challenging me to talk her out of how she feels.

"Then why don't you just stop?" I finally blurt out. Even as the words leave my mouth, I know my suggestion is lame.

"Huh!" she gasps harshly. "I thought you were smarter than that, Apollo. Don't you realize that I have no choice? This is how I was made! It is in my blood!"

" _Ichor_ ," I say in automatic correction. "What runs in our veins is different than the blood that runs in the veins of mortals."

She rolls her eyes. "Whatever. You know what I meant."

"Back to what you were saying–no, I don't think that's true. I think you do have a choice. In many ways I'm no different than you. I, too, was fraught with compulsions that battled for my will. And I admit that sometimes they even won. But I've learned to fight these compulsions. And I'm proud to say that in the process I've learned how to become my own person."

"Well good for you," Eris sings out sarcastically. "I just hope that it lets you sleep at night too!"

"Not as well as I'd like," I admit quietly. I shift Eris into a more comfortable position in my arms. In the process I rearrange things so that her womanhood is no longer sticking me in the chest. I'm prepared for the _real_ Eris to reemerge at any moment and try to attack me, but for now she seems willing to rest meekly in my arms. _I have to admit, I could get used to being stuck in this position with Eris._

I try to be understanding. "It must be very difficult for you."

"You have no idea," she mumbles into my chest. "Obviously things have always come easier for you."

"Maybe," I allow. "I know you didn't always have it easy in those early days. We were all pretty messed up. It was not the best nurturing environment, was it?"

"You got that right!"

"But here we are. Whether we like it or not, the world keeps on spinning around us." I turn reflective. "The only thing is, we've come to find out that it's not that way at all."

Eris looks at me curiously, prompting me to go on.

I elaborate. "What we've come to discover is that the world is not what keeps on spinning. The world is always there; stable, enduring, unchanging. _We_ are not that important. We are the small things that spin in orbit. It is the world that we must conform to; not it to us."

"Nice story. Does it have a point?"

"It does actually. _Which_ are you trying to be?"

"I'm not playing your games, Apollo. Your world and my world are so different that none of the same rules apply."

"I'm only asking that you try, Eris. Judging from the anguish you feel, it is clear that you are not totally beyond redemption. You want to be a better person. I know you do. Let me help you."

Her voice turns to ice. "Fat chance, Loser. Release me. Now. Or you will forever regret it."

I gaze searchingly into her blazing eyes but can no longer find any evidence of goodness there. Only bitterness and hate glare back at me. Something I said must have triggered this reaction in her. I wish I can take back everything I've just said so that things will be right between us, but it's too late. I've gone and blown it once again.

I remove my arms from around her. "Eris, I'm sorry if I've upset you. I've..."

Eris bolts from my arms. Spins on me. Her eyes shoot daggers into me. "Zip it!" she snaps. "There's nothing that you can say that I want to hear! Now get out!"

Her hand has curled around the gnarled handle of one of her many blades strewn on the tile floor and I have no doubt that she would try to use it on me.

I climb to my feet. Looking back at the raging wild thing that for a wonderful moment I thought I knew, I clench my hands helplessly at my sides. I want so much to help her. But she refuses to let me.

I stoop to retrieve Eris' linen top that sits by my foot. I toss it to her. She snatches it out of the air. Angry lips pressed tightly together, she yanks the top over her head and slips into it with barely any room left to spare. Exaggerated curves stretch the linen garment to the maximum. She releases her tangled mane of hair from its confinement in the garment and shakes it loose, still glaring at me. Her hand tightens on the hilt of her weapon with clear menace.

"Alright, I'm leaving already!"

As I march through the stifling haze towards the exit, I'm torn as to whether or not I need to watch my back. I end up gazing straight ahead. It's not that I trust her. She would put a knife in my back in an instant if angry enough. It's just that I don't want to appear fearful. I've got my pride to worry about. With a final glance at the throwing blade left imbedded in the doorframe, I leave both the Bath house and a badly wounded Eris.

Maybe Eris is going to be the death of me someday, but there's no way I'm giving up on her. She actually feels bad about what she has been doing. It means there's hope.
* * *

She stares at the ticket in disbelief. It's not possible. She never wins anything. Any moment now and somebody is going to poke her and wake her from an unlikely dream.

She won.

The numbers on her ticket all line up with the numbers that were called for the winning lottery numbers- all twelve of them. This just can't be. This is not real. This is not something that happens to Jill Parmenter. Not at all.

Jill slowly eases herself down onto the nearest chair. In the background the vid-screen still babbles away undeterred, oblivious to the fact that no one in this home is currently tuned in to it. The world around Jill suddenly feels surreal.

What now?

In a practical way, Jill knows that her next step is to contact the sponsor for the promotional campaign, an organization tactlessly called _Celebrities-R-U_. Her winning numbers would be verified and then representatives from that organization would come right here to her door to meet with her and escort her back to the organization's headquarters for orientation. There would follow weeks of promotional activities, and then weeks of extensive training to prepare the six contest winners for their undercover guest spots down on Hellas' surface. That is the practical next step. Jill has studied the contest guidelines so thoroughly that she knows these details precisely without even having to think about them.

What is not so clear is how to prepare mentally and emotionally for the whirlwind of events that is sure to engulf her. Until now Jill has led a quiet life, preferring to keep to herself and to be a viewer of life and less of a participant. She knows that things are about to change. Nothing will ever be the same again.

She is scared to death, yet strangely thrilled.
* * *

Mercer wonders anew why one of his many assistants can't have made this inspection. After all, it is only a routine inspection. His own expertise can hardly be needed at a non-essential outpost like this. Besides, he has so much to do. Coming out here is a huge waste of his time. But it is part of his contractual responsibility. Panagopoulos' secretary reminded him of that when she last paid him a visit.

Mercer scowls darkly as he glances out the window of the flyer. There isn't even an option for a direct shuttle flight to this secluded laboratory that he is supposed to be visiting. When designing this world, Panagopoulos hid the landing pad for this region of Hellas in an inaccessible location at the center of a high mountain range; just in case he decided to expand the boundaries of the local native habitat, it is believed. To reach the laboratory Mercer is scheduled to visit, a flyer is needed to make the one hour flight from the shuttle landing pad. What a monumental waste of time!

Mercer's foul mood doesn't even allow him to enjoy the unspoiled wilderness stretching out beneath him. He wonders idly if some of the creatures dotting the plains below–which happens to be the current vista, are actually products shaped by the geneticists working for Panagopoulos. If so, many of these creations would certainly prove bizarre in the extreme if given a close-up view of them. Somehow, despite the fervent protests lodged by environmentalists and animal-lovers from all among the inhabited worlds, Panagopoulos was able to win a grant to conduct this highly controversial series of experimentation. As long as nothing created in these labs ever made it off this planet–that was the primary stipulation. Earlier experimentations done throughout the formative years of genetic manipulation had left modified human and animal species scattered among a number of worlds, but in today's more ethically responsible society, such exploitation is generally banned. Only a player as well backed as Panagopoulos could have pulled off such a concession by the responsible authorities.

Mercer shifts his thoughts to the approaching site. Only one genemaster agreed to be placed in this barely accessible outpost, an eccentric genemaster who now calls herself simply _Callisto_ –a name in keeping with the theme of the world she is helping to create. But this said _Callisto_ does not work alone. A number of skilled geneticists and graduate students work here too under the direction of this talented genemaster. She and these helpers are the ones primarily responsible for the sordid mixture of creatures that exist in and about the inhabited section of Hellas.

This does not include Olympians. These special constructs are the only beings that have been inserted into the project from off-world. But then, only the combined efforts of all the top genemasters in existence could have pooled their resources as they did and created something so extraordinary.

Hidden within the confines of a high-walled enclosure, the modern-style buildings now appear through the window of the flyer. Mercer wonders why the effort has been taken to hide these buildings. It's not as though anyone venturing forth from Hellas proper is ever going to discover them. This place is located nearly halfway across the planet from the inhabited zone, and separated by mountains, deserts, chasms, and numerous other obstructions, making it virtually impossible for just any educated civilian inhabiting this world to happen upon them. Even the Olympians, who have been provided with rudimentary forms of flyers so that they can better portray the mythologies they copy, cannot get near to this location. These flyers have been fitted with tamper-proof governors that only allow localized flight.

Sure, there are intelligent beings left scattered throughout the wilderness area far from Hellas proper. These random creatures represent many of the failed experiments of these labs, including both pseudo-human and animal subjects. Rather than disposing of these botched creations through means of a widely administered form of euthanasia, it was decided that the humane thing to do was simply to release them into the wild. This would accomplish at least two purposes. One; it would allow these creatures to survive; if they could. And two; it would provide the resident scientists with models for study. These subjects could be tracked by means of covertly inserted transmitters, and their behavior and responses carefully documented, thereby contributing even further to the already prodigious knowledge base of the project's scientists.

Mercer curls up his lip in disgust. If he had his way these beastly creatures would all be put out of their misery in a heartbeat. What kind of a life can one of these mistakes of the lab possibly enjoy? Sometimes, sentimentality is a weakness that offers no real kindness.

The flyer sets down in a landing area between two imposing structures. Mercer gathers up his things and allows himself to be helped from the flyer by the pilot, a thankfully silent bushy-bearded man whose name Mercer never bothered to learn.

Callisto stands waiting for him nearby with two of her assistants, and Mercer smiles smugly to himself as he notes a bit of tension in her stance. Technically, he is not her superior, but as project supervisor Mercer holds all of the cards in this game and she clearly knows it. It is said that these genemasters can be quite the prima donnas, so Mercer is glad that he holds at least something over her. He marks the close-cropped hair and the boyish face. Callisto looks quite young to have reached the rank of genemaster and rather than attempting to add years to her image through means of outward cosmetic and styling choices to gain respectability, she does the opposite. But if the dossier on this genemaster isn't lying, she is the most promising genetic specialist to have graced the halls of science in many years.

Then why did she choose _this_ place?

He decides that it is not his concern and exchanges cursory greetings.

She gets right to the point. "We are still waiting for the equipment we ordered three months ago. Did you even send in the request?"

"Of course I did," Mercer answers blithely, knowing he didn't, but not wanting to face what can easily become a messy confrontation here in Callisto's home court. Her request for new equipment was just one of the necessary casualties in the cuts Mercer has been forced to make to the project's bloated budget to bring it into balance with Panagopoulos' unreasonable expectations. She will learn soon enough that her request was not approved, but now is not the time. "I'm sure the order is still pending," Mercer adds with hollow assurance.

"I hope so," she says with a strange glint in her eyes. _Does she know he's lying?_ "One piece of equipment we need is critical to the success of an upcoming event. If we don't get it in time, things can go seriously wrong."

"I'm sure everything will work out." Mercer's response is smooth and offers no hint of duplicity. He seriously doubts that any single piece of equipment can be so critical, and feels that Callisto is just attempting to dramatize the situation.

He follows Callisto and her assistants into the larger of the two nearby buildings as she explains its purpose.

"In here we have the holding quarters for the subjects being readied for insertion into their prepared roles on location. Our responsibility doesn't end with the activation of a genotype, as you will learn, but extends to the introduction and development of desired pre-structured behavioral and cognitive responses into said subject. Some of our current resident geneticists, such as Dr Bhatt here, are widely regarded as cutting-edge scientists in this discipline, so I am sure you will be amazed at some of the work we are doing here."

"No doubt," Mercer mumbles dutifully.

"One thing you will notice in this surveillance chamber is that the observation windows matched to the various holding cells are constructed of one-way glass. This, combined with efforts to make cell environments as true-to-life as possible, allow for us to maintain an inconspicuous presence as we work with the subjects under development."

Callisto stops before one such window. "For instance, have you read the advance notes for an upcoming engagement of the genotype Apollo involving a creature named Dryope?"

"Who?"

"I thought so. You've probably grown more accustomed to the current venue of _monster_ that we've been releasing into the storyline, so maybe you will not be prepared for what I'm about to show you."

Mercer can't help but think back to the extraordinarily diverse collection of creatures that have already been paraded before the audience. Nearly anything ever recorded in the mythologies of earth regarding ancient Greece has been recreated in the flesh by these magicians of science, no matter how bizarre or unlikely in form. He doubts that anything he might witness through this window will be able to unsettle him any more than any one of those creations.

Callisto steps aside and gestures for Mercer to peer through the window. He sidles in close, shielding his eyes from reflection, and peers into the holding cell.

What he sees causes him to gasp with disbelief. Far from feasting his eyes on the twisted form of a monster, what these goggling eyes behold is a stunning female creature of such ethereal beauty as to rival even one of the Olympian goddesses! He stares with unabashed wonder. At the moment, the astonishing creature his greedy eyes feast upon is squatting down beside a realistically fashioned streambed that runs through her artificial environment. She tastes the water through cupped hands. Thirst sated, she straightens and cocks her head towards the ceiling as if detecting some evidence of an eavesdropper. The shimmering garments that barely cling to her sinuous body do little to conceal her otherworldly secrets. Mercer feels heat throb through his flesh in unconscious response to the creature's underlying sensuality.

"What is she?" he whispers.

"Dryope is a specially designed fairy," Callisto says in explanation. "At the moment we have two dozen similar genotypes in production. These fairies are being readied for introduction into various roles in upcoming engagements. I see you approve?"

Mercer nods his head silently.

"Dryope is but one example of our work here. As you can see, we have the best corporeal modelers in existence working with us. Dr Tsiolkovsky himself–from the original Olympian team–is on our staff. Maybe you can see evidence of his craftsmanship in this genotypes' pleasing aesthetic appearance."

Mercer reminds himself to list down Dr Tsiolkovsky as one of his favorite scientists. His attention returns to the magnificent pose being struck by the unsuspecting fairy imprisoned in her holding cell. Mercer ponders what it is that this creature thinks she is seeing as she looks towards her _sky_. He decides to express his thought out loud.

"What perception does she have of her environment?"

"At this stage in her development, Dryope's absorption level is quite advanced. For all intents and purposes she _is_ outside, feeling the heat of the sun on her face and the gentle breeze of a calm day on her skin. Judging by the subject's current passive demeanor, her cognitive connections are in the process of undergoing cerebral integration even as we speak, processing and storing signals that are actively being transmitted wirelessly to her brain. Of course the Olympians are too advanced to use this method of assimilation, but it works well for secondary intelligences."

"Amazing," Mercer mutters, feeling deeply moved despite himself. "How do you do it?"

"The _mind_ is what is amazing. Properly prepared, the human brain can be programmed to believe and accept just about anything. On a vast scale, consider the so-called _native_ population of Hellas: Though only two generations old, the citizens of Hellas intrinsically enjoy a long history of _remembered_ existence because it has been archived in their communal consciousness. Memories that _we_ gave them form the heritage to which they now passionately cling.

"On a lesser scale, note the Olympian genotypes themselves: While none of the research facilities here on Hellas were involved in these genotype's specific development, the technologies employed enjoy many common characteristics. With the help of preemptive insertions conducted both physically and wirelessly, these Olympians were brought to birth knowing who they were and what they would become, and their highly developed minds were partitioned with comprehensive cognitive fundamentals. Additionally, highly complex intellectual concepts and understandings were instilled as passive riders hidden in the up-scaled association cortexes of their physical brains, some of these _ghost_ riders being programmed to activate at timed intervals or in response to certain stimuli or prompting. As I indicated, in some manners the more advanced techniques and results were different with these more specialized subjects, but in some ways they shared many of the same concepts. Placed in the right hands, the human mind is what clay is to a sculptor."

"Nicely explained," Mercer grudgingly allows, as he finally manages to break away from the observation window. Thinking about her words, Mercer asks the one question he came here armed with.

"How often does this conditioning fail to achieve the desired effect?"

"It doesn't." Callisto assures him bluntly. "The methods we use have proven failsafe. In most cases we use redundant transcribing methods upon the motivational centers of a particular subject's carefully shaped _will_ , as it were. Environment plays a factor, yes, but not enough to nullify the _hardwiring_ we install–to put it in layman's terms.

"Some have asked, 'is it nature or is it nurture' that holds the winning card in the lottery for their will." A fanatical smile forms on her lips. "In this case, the gods of science have weighted the side of nature to their favor. It is no contest."

Mercer listens, but he is not convinced.

He has seen with his own eyes that some of the Olympians have not been responding as planned. Callisto does present a good argument. But in the end her faith is based on the same belief system that made this whole mess in the first place.

Something is faulty, and he is the only one who seems to realize it.
* * *

Something has drawn me out here. I can't put my finger on what it is, but the compulsion is too strong to ignore. I should be anxious about what to expect at the end of the rope that tugs me along, but instead I am only curious.

So, whistling a light-hearted tune, I pick my way along the thinly wooded slope of Mount Helicon. I am surprised to see a stunning fountain appear rather suddenly in the midst of an otherwise untouched wilderness.

Marveling at the fountain's splendor, I slowly approach it.

"Stop right there!" a feminine voice warns.

I turn to the sound.

A semi-transparent creature stands at the edge of the clearing, regarding me nervously through a huge pair of soft brown eyes. Abundant dark hair crowned with ivy spills down past her pixie waist. She holds a comic mask in her right hand, which makes for a curious sight.

"I intend no harm," I counter, offering my open hands in a gesture of peace. "I just want to gaze at this beautiful fountain."

"Who are you?" she demands.

"My name is Apollo. Who are you? Where is the rest of you?" And _what_ are you, I want to ask, but that would not be polite.

She looks startled, as if she just now realizes something that had hitherto been hidden to her regarding her manner of being. Her see-through lips start to quiver, and then she bends to the ground in a deep bow.

"I am Thalia, my lord."

"Do not bow to me, please. One as beautiful as you needs bow to no one."

"But I must, my lord," she insists. "You are our master for whom we've long awaited."

Now, this is starting to get interesting.

"I am your master?"

She nods vigorously.

"There are others such as you?"

"Yes, my lord. For we are the Nine Muses. I will gather my sisters if you will allow me to."

"Very well."

She disappears hurriedly and I gaze again at the fountain. A rainbow of colors bubble forth from the great bowl. The multi-colored waters splash upwards in a peal of merry laughter and cavort playfully in brilliant suspension before deciding to fall back in upon itself–only to bubble forth again, renewed. This is repeated in a continuous cycle, making it seem as though the fountain has discovered an unquenchable supply of rainbow-colored water for itself. Surrounding the fountain, a stunning array of flowers has been artistically arranged around a patio of smoothly fitted stone. Nowhere do I see a single stick of weed to mar the beauty of the setting. Someone has been tending to this site.

I glance at the brilliantly winged birds perched in the nearby shrubs who sit there watching me. Not for the first time, the attention of these birds makes me feel uneasy. I know they are just dumb birds and shouldn't bother me, but I still find their constant scrutiny oddly unsettling. No doubt I'm overreacting. Next, I'll be finding mysterious eyes in trees and on rocks all staring back at me. I've got to get over these irrational thoughts.

"We're back, my lord," I hear, breaking the train of thought. I turn my head to meet them. The nine muses stand clustered together like an inviting flower patch, staring and gawking, before bending as one before me to pay homage.

"Please rise," I beseech them, stepping forward to meet them. They straighten. Eager smiles grace their shimmering lips. "What are your names?"

"I'm Thalia," replies the Muse I met first. "I am the Muse of comedy."

"I know your name; you told me already," I say with a crooked smile.

The others continue in order.

"Clio. Of history." She is crowned with laurel, and holds a folded scroll of paper against her side.

"Euterpe. Of music." This Muse is crowned with a wreath of flowers I can't identify; holds in her hands a cluster of musical instruments including a flute.

"Melpomene. Of tragedy." She says it with a solemn air, adorned with fine clothing. In her hand she holds a tragic mask.

"Terpsichore. Of the dance." Garlands grace her head; she appears even younger than the rest. Her eyes sparkle with life as she shifts the position of the harp she carries in her hands and dances lightly in a small circle to demonstrate her gift.

"Erato. Of lyric poetry." Crowned with myrtle and roses, she holds a lyre in her hand, and when she speaks her voice has a dreamy quality to it.

"Calliope. Of eloquence and epic poetry." Carrying herself with a majestic air, she is crowned with laurels and is adorned with garlands. In her right hand she grasps a sharp writing instrument, in her left, a book.

"Urania. Of astronomy." A head-piece of star-shaped stars circles her golden hair; she wears a sky-blue gown and holds a compass in one hand, an abacus in the other.

"Polymnia. And I am the Muse of rhetoric and the art of writing." Crowned with pearls and glimmering in a white gown, she looks at me thoughtfully.

"And this is our fountain, which we call Hippocrene," finishes Thalia. "This is where we meet and conduct our affairs."

"You're not of flesh and blood, are you?" I ask with mild suspicion.

"We're holographs, my lord," answers Thalia with a blush. "But we'll serve you to the best of our ability."

"How might you serve me?"

"You were born with knowledge of some things, my lord. We can round out your knowledge and finish your training. Also, we perceive that your mind is troubled. You are filled with inner conflict. You fight the gentle leadings of your heart. Is that not so?"

I think about the hidden impulses that constantly try to direct me. I think about the battle that often rages inside as I so often fight these leadings. I think about the compulsion that brought me to this place. Can these truly be called, 'gentle leadings of the heart?' I decide not to argue over wording. Instead I respond with a contrived look of relief that is tempered by caution.

"You know me well, my dears."

"As we should, my lord." Thalia continues to serve as the spokesperson. "We're bonded to you. Will you not let me ease the pain?"

She steps close to me and holds out her hands expectantly. The aura of nubile innocence that wraps itself around her lulls me into compliance. I lower my head into her waiting hands.

The charge of electrical current that springs across the suddenly joined connections startles me and I violently jerk free of the contact.

"What was that?" I demand.

A cringing Thalia peers up at me past the slim arm shielding her from harm. "I was only trying to heal you, my lord!" she cries in defense.

"I don't like how that feels."

"You are just not used to our way of joining, my lord. I promise you that it is harmless."

"Well, for now let's just stick to words."

"As you wish, my lord." She still cringes forlornly before me and the sight of it forces me to respond with gentleness.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

As a result of my calm tone Thalia begins to visibly relax. "When you're ready, we'll try it again."

"That would be best." I fold my arms and regard the Muses with a hand to my chin.

"How about the other Olympians? Do they also have such assistance?"

They solemnly shake their heads in sad unison.

"Only you have been so chosen, my lord," Thalia says with chagrin.

How strange this experience is proving to be. I gaze at the semi-transparent maidens staring intently at me, all so eager to please. As long as nobody tries that strange _touching_ thing, I don't see any harm in humoring them. Along the way, maybe I can learn something that I can use to my own benefit. It is decided then.

"Then let the training begin," I say with a smile as I step towards their willing arms.
* * *

The odd-shaped mountain can just barely be seen through the early morning fog covering the land. Mount Olympus is still many days' journey away–and that is at a healthy man's pace, but seems so much nearer at certain times of the day. Iapetus knows that this is just a trick of the sky, but it helps his feet to feel lighter. He also can't help but note the long gazes his father attaches to the distant goal now lingering on their horizon. Soon, now.

Yet Iapetus is beginning to worry. His father coughs at night, weak, hacking coughs that serve up ugly globs of dark mucous. This journey has been hard on the old man.

They come upon an oracle who has set up a temporary shelter alongside the road. Iapetus would just as soon skirt past the makeshift place of ritual, but his father is near enough that he can reach down from his mount and tug on Iapetus' shoulder.

"Let us stop for a minute, son. Stories about this woman have been told to me."

Grudgingly, Iapetus leads the donkey towards the old woman who kneels tending a small fire. He is startled when he realizes that this is no natural fire to which she attends, and he starts again when the ancient face turns upwards to regard her visitors. The pale sockets that stare back at him are totally devoid of any feature except for the cloudy red veins that crisscross them like fine cracks on an eggshell. She is blind.

"The renowned sibyl Herophila! It is an honor to meet you," Iapetus' father says with reverence.

"And you too, Antigonus. And Iapetus." She inclines an untidily maintained silver head towards the younger man. "You both look to be doing well." Pupil-less eyeballs swivel to regard Jack also, but the bemused beast of burden is not acknowledged verbally. Iapetus is astonished that this old woman knows their names. He also wonders if she can actually _see_ whether or not they are doing well, or if her choice of words is simply a matter of poor humor.

"We are doing quite well, O wise one," the old man says. He suddenly coughs; a weak, sickly sound. "We are on a sacred journey."

"Yes, I see that." This time she smiles at her own wording. Iapetus feels like scratching his head at the bizarre lack of acknowledgement about his father's ill health. He is obviously frightfully sick.

"Have you divined then our future?"

The oracle turns a wrinkled brow towards Iapetus' father. "No, I simply see that you are on the road to Olympus, many days distanced from your home. I don't need to be a seer to come to the correct conclusion."

"Oh, I see." He looks somewhat disappointed.

"You just missed the god Apollo," she states unexpectedly. "He was here on one of his visits."

"A god comes to see you?" Iapetus' father asks with astonishment.

The smile on the sibyl Herophila's wrinkled face is devilish. "I may look like a dumpy old woman but Apollo, at least, has deigned at times to give ear to my humble ramblings."

"That's not what I meant, O wise one!" The old man is apoplectic with apology. He hacks his way through a bout of coughs that get in his way and then continues. "I was just surprised that the gods are visiting the world of men with such frequency!"

"Where have you been, Antigonus, that you haven't heard? The gods are all out and about these days. It is a different era that we live in."

"I have heard rumor," the old man glares reprovingly at his son, "but no confirmation. It is a good thing, this news of which you speak. Maybe the godless will be moved to reconsider."

The sibyl Herophila follows the direction of his incriminating glare with her sightless eyes. "For some, it is not a matter of faith but a matter of pride."

Iapetus bristles, but he remains silent. He does not consider himself a proud man. This old woman is not a very good seer.

"'Pride has its place," his father quips, "but eventually all must bow to a superior.'"

"Well said, Antigonus!"

"Those are your words, O wise one. I've treasured many of your writings."

"Then you are the wise one, my good friend!" She pats the hard ground next to her. "Come join me by my fire. A little heat may be good for those old bones."

Iapetus makes no move to help his father down from the donkey's back. He does not want to spend any more time than necessary in the company of this disturbing woman. Also, he feels no warmth radiating from the unnatural fire that she tends to. So he bows to the oracle as graciously as he deems appropriate and offers an apology.

"Thank you for the offer, but we are on a tight schedule. It was nice to meet you, my lady." With that he turns to leave; Jack's lead gripped tightly in his hand.

He tries to ignore the angry look his father stabs his way.

"Very well," are the words of the sibyl Herophila at his back. "Continue then with your journey, my proud fisherman. But know this; if only you had taken the time to share my fire your journey would have proven successful. Now though, only perils will you find. And at the end; despair. Only when you accept the hand of god will you be released from the curse."

It is with a shiver of uneasiness that Iapetus leaves the old woman behind.
* * *

I face the anxious satyr on the road where I'd found him beneath the dark shadow of trees.

"Artemis says you chased her," I accuse, taking another step toward him.

"I did not realize she was a goddess, my lord," he insists, drawing back a step. The coarse goat hairs on his flank glisten with sweat as my hard gaze bores into his. "Honestly, I did not know."

"Tell you what, Marsyas. That is your name, isn't it?"

He licks his lips and nods nervously. "Yes, my lord."

"I understand that you are quite the musician," I say, looking at the flute hanging from a cord around his neck. "In fact, you are said to be the greatest musician among all satyrs."

"I'm better even than that, lord Apollo," he admits, a sudden gleam appearing in his feral eyes despite his predicament. "For neither is there a two-legged human alive who can play better than I can."

"I see."

"I'm not comparing myself to the gods, mind you, my lord," he hastily adds. "You, for instance are said to be the god of music, so how could I expect to come even close to one such as you?"

He feigns humility but his tone belies his words.

"You know, Marsyas, I think I'd like to invite you to a contest. Just between you and I. You will play your flute, and I will play my lyre." I glance at the thick snake-like whip folded at his waist. "And the winner can use that," I say, pointing at the whip, "on the loser."

His eyes widen. From eagerness, or from fear, I don't know. And he realizes too, that though my words are shaped in the form of an invitation, they are not that at all. For he has no choice, and he knows it. There will be a contest.

"The Muses will do the judging," I conclude. "Do you know of them?"

"Yes, lord. Tale of them has come to me."

"Then board with me, and I shall take you to them." And I allow the awe-stricken satyr into the sky-car and smile at his fear as we climb up through the trees.

"Hi, girls," I say in greeting to the Muses as they approach the Hippocrene fountain where I wait with Marsyas. His beady eyes rove brazenly where they should not as he stares at their comely figures.

"Apollo!" they chime as one, beaming in delight as they cluster around me.

"Who's he?" Thallia asks in distaste, eying the filthy satyr.

"His name is Marsyas. And I have a favor to ask of you girls."

"We'll do anything for you, Apollo," they cry, jumping up and down. "Just name it!"

"Marsyas and I are going to have a little musical contest, and I want you girls to choose the winner."

"Okay. You're the winner, Apollo!"

"No, not yet. I mean a real contest. And I want you girls to be fair."

"Okay. We'll be fair."

"All right, Marsyas. You go first."

He puts the worn flute to his lips and begins playing.

The music he makes is superb. It reaches past the harsh exterior of the satyr form he occupies, and reaches into the hearts of the Muses. Their eyes grow moist as he paints a scene of terrible sadness and longing. Now they glisten with exuberance as the rhapsody changes to one of laughter and happy things. Scene upon scene he builds. Covering themes from trite to majestic. It seems like a whole orchestra is playing. But it is just one satyr.

Who with one last poignant climax is finally finished with his performance.

For a long moment there is just a lingering silence.

Then finally the Muses explode in applause.

"Bravo!" they cry. "That was beautiful, satyr! You can play for us any time!"

And with almost a touch of scorn in his eyes, Marsyas turns to me and says,

"And now it's your turn, _god_."

I draw forth my lyre. Not the simple but effective instrument Hermes had first made. But a new one, skillfully made to my own specifications.

I begin to play.

And the Muses melt when the golden sound peels forth from my instrument and fills the air with magical tales of faraway places and dreams. I inject spirit and life into the song. Those listening to the soulful sounds can feel the story. They are the story. I build the image bigger and grander. Swell it to the point of bursting. Reach for a breathtaking crescendo.

And then, I too, am finished.

Again, it takes the Muses some time to come back to earth before breaking out in applause.

"Now, who is the winner?" I finally ask.

"We will talk it over," they say, and then withdraw to one corner.

"You are a very good musician," I reluctantly admit to Marsyas as we wait.

"And you, a god worthy of your title, my lord."

The Muses return.

"We cannot choose a winner," Thalia says in dismay. "It is a tie."

"It cannot be a tie!" Marsyas declares angrily, stomping his hoof. "I won and you know it!"

"You're right," I say to the satyr, looking at him sternly. "It cannot be a tie. We will do it again."

"Agreed!"

"Only this time, we must play and sing at the same time."

"But...but, my lord!"

"Yes?"

"I cannot play my flute and sing at the same time. Our instruments are not the same. What you have chosen to do is impossible for me."

"Then you forfeit." And I snatch the whip from his waist and unfurl it.

His eyeballs roll back in their sockets as the whip cracks beside him and rips open a fissure in the stone. With a loud voice he cries out and flees from before my wrath.

With no remorse I follow after him.
* * *

Mother earth looks like a tired parent worn out and empty from years of thankless childbearing. The skies above California are gray and swollen with pollution despite there not being a cloud in the sky. Even the city looming increasingly larger out the shuttle window seems to have grown weary from raising generation after generation of people, only to watch in disappointment as its youth is lured away by the sparkle and glitter of the stars.

Still, Jill is excited to be getting her first live view of earth. Soon, her feet will be planted on that same hallowed ground. Jill knows what she's going to do. Her shoes are coming off and her bare feet will kiss the very earth. Most of mankind living out among the stars will never get this opportunity. Earth is but a memory known to their distant ancestors. Jill is not going to let this opportunity pass her by.

Their destination is Los Angeles. L.A. in local slang. But not downtown Los Angeles. No, their destination is somewhere outside the legendary city. That's where the headquarters for Celebrities-R-U is located. The folded hard copy of the map Jill printed out is stored in her carry-on bag, but Jill knows that she won't need to worry about matters as trivial as directions while she is here. She and the other contestant winners will not need to worry about a thing, in fact. Everything: where they go, where they sleep, where they eat, has already been completely planned out for them and all they need to do is stick closely to their assigned guides.

Jill's personal guide is named Ralph. She steals a glance at him sitting two seats away–two seats separating them only because this shuttle is not even half-filled to capacity, so the passengers are able to spread out. Even if the bottom drops out on this dream tomorrow, Jill decides that she has already scored a victory. This Ralph is a _hunk_! And he's so nice!

Ralph's official title is guide, but Jill knows that he is really more than that. Until she takes the much celebrated flight to Hellas' surface six months from now, Ralph will be her tutor, her bodyguard, and even her very own manservant. Boy, did she win big!

It's almost enough to take the sting away from being separated from her marmalade cat and Grandma. She honestly didn't know if she could do it. But it's been almost a week since she left home and her thoughts only stray to the two individuals she loves most when she lies in bed at night waiting for sleep to take her. Not overly missing those two loved ones leads to feelings of guilt of course, but then when she sees Ralph's gorgeous face each morning these feelings seem to have a way of quickly dispelling.

The shuttle begins to bank as it prepares for landing. By now the city's profile looms large and imposing. It leans over the fast-approaching spaceport like a derelict over a shiny coin. This is a newly built spaceport and Jill can already see from here that it is a busy one. Being located just outside the city will make the land trip out to the headquarters that much quicker and easier. But because of this Jill won't get to really experience the actual earth city of L.A., which is something that she'd hoped to do. _Maybe next time._

Jill feels herself tense as the shuttle begins to settle onto the large landing pad. Sometimes this is the worst part of the trip from space to ground as it can feel like the bottom is dropping out of the craft when it alights. Not that she is a veteran of such landings. But this time the landing happens gracefully and almost before she realizes it, Jill can hear the mighty engines of the shuttle powering down.

Ralph nods to her with his warm brown eyes. It is as if he felt her anxiety and is assuring her that everything is okay. _He is so nice._ Jill follows his cue and unbuckles herself from the restraints. Ralph reaches over her head to the storage compartment and helps Jill with her carry-on bag. She feels herself blush as she catches a glimpse of his well-toned mid-section.

"What about your stuff?" Jill hasn't noticed until now that Ralph doesn't seem to have any belongings onboard.

"My equipment was stored separately. Don't worry; it will ship out with us. I'll have everything I need when we arrive at our destination."

Jill wonders if this 'equipment' is the bodyguard sort of equipment, and if that's why it was needed to be kept separate from the passengers. If so, who is guarding her now? Is Ralph that skilled that he can keep her safe even without that equipment? Looking at his athletic profile, Jill has a feeling that he can.

Jill glances at the other passengers as they also prepare for departure. Five of them are the other participants in the contest; the others are either their helpers or employees of the Celebrities-R-U Corporation. She had been introduced to the five winners at the Nebula II Space station outside of earth's orbit after they had all been gathered in from their incoming starships as they arrived from their points of origin from all across inhabited space. Jill decides to test her memory and see if she can name each one to herself.

She decides to start with the three men. First, there is Rhys, a slim quiet man probably in his late thirties. Next, is Toby, a stocky youth who appears to be in his early twenties, and who seems to be the jokester of the group. Then there is the one who calls himself Dukester. He is a well-built man probably in his mid-forties, who carries himself with an air of quiet arrogance. The other two women are about as different from each other as you can get. Madhuri is a swarthy plump woman, who seems old enough to be Jill's own mother, and Ffion, a slim blonde who looks like a teenager but who had earlier confessed to Jill as to being thirty years old and a mother of three. Jill wonders how a mother can bear to be separated from her husband and children for six months. Yet it proves to Jill just how coveted this opportunity really is.

There is little talking as they all make their way from the shuttle, down through the connecting tube, and into the detainment lobby. All have been prepped for what to expect, but no one feels comfortable with the thought of deep body scanners examining every square centimeter of their body to make sure no constructs reach the surface of earth.

Jill considers the invasion of privacy as just another reason to hate the conservative and discriminatory policies of mother earth. She behaves as if jealous of her wayward daughter's successful colonialism and seeks to punish her daughters through punitive efforts against their chief tools; namely the constructs they create.

Constructs are banned here. The aversion to these engineered humans is so strong that a visitor to earth must suffer the indignity of a deep body scan to prove his purity. Jill hates this prejudice. She thinks about the irony of her group being trained here on earth. But then, maybe earth's inhabitants don't have a problem with Hellas. Maybe they don't mind simple entertainment provided by constructs. As long as it happens far away. _Not in my neighborhood!_ Aargh! The entire thing is all so superficial!

Jill stands sullen in line with the other passengers and glares darkly at the machine's technician when her time comes up. She glances skeptically at the intimidating bulkhead through which she must pass, and sucking in a deep breath she steps forward. All she feels is a ripple-like breath of static that washes across her body from head to toe. Even fully clothed she feels violated. A light glows green and Jill is ushered across the threshold.

She briefly wonders what would've happened if the light hadn't showed green. But then she sees the line of heavily armed security guards waiting nearby and has her answer. The sense of relief at being genuinely human makes her feel oddly guilty. Jill's heart goes out to all those souls who didn't ask to be made, but now find themselves in a world of intolerance. It's just not fair.

The small group is ushered down a side corridor that empties out before a waiting ground bus. For a brief moment they are exposed to the outside air. Jill manages to take a deep breath of earth's authentic atmosphere before stepping into the bus. She feels a slight sense of disappointment that the air seems no different from the air back on New Taiwan. More chemical-laden perhaps, but otherwise indistinguishable from what she grew up breathing in. She wonders if this is true everywhere, or if maybe she has just breathed in the stale air of New Taiwan so long that it's ruined her sense of smell. Jill decides that she will have to do some research on the subject when she gets a chance.

'When she gets a chance.' Huh! Jill smiles whimsically to herself. The schedule over the next six months will be so packed with things to do that she will probably not get a chance to do anything by her own choice during that time period. At first six months seemed like such a long period of time, but when Jill saw the itinerary that the contestants would be following she realized that the time would probably fly by faster than they knew it.

As the bus starts to move forward, Jill also realizes that she has yet to press her bare feet to the earth. Her goal will have to wait. The bus has accelerated onto a highway and merged into the traffic that is heading away from the city. Jill shares a seat with Ffion. Ralph and Ffion's guide sit in the row behind them. Toby starts singing a song appropriate to travel on a bus and tries to get others to join in. Jill just smiles quietly to herself and keeps silent.

She tries to take in the scenery but there are too many distractions. There is also the newness of everything that makes the moment seem somewhat surreal. Too much is happening too fast to digest it all. Her senses are overwhelmed.

Before Jill knows it the bus is slowing down and then turning down a wide tree-lined avenue that leads into a private estate. The grounds are well-guarded, with armed patrols visible along the walled enclosure the bus begins to head towards. Hardly slowing, the bus passes through an open gate in the wall.

Jill's surprised gasp mirrors the others. The landscape is incredible! Their surroundings look like one huge manicured garden of implausible design. Even the buildings they now begin to approach have been worked into the landscape so as to appear part of a unified whole. Jill has never seen anything like it.

Dukester chuckles. "We are rock-stars," he says, borrowing an archaic term. "They will do anything for us."

"Just let me pinch myself to see if this is all real," Madhuri exclaims from her seat behind Jill.

"Who needs Hellas?" Toby adds. "I'd be happy to stay right here."

The bus begins to slow as it nears a wide circular drive set before one large ornate structure. A huge fountain sits at the center of the circle, the delightfully shaped water formations it creates spouting upwards to a height nearly equaling the trees.

Jill's bus comes to a stop before an impressive granite porch and a team of attendants flow down the steps to meet the new arrivals. One man in particular makes himself known as the passengers begin to disembark from the bus onto the grounds of what will be their new home for the next six months. The man's voice is clear and strident and even carries to those still waiting to leave the bus, including Jill and her guide, Ralph.

"I am Renaldo, chief of staff at the Arcadia estate. Master Alexandro would be pleased to meet with you after you've made your acquaintance with your new rooms and after you've had a chance to freshen up. We also have a special guest that you would like to meet. A helper has been assigned to each team. Please allow us to spoil you." He smiles widely, and then makes a grand gesture to initiate the process of settling the contestants in their respective rooms.

Ralph cups a hand beneath Jill's elbow and helps her down the stairs and onto the waiting granite sidewalk. Jill feels the sun in her hair and tilts her face back to soak it in. She is humbled to think that this same star warmed the backs of everyone living today's descendants. Jill barely pays attention while Ralph works with the helper assigned to them to get her luggage from the bus' storage compartment and load it on a cart.

"Wait. There is something I must do."

She twists out of her shoes while Ralph looks on curiously.

"I promised myself this," Jill explains. Then she steps off the paved walkway and plants her bare feet in the green grass of mother earth. Someday she will look back on this moment with awe. It will be something to tell her grandchildren.

Soon, she is following Ralph up the stairs to the grand entryway. The helper with the cart meets them outside the huge doors and ushers them inside.

Jill stares up in awe at the vast lobby she finds herself in. The distant domed ceiling is painted a pale blue to mimic the sky. Huge columns ring the large open space. Positioned between these columns are convincingly detailed Greek statues made of ivory.

"Master Alexandro shares Panagopoulos' interest in ancient Greece," the helper explains, seeing Jill's interest. "It seems that many have taken an interest in that which has been lost with time."

Jill nods distractedly and follows after the cart as it rolls down a wide corridor. The turn of the wheels on the tiled floor is not as crisp as Jill would expect and that gets her to thinking.

"Are these floors real marble?" she asks, her eyes wide with disbelief.

"Yes, of course. So are the columns and much of the architecture that you see. Master Alexandro does not believe in faux products." Jill thinks she detects a note of disdain in his voice. He continues. "The artwork you see on the walls is also original. I will give you a tour of the rest of the mansion later, if you would like."

"Thank you. I would like that very much."

"Very good, my lady."

They come to a lobby with four elevator entrances and the helper chooses the first one on the right. He waits until Jill and Ralph are comfortably inside, and then pushes the luggage cart into the elevator with them. The elevator room is spacious, large enough to fit another luggage cart if necessary. Jill tries not to be too obvious as she breathes in the tonic from Ralph's hair as he towers beside her. The voice of the helper startles her.

"Your room, my lady, is on the fourth floor. The view from your balcony is lovely this time of day."

"I have my own balcony?"

"But of course, my lady. As do all our other guests."

The elevator stops and the doors slide open.

"This way."

They follow the cart out of the elevator and down another corridor.

Jill _tsks_ at herself. "I'm sorry, sir. I don't even know your name and here you are being such a great help to me."

"Edward, my lady. At your service." He pauses briefly and turns to bow slightly. Jill can tell that he is pleased by her acknowledgement.

"Thank you, Edward. You are doing a great job, by the way."

He nods graciously and then leads them to a door set in the wall. "This is where you will be staying, Sir Ralph; after you've seen our Lady Jill safely to her room, of course. And here across the hall," he leads them to another door located diagonally across the way from Ralph's door, "is your room, my lady."

Edward takes out a key and opens the door after which he hands the key to Jill. He steps into the room ahead of them. "Please let me know if this is adequate for your needs, my Lady Jill."

"Please, Edward! Just call me Jill. And yes, it's perfect!" Jill gapes at the enormous space that modestly calls itself a room. She could easily fit three of her apartments in the one room. The decor is exquisite. Rich drapes hang from six large windows and from a pair of sliding doors. The furnishings are wonderful. Jill feels like a princess.

"The powder room is over here." Edward strides across the room to another door. Jill watches in amazement as he shows her a powder room nearly as large as her apartment back home on New Taiwan. "Let me know if you need anything. I will be back for you in an hour."

"Thank you so much, Edward!"

"It is my delight, my lady." He bows graciously and nods for Ralph to follow him out. Jill snickers behind her hand at Edward's prudishness. He clearly doesn't want the handsome guide to dally unescorted in a maiden's quarters. Edward reminds Jill of a throwback to ancient times, his manner oddly fitting for the atmosphere of this estate.

Her attention turns to the waiting cart. She is somewhat surprised that Edward didn't insist upon unpacking her luggage for her, he is so thorough. With a shrug Jill sets her mind on the necessary task.

When she finishes, she still has time to freshen up and change her clothes. The powder room is rather intimidating in its size, but the scented water that comes forth from one of the faucets makes her immediately forgive the room its impersonal feel. Finally feeling clean and renewed, she picks out a garment. She goes for elegant modesty; a conservative blue dress with clean lines.

Jill looks at her time piece. She has just enough time to check out the balcony.

Pulling aside the drapes, Jill gets a preview through the glass of what to expect. _You could hold a party out there!_ There are even lounges and tables and flowerpots waiting in anticipation for such a bash.

She locates the catch and slides open the door. Stepping out onto the balcony her breath catches at the view. It is beautiful! The vista afforded her from the fourth floor takes in a great part of the park-like grounds that rolls off into the distance. It looks like a scene from a story book. She could stand out here all day long just soaking in the view.

A knock on the door to her room brings her back down to earth. Edward is back to escort her to the meeting with Master Alexandro and the mystery guest. Ralph waits at his side.

"Ah! That will work just fine, my lady," Edward says archly when he sees her in her blue dress. "The meeting will be in the East Corporate Meeting room. Please follow me."

Behind his back Jill motions to Ralph miming the stiff movement of a robot. Ralph laughs heartily and Jill immediately feels bad.

Ralph has changed also, she notices, and now wears a deep navy suit open at the chest. A gold chain is the sole accruement, but looks richer for it. As handsome as he is, Jill decides that she doesn't like the look. _Too macho._

They join with Ffion and her team in the corridor.

"How do you like your room, Jill?"

"It's awesome! Yours?"

"I feel like a princess."

Jill laughs. "I was thinking the very same thing. They're going to spoil us even before we get to Hellas! I don't know if I will ever be able to go back to my old life after this!"

Ffion grins in agreement. "I wonder who the mystery guest is."

"I bet it's one of earth's stuffy leaders."

Ffion shakes her head and points a thumbs skywards. "I think it's someone much higher than that."

"Who?"

"I think it's Panagopoulos himself."

"No way!" Jill clutches the slim blonde girl's arm. "What makes you think that?"

"Besides the company sponsoring this promotion, who do you think has the most to gain from a successful outcome?"

"Panagopoulos!" Jill's squeal of delight raises the eyebrows of both Edward and Ralph.

Jill can barely contain herself as they make their way down four flights and to the East Corporate Meeting room. The crowd waiting outside the room is enough to sober her.

"I didn't know there would be camera crews," she whispers to Ffion.

"This is all a big deal, Jill. Didn't you know that?"

"I guess I was only focusing on going to Hellas. Not all this. I just thought it would be a fun experience."

"You're tripping, girl. This _experience_ is going to make you a household name."

"I didn't realize..." Jill trails off. She suddenly feels scared and completely lost in something bigger than she is. Ralph seems to notice and squeezes her hand. She feels grateful to him.

Edward turns and faces her. "I will give you a heads-up, my lady. When you enter that room, you will hear your name being called as you are introduced. The cameras you will be interested in will be on your right hand side. Turn to them and smile like you mean it. If you want to wave, that is even better. Remember, what you present to the audience now is how many will decide to remember you."

_Great,_ Jill thinks to herself. _Why wasn't I told all this before now?_

Jill steels herself outside the doors, and when the signal is given, she steps forward into the large hall, trying her best to look confident and happy to be here. She nearly becomes unhinged at the plethora of cameras pointed her way, but gains control and even manages to smile and wave at the cameras on the right, just as directed.

Jill very nearly again loses it when she sees the legendary Panagopoulos waiting to greet her at the end of the red carpet laid out for her and the others. The carpet seems particularly navigable in her high heels and before all these cameras. But she manages to walk its length without embarrassing herself. There is a surrealistic atmosphere to the moment as she reaches out to accept his waiting hand. He is even larger in life than he is on the screen. Jill nearly faints when he kisses her hand heartily.

"Jill Parmenter," he says in a pleasant bass voice. "I will be most honored to receive your worthy presence upon my humble world of Hellas in the upcoming engagement."

"Are you kidding?" Jill gushes. "I am the one who is honored! You have no idea how thrilled I am to be going there!"

He grins wolfishly and then turns to a devastatingly handsome adolescent standing at his side. "I would like to introduce you to my son, Prince Aristotle."

"Nice to meet you, Prince Aristotle," Jill babbles, hoping she doesn't look and sound as stupid as she feels. She feels flustered, for her transparent thoughts must be screaming loud enough for everyone around to hear her. This prince looks nothing like his father! While Panagopoulos is huge and burly, possibly handsome in a roguish sort of way; this Prince Aristotle is tall, elegant, and refined. He is much younger than Jill, but his manner is profoundly mature as he takes her hand also and barely grazes it with his own lips in imitation of his father. Jill can't help but notice that whereas Panagopoulos is lavish with his emotions; this young prince is stingy with them; maybe even a little superficial.

"And I you, my lady," he intones with perfunctory correctness.

Jill doesn't get to say more because she is ushered onward to a seat that has been prepared for her next to Ffion and the other waiting contestants. She makes number six. Now that they are all here, people begin to take their seats or their stations.

Master Alexandro is soon introduced. Most of what he says has obviously been prepared with a galaxy-wide audience in mind and amounts to mere fluff, but then he begins to talk about the actual contestant winners and Jill's ears perk up.

"As you know, every effort goes into obtaining a purely random selection of winners," he is saying. "But here in this contest we have been blessed with an ideal group! Let's put our hands together for our six lucky winners!"

Polite applause fills the room, but if Jill were to speculate then she would guess that the actual applause heard by the viewing audience is one augmented by sound piped in from elsewhere. She is not dumb; she knows how these things work. Still, Jill is elated to be here and to be a part of these preparations.

Master Alexandro names each of them with deliberate emphasis, and Jill thrills at the mention of her name. He speaks more about the intention of the promotion; the opportunity for the contestant winners to see firsthand the world of Hellas; the exposure this will give them to fame; and the privilege they will have in starring in episodes that will be especially prepared for them. He then drops a bombshell.

"They may even get the opportunity to meet a real-life Olympian." He explains. "Efforts are being made to recreate the Olympic games of ancient Greece. It is hoped that some of the Olympians will take an interest in these events and come to view them." He looks at the six contest winners and allows for a dramatic pause. "It may be the chance of a lifetime."

He goes on to recite the rules and obligations of the contestants, but Jill barely hears him.

All she can think about is the chance to actually meet Apollo in the flesh.

* * *

"Artemis!"

Only silence greets me.

I call her name yet again as I stride deeper into the forest. As I walk I feel a constant tingle left by the feel of silent eyes upon me. The sensation started soon after I entered the forest; lingered during the attack of a pack of wolves I dismantled; was still there as I made my way across a precarious bridge of strategically placed stones that span a great swamp; and yet still it continues.

"Artemis!"

Still no response. She said I need only to call aloud her name in this forest and she would come. But this is an awfully large forest. And I feel rather silly for doing this. Especially with those mysterious eyes watching me. They probably think I look silly, too.

I put my hands to my mouth and holler even louder.

" _Artemis!"_

Then I practically jump out of my skin. For when I turn my head I see Artemis sitting nonchalantly against a tree, smiling at me. Her athletic arms are crossed and her bare knees are drawn up against her barely covered breasts. The silver bow Hephaestus made for her is slung casually over her shoulder.

"Do you realize how silly you look, Apollo?" she merrily asks, confirming my suspicion as to my appearance. Artemis unfolds her arms, straightens and approaches with languid grace. She reaches out her sun-browned hands to me.

I take them in mine. They have more calluses than I remember. I squeeze them lightly. Then I lean forward and brush my lips against her forehead. She smells of flowers, of trees, of wild things. But the familiar scent of Artemis still lingers in her hair just the same.

"It's good to see you again, Artemis. I've missed you."

"And I you, my brother."

"I hear things now and then. You've been busy collecting many titles and earning quite a reputation for yourself."

Her huge dark eyes sparkle with amusement.

"Yes, word travels quickly, doesn't it? And I hear much of you through my own manner of gathering information. You've become quite popular, I hear. Almost as popular as Zeus, pray tell; which is probably not a good idea if you want to stay on good terms with him. But, it is said that your public appearances have grown quite rare as of late."

"I suppose neither you nor I have ever had a fondness for the public eye."

"This is true."

"Speaking of your reputation, I guess your quick temper is no longer a secret only you and I share."

"Exactly what are you referring to?" she asks with biting deliberateness, her dark eyes suddenly ablaze.

"Generally–a growing pattern. Specifically–an incident regarding a certain well-known huntsman."

At the mention of the incident, Artemis abruptly turns away from me. She scowls. Her ruby lips purse dramatically. Artemis carefully folds her arms to hide the revealing mounds her outfit advertises and slowly shakes her head unhappily. A fiery pair of eyes turns back to me.

"I really don't see the need to bring up that subject," she says in disgust. "It happened. I can't do anything about it now."

"What were you thinking anyway?"

"He shouldn't have challenged me," she says sourly.

"Come on, Artemis! You practically begged him to challenge you!"

"He was boastful!"

"Being boastful is not a sin."

"That's not how I see it. Not when it involves an outright challenge to my reputation."

"Well, I hate to disappoint you, _sister_ , but you're probably alone in your opinion. There are many mortals who are highly skilled in their respective endeavors. _Let them be._ We are above all such affairs. It is our responsibility not to get involved. And hanging his body upside down from a tree limb on the outskirts of the forest for all eyes to see was neither a justified nor a responsible action."

"Since when have the rules been different for you and me? If I remember correctly, you have your own share of irresponsible actions to your credit."

I look aside. With nothing to say in my defense I drop my head in resignation. She's got a point there.

"You're right of course," I admit with less fervor. "It's just that Zeus thought I should talk to you about it. So I have. Let's just consider the matter closed. Okay?"

"I considered it closed from the beginning," she says sharply, tossing her black mane over her bare bronze shoulder defiantly as she stoops to cup in her hand a rare forest blossom. The image this small act portrays is so apt–it is so Artemis. Defiant and wild on the one hand; fragile and nurturing on the other.

I sigh. And then shrug helplessly. Artemis is simply impossible at times. This is one of those times.

"I'm sorry I had to be the one to talk to you," I finish in a voice of apology.

"I am, too."

"I don't see your pet stag," I say to change the subject, glancing around for a sign of Artemis' current favorite substitute for me. _Yeah, I'm just dreaming._ "Is he still with you?"

I see the struggle in Artemis' eyes as she tries to put aside her injured pride and accept reconciliation. Her desire for peace wins the inner battle and she looks at me with eyes no longer so hard and accusatory.

"He has a girl-friend now," she says disgustedly in a lighter tone, "I let them go off to play."

"And possibly multiply," I add, testing a smile.

"That too," she agrees with a solemn nod.

"Incidentally, someone's been watching me."

"I know. Nothing happens in this forest that my friends don't see, and no one enters who is not watched."

She turns her head to one side, her flawless profile stunning against the backdrop of green foliage. Shapely lips of ruby red suddenly part and whistle sharply. Once. Twice. Three times.

With shy hesitation, slight figures begin to emerge from seemingly out of nowhere. I count seven of these delicate forms. Delicate, airy creatures, they seem more spirit than flesh, each possessing an ethereal beauty surpassing the possibilities of mortal flesh. When they move, they seem to dance on the very air itself.

Artemis holds out her hands to them, and they timidly cluster about her, darting curious glances at me from impossibly huge eyes. Each is equipped with a bow, a knife, and a very business-looking spear. They are nymphs, I realize; their identity filling in for me in the mysterious way that it always does. Dryads, to be more precise. So these are Artemis' forest friends who I've heard rumors about, but who no one has seen until now.

"Apollo, meet some of my new friends: Britomartis, Echo, Callisto, Eucleia, Antheia, Aglaia, and Europa."

I bend my head in acknowledgement, and I am rewarded with a chorus of giggles.

"They now travel everywhere with me," Artemis explains. "Altogether I have twenty of such companions. At no time are we apart, my girls and I."

I frown at her. "In that case, then you were there watching right alongside these girls as I walked through your forest looking silly. Why didn't you come out when I was calling you?"

She throws her head back and laughs richly at my expense. "You were so cute, Apollo," she finally manages between laughs. _"Artemis! Artemis!"_ she teasingly mimics my voice.

Not appreciating the humor of it, I glower darkly at her. "I'm glad I provided you with some entertainment."

"Yes, it was rich. Thanks." Her eyes grow somber. "There is another reason why I'm glad you came. It involves something one of my girls found. I was getting ready to fetch either you or Athena, so I'm glad that you are here."

"Oh?"

"I will show you." Artemis turns to one of her companions. "Eucleia, do you have that pouch with you?"

Her companion reaches into her wispy garments and extracts a leather pouch. Handling it with care she hands it to Artemis. Artemis unfastens the catch and draws forth a dead bird. I sniff the air expecting to find something unpleasant drifting about in the air but instead find nothing unusual. _How odd._

"Isn't that somewhat macabre?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. "Making that poor girl carry around such an unusual trinket?"

"This is not as it appears. Here, look closer." She holds the feathered corpse closer for me to inspect and flips it over. Beneath the broken skin I see electronic components instead of viscera left exposed to the outside world. I take the strange object in my hand and examine it in greater detail.

"The first such bird I simply crushed with a rock, utterly destroying it," Artemis explains. "I was so angry and shaken by its strangeness that I wasn't even thinking straight. Since that moment we've found two more flying creatures exactly like this one. Unfortunately, hundreds more were real." Her eyes mist over with sadness at the memory. She blinks the moisture free of her eyes and peers intently at me.

"What do you make of it?"

"I think this is some form of surveillance unit." I gaze thoughtfully at Artemis. "Athena was suspicious about the possibility of something like this going on. I guess she was right after all. This is _huge_ , Artemis. Do you mind if I have the others that you found and take these to Athena for further study?"

"Not at all; that is what I was hoping you would do. You know me, Apollo. I hate to leave my forest."

"I know."

After this, I try to put aside all disturbing thoughts about birds with metal parts and enjoy our rare visit together in peace, but my mind stays troubled.

Athena was right.

We _are_ being watched.

* * *

"What should we do, sir?"

The question comes just as Mercer is watching the blur of an arrow as it speeds towards him at an incredible speed and then suddenly explodes the scene into a million ruined shards and leaves him wallowing in darkness. Mercer visibly flinches for the fourth time, the number of times that he's replayed this tape and each time in slow motion. Each time he views the scene he is filled with dread at the raw violence that belongs to the nearby world that he commands. This is a world that stands in stark contrast to the comfortable world of computers, soft chairs, and luxuries that he calls home. A certain part of him craves such a world as the one circling below, but he shudders to think what it would be like to be caught defenseless within its boundaries. No, right here safe in _Hades_ is the place that he needs to stay.

Pondering these things, he decides to finally respond to the concerned assistant hovering nearby.

"There's nothing we can do. We realized at the outset that there may be mechanical failures and device casualties. That's why we provided them with no fundamental cognizance of the concept of cameras and photography. In fact, the very opposite is true. A memory block was implanted in each one of them to prevent unnecessary prying. We will continue to rely upon the effectiveness of the measure that was taken. At the very most, any study that one these Olympians may try to make on the matter will only draw a blank for him."

The assistant doesn't look convinced. "He _looked_ cognizant, sir, if you ask me," he says, referring to a secondary tape that shows the Olympian Apollo exchanging words with Artemis regarding the camera devices in question, and then obtaining the evidence as a subject for study.

"Who says I asked you?" Mercer glares pointedly at the assistant. "Besides, even if they ever did suspect something was amiss, what could they honestly do about it?"

The assistant is about to respond but then bites his lip.

Mercer looks crossly away from the man. Too many have been questioning the methods he has taken upon himself to implement in the filming process since his arrival. The sudden abundance of these mobile camera units have been a sore spot for many. Designed to imitate actual living _birds_ , these cameras have been useful in getting superior camera shots than the more traditional permanently mounted units that had been relied upon in the past. True, his preferred units are far less discreet than the far more minuscule mounted types, but the trade-off in increased quality of film is worth it. This is what the average viewer is clamoring for; more detail; more action; _more skin_. Mercer has been delivering in a huge way and he is not about to cut back on all this success just because of some perceived security issue that doesn't exist.

"I'll note your concern in the daily register," Mercer finally concedes. "If Panagopoulos has similar concerns, then we'll do something about it."

The man nods with unconvinced satisfaction and then takes his leave.

Mercer chuckles smugly to himself, happy in his near-omnipotence here in this command center. In this domain, his control over other humans and what is allowed to reach Panagopoulos' ears now that he's tightened the reins on loose lips is almost total. He is the one who decides the course of fate. It takes one with courage like his own to bear the responsibility of a world upon his own two shoulders. He has no need of fielding the inputs of those less experienced and less able. The command structure is stronger this way. What he has built will succeed beyond anyone's expectations because of his capable management.

_Then why does this arrow scare him so much?_ he wonders as he plays back the tape for the fifth time.
* * *

She's a magnificent nymph.

In fact, she's undoubtedly the most beautiful creature I've seen so far; excluding my goddess sisters. With her sea of lush golden tresses; the impossibly huge eyes, which shine brightly like captured cobalt stars... and the long slender limbs, aglow like graceful golden sunbeams giving back the sun as they bend in languid movements. And these lips! So juicily ripe; they sparkle and bleed like red, red wine.

She was alone a moment ago. Just sitting there. As though waiting for me to come and save her from a life spent with no Apollo in it. She was humming a light tune while she worked in peaceful nonchalance. Her attention was fixed upon the reed flower basket at her feet as she sorted through wild flowers looking for the prettiest. I was just getting ready to go out to meet her.

But unfortunately she is no longer alone. Six other nymphs now frolic with her in the painted meadow. They laugh gaily together while they dance barefoot in the high grass. Fresh-cut flowers sit prettily arranged in their billowing hair; crimson roses, yellow crocuses, violets, wild irises and hyacinths. My nymph has the fairest collection of them all. Even from where I crouch across the meadow from them, it is as if I can smell the fresh scents that adorn these fair nymphs; scents of flower, earth, grass and girl, all simmering in a delightful blend beneath the lazy afternoon heat. Playing happily together, with no thought of being watched, their elbows and knees flash in the sunlight, only the barest whisper of fabric gracing each of their fragile nubile shapes.

So I stay hidden behind the tree I've chosen as my blind and simply watch with abiding patience. For dryads like these here are known to be mischievous girls who love to tell tales. It would not do for Artemis to know that I was caught with one of her nymphs. Her temper is not something that I like to test.

My intention is to wait patiently for her bothersome friends to leave so that I can come upon her alone, but to my dismay they linger. And linger...

All of a sudden three satyrs charge boisterously into the meadow. Dirty, foul creatures are the satyrs of Hellas, detested for certain questionable practices they've been known to visit upon their victims. Lascivious grins contort their evil faces as their sharp hooves bite deeply into the soft earth in their mad charge. The satyrs swiftly cover the intervening distance between them. Screaming hysterically, the nymphs huddle in a frightened cluster as the satyrs cavort triumphantly around them.

In an instant, I am out from behind my tree and striding toward the disturbance. Anticipation mounts within me, for a soon-to-be heroic rescue from their plight will certainly endear me to these lovely creatures. Especially to one golden nymph of exquisite beauty in particular.

But no sooner do I step forth from cover, when I hear a shout bark crisply into the tense air. I recognize the voice.

_Dionysus._ It figures. And he's closer to them than I am. He will get all the credit.

By the time I reach them, the dryads cling worshipfully to the arm of the youthful god. He wallows in their attention while the satyrs march shamefacedly back into the forest. I have no doubt that their new master Dionysus put them up to this.

"Don't worry, my brother," Dionysus grins to me, his soft face flushed with triumph. "I've already taken care of everything. Haven't I, girls?"

He squeezes their supple bodies against him as they smile with delight into his face. But when he's not looking they dart mischievous glances at me, their huge eyes round with wonder. They know who I am. _Of course, they know who I am._ But Dionysus has briefly won their favor. Just as I begin to drown in my own disappointment, the golden-haired beauty turns and winks provocatively while pursing her red, red lips with mischief. My heart begins to beat madly in my chest.

"And with such convenient timing that you arrived," I observe wryly, my words dripping with sarcasm.

"I was wondering the same thing about you, my brother."

"Strange too, how you happened to appear from the same part of woods as did the satyrs."

"That sort of thing happens when one is in pursuit of creatures that one knows to be up to no good, my dear brother Apollo."

"My lord Dionysus," the golden-crowned nymph demurely interrupts, with a quick wide-eyed glance at me. "Are you to tell me that this is Apollo? _The Apollo?_ " The silken voice that comes out of her sounds like a musical chime and is as lovely as her appearance.

"Yes, my dear Dryope. This is Apollo. Who unfortunately was just about to _leave_."

But even as he's speaking she is slinking up to me. The gorgeous nymph works her enormous eyes in a sexy manner as she snakes her way past. She brushes ever so slightly against me. Sizzling with a sensuality I've never before encountered she turns to face me. Her powerful feminine magic puts words in my mouth I know I will live to regret.

"But only after getting acquainted with this lovely creature," I say mildly, casting a threatening glare at Dionysus. He glares resentfully back at me, raging inside, yet knowing he is unable to do anything, for I am stronger than he. Apparently he has been hoping to make this Dryope his own special property. _Too bad._ He has just lost her.

"I'd love to get acquainted with you, Apollo my lord," she murmurs seductively. She traces a finger beneath my chin. The same cool fingertip drags across my lips. A sharp fingernail slices, cutting too deeply to be incidental, but it only serves to get me even more excited. Her hand slips into mine, fitting there as though belonging. Almost as an afterthought, she casts but a brief guilty sideways look back at Dionysus.

"Then come. Let us go for a walk. Let me help you to forget about this tiresome ordeal."

And with Dionysus glaring hatefully into my back–and with a tale waiting to be told by six pairs of mischievous lips–and with a possessive sister to be eventually reckoned with, I start out across the meadow, a mischievous golden hand held daringly in mine.

We only get to the part where Dryope is nibbling upon my chin in a secluded part of the woods with a pair of soft naughty lips when we are rudely interrupted.

"What do you think you are doing?"

The voice chills me. It has an even greater effect upon Dryope. With a shriek she leaps away from me.

"Get off me!" she cries, no longer the subdued little vixen practically forcing herself upon me. A trembling hand slaps me across the cheek.

I stagger backwards from the seemingly horror-stricken nymph, confused by the sudden mood change in her.

"Yes, get off her, Apollo." Artemis' voice is cold and seethes with rage. "Have you now taken to raping my girls?"

My face flushes. "I'm not..."

"Silence!"

The demand reverberates like a thunder-shot. When Artemis chooses to call upon it, the authority that she commands is as potent as that of any other Olympian, including even Zeus. I am forced to step further backwards, the retreat doing nothing to lessen my appearance of guilt.

I notice that Dryope now crouches defensively behind Artemis as though using my own sister as a shield from me. Her feigned terror is convincing. I feel at a loss. The unfairness of it all turns my mood to blackness.

"Believe what you want," I choke out, my face as hot as the sun, "but I am _not_ a rapist."

With that I turn and stomp angrily away.

I feel Artemis' eyes burn like twin daggers into my back. For one brief moment, I wish she _would_ try to do something about it.
* * *

Darkness is falling, and the worn path leading from the road is tempting. Iapetus decides to follow it. The possibility of finding shelter away from the unpredictable public way is worth the risk. Bandits are a constant threat, but even more pressing is the need to get his father out of the cold nighttime air. His condition deteriorates daily.

The well-traveled pathway leads to a cave situated within an area of wooded rocky outcrops. It's a nice cave though. Huge timbers create a door frame of sorts and the light that beckons from inside cause Iapetus' feet to continue forward with Jack and his cargo in tow.

"Hello," he yells into the deeper parts of the cave. "Anybody home?"

"Who is it?" a female voice calls back.

"My name is Iapetus. I have my father with me. We are looking for shelter for the night."

"Hold on, I'll be there in a moment."

Iapetus draws Jack to a standstill. His father lists weakly on the donkey's back, barely conscious. If it wasn't for the rope holding him anchored he would probably slide right off. Iapetus is not a doctor. But he knows his father is failing. He only gets worse in the evening. A hot meal and a night's rest beneath shelter would be nice. But Iapetus doesn't dare to hope.

A form begins to materialize from the back of the cave and Iapetus sees a middle-aged woman of substantial girth approaching. Her garments look untended. Grease covers the front of her blouse.

Iapetus looks uneasily at the large pair of scissors in her hand.

The woman stops before them and appraises her visitors. Her eyes finally come to settle upon Iapetus' father.

She pokes the scissors in his direction. "He the one?"

"What do you mean?"

"You looking to end it sooner for your dad? Is that why you came? To put him out of his misery?"

"Excuse me, dear lady, but I have no idea what you are talking about. I just saw the path leading here and took a chance that we might find shelter for the night. My father is not well, but I really don't think he's ready to _end it_ quite yet."

The woman leans closer to his father. "You sure? He looks about ready to be snipped off." She opens and closes the scissors vigorously as if to demonstrate the point.

"Um...maybe we should go. I hope we didn't bother you." Iapetus turns to leave.

"Stop right there! Why didn't you tell me that you weren't here for that?"

Iapetus looks at her nervously. "I don't understand."

"You don't know who I am, do you?"

"I'm sorry, dear lady. I really don't"

"And don't _dear lady_ me. You sound like a donkey trying to trot like a horse when you talk like that." She eyes Iapetus closely. "You're a fisherman, aren't you?"

He swallows hard and then nods. This lady makes him nervous.

"My name is Clotho. I have two sisters who should be returning shortly. Their names are Atropos and Lachesis. We are the Moirai; or rather, the _Fates_."

"Please excuse me. I am not well versed in such things. I have not heard of you."

"I bet _he_ has." The woman known as Clotho stabs her sharp tool in the direction of Iapetus' father, who is just now beginning to stir.

"I imagine so," Iapetus allows, eying his father.

"No matter," Clotho says abruptly, turning about and signaling for him to come. "Follow me. You're in luck. Dinner is just about ready and there's plenty. It's a big cave so you might find a corner to sleep in also. That is if your donkey doesn't mind bunking down with you." She laughs heartedly and marches ahead of Iapetus as he tentatively follows.

Clotho's two sisters return while Iapetus and his father are warming themselves by the fire. Iapetus can tell that Atropos is the suspicious sort by her aloof manner and narrowed gaze. Lachesis, on the other hand, is outgoing and friendly like her sister Clotho. None of the three sisters seem to share a family resemblance. Atropos is lanky and hawk-nosed with straight dark hair, and Lachesis is tall, big-boned, and has a figure like a man.

"We're always delighted to have company!" is Lachesis' response upon hearing that they have been invited to stay for the night.

"Are you sure they're not here to bribe us?" is Atropos' distrusting response.

"Silly sister," Clotho tsks, nodding in the direction of Iapetus' father. "Does he look like he's in any position to change the course of fate?"

Iapetus doesn't quite know how to take the remark, so he remains silent. Atropos eyes the old man closely, and then finally relents. "No, maybe not. Welcome then, travelers."

"Thank you for letting us share your hearth and your hospitality," Iapetus says with sincerity. "The nights spent on the roadside have been getting more difficult as of late. We are indebted to you."

"Nonsense!" Clotho exclaims. "We can't let two travelers spend a night out in the cold when we have this great big cave to offer!"

"Not to mention the growing danger of undisciplined highway men at large," Lachesis adds. "Heroes seem to be rising up aplenty these days, yet they prefer the glamour of beastly conquests to that of practical need. If they would only concentrate their effort on cleaning up the roads Hellas would be a safer place to travel through."

Iapetus thinks back to his own experience but keeps quiet.

The stew Clotho serves almost has Iapetus thanking heaven. It's been a long time since he's eaten so well. Even his father, who usually picks lightly at his food, eats with gusto.

Iapetus is surprised when Atropos suddenly addresses him just as he is swallowing down a particularly mouthful of stew.

"I'm sorry that there's nothing we can do to help you, young man."

Iapetus looks at her in confusion. "Pardon?"

"Some things just cannot be changed or altered. Your father's thread will be cut short before you are ready."

"When are they ever ready?" Lachesis adds sadly.

"Some know their time," Clotho says knowingly. "They face the inevitable without a complaint."

"Such people are just tired of living," Lachesis declares. "But it's not what they want; it's simply their best option considering their circumstances."

Iapetus' head swings to Clotho as she weighs in with an additional thought. "Yet it's noble when one accepts his lot without whining and excessive protest. Look at Iapetus and his father here. We haven't heard a peep out of them to indicate their disapproval with their situation."

Iapetus clears his throat in discomfort. "Ah hem. What situation would that be, may I ask?"

All three sisters look at him. Atropos is the one who answers. "Don't you know?"

"Know what?"

"Your father's thread has been unnaturally altered."

Iapetus stares at her in dread. He remembers now the ominous words of the sibyl Herophila. He had dismissed her as a harmless old woman. Now, he is not so certain. Is this to be the punishment for Iapetus' lack of faith? If so, the world of gods and religion is not a fair one. Why punish the father for the sins of his son?

"Why would that happen?" he asks, fearing the answer.

"Maybe it's a punishment from the gods. Is he god-fearing?"

"Very."

"Are _you_ god-fearing?"

"Not so much," he admits.

"Ah. Therein might lay the answer."

Iapetus feels at a loss. If he does not believe, he is punished. But if he does, he is punished anew. It seems that he can't win either way. He turns his head to the ground and mutters his frustration aloud.

"It matters not. Living one's life in fear of displeasing others is hardly worth living at all."

"That is not a proper faith that you describe. Turn it around. Living one's life to please the gods; to honor and praise them, now that is a faith worth having."

"I don't see the difference."

"Maybe you're just not ready."

Iapetus meets her gaze. "I appreciate your hospitality, Atropos." He turns his head to acknowledge the other two sisters, Clotho and Lachetis. "But I will not discuss religion with you. Turn us out if you must. But I'm not going there."

They look at him sadly.

Clotho is the one who finally responds. "Very well, Iapetus. We didn't mean to upset you. It's just that we are not used to meeting someone who does not believe in the gods. You are surely welcome here; but please be patient with three old ladies who don't know how to behave in front of company."

"Thank you," Iapetus simply says.

An effort is made to conclude the evening with light conversation, but their differences hover as a dark cloud that weighs down the mood. Iapetus retires early after making sure his father is comfortably set up for the night. With the prospect of finally enjoying a good night's rest, Iapetus hopes that tomorrow they will make good progress.
* * *

At times I am but a leaf in the wind. I presume to have control over my life, but I really don't. In this way I am led to one adventure after another. As the weeks and months go by I visit city after city, I avert evil, and I watch as my popularity soars. I often find myself climbing in my sky-car and letting it take me wherever it may.

Soaring among the hillsides one day high out of sight, I catch sight of a beautiful huntress stalking a large bear. Immediately I land the craft and sneak to within view.

The bear already wears three arrows in its thick pelt; another waits on the girl's slung bow. Curious, I observe from a discreet distance as she follows the bear through trees and thickets, past rocky outcrops and dry hollows, ever persistent in her dogged pursuit of the formidable prey.

Then finally the great bear ambles awkwardly down the side of a steep ravine, grunting brutishly as dislodged rocks spill noisily below in its path. Fearlessly, the huntress pursues. The bear reaches the bottom of the slope and starts lumbering along a rocky stream bed, laboring now from fatigue. Water splish-splashes as the bear's huge paws land ploddingly one after the other, and takes on a copper tint from the blood which streams fresh from the beast's wounded shoulders.

Right on its heels, the girl, sliding the final distance, also reaches the bottom of the ravine. When she recovers, she begins to trot relentlessly after the bear. Despite the exertion of the chase, she still breathes easily.

Finally the bear, unable to continue, stops and turns to make a stand. Rising up on its hind legs it towers to a distance twice that of the huntress. The bear twists its giant jaws from side to side and growls menacingly at the slim but deadly harrier as she determinedly approaches. Not intimidated, she swiftly cocks an arrow and lets it fly with a deadly hiss. Then, another. Many more missiles does the brute take deep in his thick hide. With an angry roar the mighty bear swings down to all fours and charges. The stream erupts in a great spray angry water as the bear thrashes toward her. Even from where I watch, I can hear the bear's deep grunts as it takes arrow after arrow but keeps lurching steadily forward.

But finally, prickling with arrows, the bear collapses in the boiling reddened water, shudders one final time, and then remains still.

Wasting no time, the huntress dashes forward to the fallen mound on the ground. She squats beside the vanquished beast and draws her blade to collect proof of the kill.

While I slip away undetected.

I return to the same location three days later. Soaring high in the sky above, I search for the huntress in the hopes of seeing her again. It takes a while, but I finally spot her waking up a thin trail of dust as she runs swiftly along a dry rocky gully. This time it is she who is the hunted. For in hot pursuit sprints a young male lion, adolescent mane flapping eagerly around his muscled shoulders. Though she seems to be holding her own in the dangerous race of human and beast, she suddenly pulls to a stop in an open area and spins around to face the charging lion with her blade drawn.

I almost descend in the sky-car to intercede. The odds seem stacked against her. But I fight the impulse to protect. Instead I watch to see what happens.

What happens next catches me by surprise. For in moments the huntress has efficiently dispatched the lion and is cleaning off her blade in the dry grass, the trophy of a lion's head already secure within her skin satchel.

Impressed, I bank the sky-car and fly away.

Only to return the following day.

This time it takes me most of the day to locate her. But I finally find her marching in the direction of a small herd of deer. She can't have seen them yet, for they are too far away. But it is only a matter of time because she's heading right toward them.

I land the craft where she won't notice its descent, and make my way along the edge of the tree-line hidden in deep cover hoping to intercept her. When I catch up to her again, she is crouched low, peering through a thicket at the tawny hides of unsuspecting deer grazing before her in a large clearing. Being careful to remain unseen, I creep slowly closer until I am close enough to see the slight dusting of freckles on her shapely nose. Close enough to see the green jewels of her eyes as she squints along the arrow that she sights upon her target. And even close enough to see the small dark hairs on her slim forearm as she draws tight her bow. With her sun-darkened skin and her long black hair plaited into a single braid, she reminds me somewhat of Artemis, though with the somehow comforting blemishes of a mortal girl.

Suddenly a twig breaks under my foot as I shift my weight to find a more comfortable position.

And in a flash she spins and trains the arrow directly at me, while behind her the startled deer bound off in flight.

"Who goes there!" she demands. Cautious, she approaches in a crouch, her slim dark arms holding steady on the taut bow. Her brilliant green eyes glower in rage at losing her prey and promise vengeance upon the cause of it.

Not wanting her to mistake me for a predator and shoot me with an arrow before seeing who I am, I step forth into her sight. Her eyes widen in surprise. She lowers her bow.

"Apollo?" she asks softly in amazement.

"How do you know who I am?" I say, approaching with more boldness.

"You have a presence like that of no mortal, my lord. And with your golden hair and blue eyes, I know that you are he, the archer god."

"Yes, I am he. Apollo; at your service. I did not mean to spook your deer."

"Where did you come from, my lord? I did not see you approach."

"I was out for a stroll among the hills and only came upon you just now," I say smoothly. "What is your name?"

"My name is Cyrene, my lord."

"I'm glad to know you, Cyrene."

"And I you, my lord."

"Apollo," I correct her. "Just call me Apollo."

She smiles slightly. "No one's ever going to believe this; that I met an actual god while hunting."

"Speaking of which, is this usually your habit to hunt alone?"

"No," she laughs. "Not always. But I do better this way. The boys in my village are too loud; they frighten away all the game, and can't even shoot straight. When I go out alone, I bring back more game than all of those silly boys combined. It makes them so angry that they often wish me dead. I just laugh at them and pay them no mind."

"You must be quite the huntress."

She flashes me a boastful grin. "The other day I slew a great bear which had been terrorizing our village for months. I've slain wolves and lions with only my dagger. And I can run down a deer if I so choose. In fact, I haven't found anyone who can run faster than I."

"I believe it," I say, glancing at her long brown legs, smoothly muscled and taut with a ready energy. Suddenly feeling strangely at a loss for words, I lamely finish, "Well, it was nice to meet you, Cyrene. Maybe I can visit you again sometime."

"Please do, Apollo."

And not only do I visit her again, but I visit her often, until it turns into a daily routine. At times we hunt side by side, me with my golden bow which can't miss its target, and Cyrene with her crude, yet amazingly effective wooden bow.

At other times we simply lay together in the soft grass. With our bodies lightly touching, we listen to the whispered secrets of the wind as it passes through the flaxen sheaves around us.

Or we talk. Whispering our secrets and baring our souls. While we grow ever closer, two souls touching.

Now, when we touch there's a sweet electric charge that we both feel. Each time it happens I glance in her eyes and feel like a fallen leaf captured in her whirlpool...so much for this leaf to drink. I hopelessly drown, but I don't even mind.

"Something has been troubling me, Cyrene," I say to her during one of these visits. I've just finished playing a particularly melancholy song and the mood this has cast gets me to open up. Setting aside my lyre I reach for her hand and grasp it gently in mine. I search her eyes. "Sometimes I wonder if there's really all that much difference between gods and men."

She covers my hand with her free one. "You're being silly, Apollo. Of course there's a difference. You look like a god. You carry yourself like a god. You're stronger than any ten men I know combined. And even your voice proves that you're a god."

"Why, what's wrong with my voice?"

"There's nothing wrong with your voice, silly," Cyrene giggles. She playfully reaches up and squeezes me around the neck. "But surely you've noticed that your voice sounds like no mortal voice. When you speak to me, even right now, it goes right through me, the way strong music does when I sit close beside the instruments playing. I kind of like it."

"But I'm not talking about those kinds of differences, Cyrene. What I'm talking about is the way I think; the feelings I have inside. Those kinds of things."

"You're a lot _smarter_ than any man I know. Take, for instance, that night when we lay together beneath the stars, and I wondered to you aloud how many stars were in the sky. You simply glanced up, and it took you only a few heartbeats to count them. You told me how many were visible, a number I've never even heard of before. And you told me that there's probably a whole lot more that we don't see. Now, that's smart!"

"Five-thousand, eight-hundred and seventy-nine are visible to the naked eye. I remember. But that doesn't mean I'm smart. The stars are there for anyone to count. And I don't know why everybody seems to believe what they do about the shape of the planet and the way the sun operates in the sky. I think it's pretty obvious that our sun is simply a star like any other, and Hellas is a round ball which circles the sun along with at least a few other objects, and that the moon, in turn, circles Hellas much as Hellas does the sun."

"See," Cyrene smiles smugly, "you're smart. And the reason you know so much about the sun is no doubt because you're the sun-god!"

"Tell me this then. If I'm really an all-powerful god, why do I only remember back five-hundred and eighty-five days, to when I first woke up? Your statues and legends of us have been around for as long as anyone can remember. We have been around for only a short period of time."

"It's probably like I told you before. The old gods must've done something to you. Back in the Great Battle, you buried the old gods deep beneath the earth. But they were very strong, you know, and they may have risen up in one last attack, and the blow they struck upon you must've been so great it made you forget everything you knew before that time."

I shake my head. "That doesn't nearly begin to explain anything, Cyrene. It's almost as if it was all set up. Everything. Our existence. The way things would play out. Even our very thoughts. In fact, sometimes I even wonder if my thoughts are really my own."

She puts her fingers beneath my chin and leans toward me, her breath husky and warm against my face. "The only thoughts I care about, Apollo, are how you feel about me."

As I accept her soft parted lips, for the moment that's all I care about too.

Then it happens that one day I go to meet Cyrene as usual and she's not there. I wait all day at our agreed-upon rendezvous location. It's not until deep in the night that I return home to Olympus feeling very lonely.

For three more days it is the same. No Cyrene.

Finally I go searching. I've never been to Cyrene's village, but I find one not too far away from where she usually roams. It must be her village. I don't care at this point if I blow her cover. Loneliness has made me desperate. I descend toward the square.

It is early in the morning, a time when hard work around a village is often done in an effort to beat the sweltering heat of the midday sun when such work becomes tortuous. So in the moment when I come down from the sky, women are cleaning pots, repairing garments, and scolding the children who are racing past them in childish play. Meanwhile the men of the village are immersed in other activities; repairing farming equipment, crafting wares, and fashioning arrows and spears with which to hunt. Though I do notice too, that one group of young men appears to remain idle amidst all this productive activity. This band of young warriors is engaged in a loud boastful chatter with each other at one end of the village.

Of course, all this abruptly ceases when I arrive.

The surprised villagers can only stare aghast as I step forth from the sky-car. I happen to notice that the group of idle young men suddenly looks like they're staring at death itself when they set eyes upon me. Yes, this must be Cyrene's village. And these idle young men must be the same thugs that she enjoys showing up. Looking at their carelessly arrogant demeanor, I can't much blame her.

Nearby, a work-worn woman who sits beside her spinning wheel leans over and mutters beneath her breath to the woman next to her, "Gods, that crazy girl was right after all." The woman's words, of course, were not meant for my ears, but then again she would not have known about my super-keen hearing.

"I am Apollo." My enhanced voice punctures the silence like a thunderclap. "I've come for Cyrene."

When no one comes forward I turn my gaze upon individual faces. But no one will meet my eyes. Each face I search out turns away in discomfort.

I pick out the woman beside the spinning wheel. I stride purposefully towards her.

"Where is Cyrene, woman."

She is a plain woman, for whom life has apparently offered no new surprises in many years. Also, I can see she is a strong woman, with a determined set to her jaw and with the firmly entrenched bearing of a person who's borne up under a lifetime of hardships, and now wears it all within the harsh lines of her face. Yet even such a woman as this cowers before the anger that seethes unchecked in my face and her voice quakes when she speaks.

"But don't you know, my lord? Cyrene is gone. The underworld has her now."

I grow cold inside. The chill starts in my toes, shoots like a burning stave the length of my body and makes my head explode.

I stagger forward.

I drop to my knees.

I bow inward to the ground. Empty. Numb. Disbelieving.

I don't know how long I kneel like a cold frozen statue before the villagers, but finally the earthy weight of a calloused hand placed upon my shoulder brings me slowly back from that frigid realm where conscious thought has no place and where only pain exists.

"I'm very sorry to be telling you this, my lord," the plain woman offers. "But Cyrene's body was found in the hills three days ago. She was badly beaten and her womanhood violated. We think bandits got to her. We always warned Cyrene about going out alone, but she never listened. That poor sweet girl!"

Slowly, I nod my head. I place my hand in gratitude upon hers and stiffly raise myself erect. I try to make my departure a noble one, but my knees knock terribly as I approach my sky-car. And then feeling very ungodlike, I clutch my eyes in disgrace as tears flow unbidden from my eyes. With nothing noble about it, I flee their village in misery.

For weeks I search for the bandits who've wrenched my love away from me. But finding no one, I seek solace in the oracles at Delphi. Now, these two priestesses in my employ, Circe and her trainee, Delia, have a way of learning things. Especially secrets that have been covered up by people with something to hide. Even secrets having to do with a jealous murder concealed with conspiracy.

Thus, when the oracles reveal to me the true identity of Cyrene's murderers, I briefly lose my sanity.

Later though, my conscience begins to plague me.

Accordingly, one sunny afternoon I lay with my head in Artemis' familiar lap as she strokes her long fingers soothingly through my hair and tries to comfort me.

"You're being too hard on yourself, Apollo. They deserved it."

I squint at the magnificent upside down face framed by golden beams of sunlight. Lips of ruby red bend to me. These brush softly against my forehead, offering reassurance. Long black hair spills and covers me. It provides a brief shield from the sun. Artemis' presence fills my lungs with the clean scent of forest.

"Not all of them, Artemis," I say into her hair. "There was a woman. A plain woman, but she was kind to me."

Artemis leans back. She regards me from above. Deep in thought, she bites her lip.

"But the whole village knew who killed her, and they protected them; even if it _was_ out of fear of reprisal. Even that woman."

Grief-stricken, I slowly shake my head in misery.

"No, Artemis. It wasn't just. What I did was wrong."

I clench my eyes tightly closed and curse this golden bow of mine for spreading death so easily. I can't go on like this. The madness has to stop. Only one practicable solution comes to mind.

I have to leave everything I know.
* * *

"I can't believe that you're not more excited than this."

"I'm excited about getting out and seeing earth."

Ffion rolls her eyes. "Yeah, and you really sound like it." She changes tactics. "Ralph is going."

"News flash; he goes everywhere I go. Tell me something I don't know."

"It's being televised."

"Again; that does nothing for me. Like I said, I welcome the opportunity to get out of here for a day and to go sightsee, but traveling to the Assembly House to meet with the Earth Grand Senate is not high on my list of things I want to do."

Ffion tilts her head at her friend. "You are so strange at times, Jill Parmenter. Most people would be ecstatic at the opportunity to meet the Earth Grand Senate. What gives?"

Jill debates whether or not to confide in her friend. She knows that some of her views would not be popular with most. Jill decides upon brutal honesty. "I guess I'm just not happy with some of their policies. It would be hypocritical of me to be standing there smiling at them, while inside I was calling them all sorts of names."

"What do you care of politics and policies? This is their world. Why should we care how they decide to run it? It doesn't affect you or me."

"It's the principles that matter. Don't you understand that, Ffion? I don't want to make it seem as if I am giving tacit approval to their practices. What they advocate here on earth goes against everything that I believe in. I just can't put on for myself two separate faces; one that is trying to be true to herself and one that is putting on a mask for the public."

Ffion studies her closely. "Well, at least you are going; that's something at least. My advice is to try to enjoy yourself."

Jill swats at her arm. "You never give up, do you? Alright, I'll try."

The flight to Beijing, site of the Earth Grand Senate, is not as scenic as Jill would hope. For the most part, all she is able to see is ocean and clouds. Not that she would be able to enjoy any scenery encountered in any case. Her mind keeps running through the memorization drills she has grown accustomed to and her body doesn't want to keep still. She drums her fingers against her tensed thighs and stares out the window.

The sky around Beijing is overcast, diminishing even further any possible sightseeing possibilities. _So much for that idea._

Jill simply goes where she is directed. She feels like a sheep being herded this way and that. The airport here in Beijing is particularly crowded, so in some ways this closely supervised handling turns out to be a blessing. She wonders how anybody can navigate this busy airport on their own. To her it seems like chaos. But there must be some rhyme or reason to it because everybody seems to be moving with purpose.

And with masks. The air pollution must be horrible in Beijing. Other than for a lingering odor of rotten eggs in the air, Jill can't detect anything too far out of the ordinary. Maybe this is why none in her party have been provided with similar masks. Their exposure won't be long enough to warrant the precaution.

Somehow her group finds its way to a waiting bus. The chaos recedes for the moment as they are whisked along busy city streets in their sound-proof haven. Jill marvels at the old-world architecture mixed in with the new as she plants her face to the smudged window. Earth contains so much of this history in structure that seems to live comfortably side by side with modern things.

Why can't the people of earth be the same as their buildings?

Instead, the people of earth have become even more restrictive in their treatment of constructs. It is now illegal to live on earth if you are not the product of a vaginal delivery. Exhaustive efforts are being made to ship off to other planets any remaining constructs, with no consideration to the emotional effects this might have on those involved.

It makes no sense. You can't just close your eyes to the future. Engineered people are here to stay. They are stronger. They are faster. They are more durable. They are the perfect solution for taming the new worlds that are becoming available faster than natural-born humans can fill them.

Many of these new worlds have an abundance of natural resources that need to be tapped into by mankind. These constructs provide the work force necessary to accomplish this. Many of these worlds have environments that remain inhospitable to natural-born humans. Constructs are often custom-engineered to fit these environments.

And it's not as though there is any danger of natural-born humans ever being supplanted by these engineered humans. They are sterile. When they reach the end of their lifespan, you just make more. While Jill is not naive about the moral issues that can arise from having a created work-force such as this, these people's existence is already a fact of life. At this point, it is more a matter of doing your best with the situation.

In some ways earth is like a severe old parent who resents the success of its children, and no longer having a hold on them, decides to punish those still living at home. For that is what earth, in effect, is doing. She is only hurting herself in the process.

This is the Earth Grand Senate.

When Jill arrives at their den her opinion of them does not improve. If anything, it goes down another peg. The office complex where they conduct their business is a study in opulence. While the others in her party _ooh_ and _ah_ at the lavishness of the complex, Jill gets angry. _These people have a nerve being discriminatory towards the constructs they oppress._ They live in the lap of luxury while others suffer. It just isn't right!

"What's wrong?" Ffion asks, seeing Jill's sour expression.

"Nothing," Jill lies. There's no sense in calling attention to her feelings on the matter. She has a feeling that her opinions would not be popular. Most are content to simply go along with the crowd.

A member of the Earth Grand Senate is on hand to address the visitors. He is introduced as James Smith. Jill has never heard of him. She barely listens as he goes on and on about the importance of earth's influence in the decisions that are rendered across the galaxy. When he opens the discussion up to questions and answers, Jill shocks herself by raising her hand.

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about _us_?" Jill asks. "I mean, we are being prepared to participate in the activities of the very same construct culture that you denounce. We are on your soil. I think we deserve to know where you stand in our involvement with Project Olympus."

James Smith looks at her keenly. Jill does not consider herself a particularly brave person, but she meets his gaze head on. She is just mad enough to come right out and challenge the man.

"Project Olympus," he says, "is an entertainment enterprise taking place in a safe environment. We have no problem with that. Don't misunderstand our stance in the matter of constructs. We have no problem with the _existence_ of constructs. It is the _proper use_ of them that we have issue with. Our position is that there needs to be adequate containment of these manufactured humans. If humankind is to expand into the universe at the same pace, the existence of this workforce is a necessary evil, but we can't afford to lose sight of the _reason_ for their existence. They are here for _our_ benefit. Their purpose is to prepare the way for natural-born humans. Earth has no need for them. And neither do worlds that have already been groomed for us. I'm not saying that we do anything inhumane to the constructs left remaining after a planet's conversion. But there is no reason to add to the population of constructs as the existing population dies off naturally."

Jill sees heads nodding in agreement. She wants to scream aloud to this man that this is the stupidest argument she has ever heard, but she knows that now is not the time for such a rant. Instead, she keeps silent and lowers her head.

_Someday she will do something big to help the construct cause._ Jill makes this silent promise to herself, not knowing what she will do, only that she will do _something_. Of this she has no doubt.

# PART THREE

* * *

Out here in the deep, I find myself completely out of my element. The Danos, with its long curved bow, stately sail, and with its uniform banks of oar slots located below deck, had looked sleek and capable while sitting at rest in the harbor. But on the open sea it seems now but a fragile bit of flotsam whose only hope is to bob along helplessly at the whim of its capricious master. I feel naked and exposed in the belly of this sea. With my golden bow and familiar lyre stored safely back on Olympus and not currently a part of me, I feel strangely vulnerable.

Glancing out across the currently gentle rolling swells that control our fates, I question my decision to be here. Buying passage was not a problem. Neither was donning a suitable disguise to mask my true identity from the crew here on this ship. But this drastic change of venue is not working. As I contemplate the futility of my existence in the context of this vast sea, I have doubts that I'll find answers here.

Of course, _here_ is relative. The ocean voyage to our distant destination promises to take about two weeks; certainly not enough time to find the peace of mind I so desperately crave. But what I've paid for is a one-way ticket to nowhere. So my search for answers is just getting started. Maybe I just need to be a little more patient. Meanwhile, my–what now seems brash decision to board this long-distance vessel is allowing me a chance to get away from it all, just as I wished.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the captain leave his cabin. These on-deck quarters of his are the only other cabin space set aside for a single occupant. Mine is the other. Everyone else has to bunk below in crowded quarters. The captain, I've found, is quite a chatty fellow, cut from quite a different cloth from the sea-hardened crew he mans. Don't get me wrong though. This captain is not in the least bit soft, it is just that he sees no need to put on any of the pretensions of being the macho leader that so many others in his shoes would pretend to be. Considering how often he seeks me out, I think he is finally happy to have someone new to talk to.

He sees me along the rail and begins to approach. Out of necessity, Captain Leonidas is the only member of the forty-two seamen aboard the Danos who actually knows who I am. Neither his two personal attendants, nor the rest of the crew know that I am actually the Olympian god Apollo walking among them in disguise. They think I am simply a wealthy foreigner who has paid handsomely to travel with them. The turban and veil that I've acquired hide me well–and add to the mystery, I hope. It doesn't hurt that the crew thinks I am a little crazy for what I have chosen to do. After all, who pays for a one-way ticket to nowhere? They studiously give me a wide berth when I make the rare appearance outside of my own private cabin onto the deck.

Although it doesn't escape my notice that one of the captain's attendants, first mate Abderos, includes a nasty bit of venom in the looks he gives me. It is his cabin, after all, that the captain has me staying in. Money talks, after all.

"The Great Mistress is calm," the captain says, having noted my fixed attention to the sea. "But that can change in an instant. I hope, my friend that you're at peace with Poseidon. But I suppose I should've checked on that before we set out, eh?"

"Don't worry, captain. Poseidon is not a concern of ours." I don't bother telling him why. He probably doesn't want to hear the truth. There is no Poseidon. I should know. Other gods do live and now walk the earth, but there is no Poseidon. I say nothing. Finding out the truth might just ruin the captain's day. As a seaman, Poseidon is undoubtedly his favorite god.

"I'm glad to hear it," is his response. "Coming from you that might actually mean something."

I extend my gaze to include the featureless horizon lining the eastern seaboard. "How far would you say we are from land?"

"No more than ten miles. If we were to sail in a few miles closer you might begin to see evidence of land. Although this is the only ship that ventures so far from port, I still don't like to let too much distance separate us from land. Just in case, you know."

"I'm glad to hear that land isn't so far away. It would be unnerving otherwise."

Captain Leonidas chuckles. "Yes, most don't like to stray too far from land. Not that any of us can swim that far in any case. But enjoy it while it lasts. In a few days time we won't have much choice in the matter. The trip to the land of Hyperborea requires that we cross open sea. Depending on the wind and on Poseidon's fickle mood, that can take anywhere from a week to even two weeks. Attempting this dangerous crossing is what separates the men from the boys out here on the water. No other ship dare even try it, other than my faithful girl Danos here." He pats the worn gunwale lovingly.

"I'm still mystified as to how you found this land. Tell me, how _did_ you begin making these trade runs to the distant land of Hyperborea? If no other captain dares journey this far from Hellas, how did you even know to make what would essentially be a trip out into nowhere?"

"And most people would never hear the answer to that question, my friend! But to you I will reveal an unbelievable secret." He stretches his arms overhead and with his callused hands grasps hold of one of the halyards, his thick fingers wrapping comfortably around the stout rope. He leans his weight forward so that his lips are near to my ear. His voice is nearly a whisper as he reveals his secret. "It came to me in a dream."

_A dream?_ I look at the captain in puzzlement. How can such a thing be true? Who would stake the fortunes of a ship like this on the whim of a dream? Captain Leonidas seems far more sensible than that. I don't see him as a man who would venture forth to such an extreme distance just because he dreamed that there would be people to trade with when he got there. Something does not sound right. I file the thought away as something to press him on further and move to a related subject.

"How about the people that you trade with? Can you tell me more about them? Who are they?" _After all, I do plan on spending time in their land._

"Beyond what you already know? I told you earlier about their beastly features; how most seem to be drawn straight out of a nightmare, with misshapen features and such. It always seemed strange to me that no two creatures looked exactly alike. But then again, I only have a small sampling to draw from. Only a few representatives are ever sent out to trade with us at any given time. Beyond the physical differences, the Hyperboreans seem like a simple folk, if somewhat unwelcoming."

"How are they unwelcoming?"

"It's hard to say exactly. We've never been outright threatened so far, but these people are clearly very reclusive, for one. It almost seems as if they are hiding something. Something doesn't seem quite right about these people, and I can't put my finger on it."

He smiles suddenly, a missing tooth altering the look into more of a grimace. "But then again, you are going to become quite the expert on the Hyperboreans, now aren't you? Someday you will be telling me who they are."

"That is the plan. For the moment, at least."

"You are not having second thoughts already, are you? Because if you'd like to upgrade your passage to a round-trip ticket, I'd certainly be willing to accommodate you. The trade that we have been doing with the Hyperboreans has always proven quite profitable, but I am not above taking in a little extra coin when I can." He winks at me as if doing so might further enhance the offer. _Hardly._

"Don't worry, that won't be necessary. And as we discussed before, if I do choose to return with you back to civilization on a future trip I'll make sure to keep aside the necessary funds." I pat the padded pouch slung at my side as if for emphasis. There is enough here in this pouch to pay for a few such crossings. This is one of the unanticipated advantages to having taken over the operations of a major temple. After all, it's not as though I _stole_ anything that did not already belong to me. The donations, after all, were made to the god Apollo. _That's me._

The captain's distorted smile looks doubtful. "As you wish," he says.

A deck hand passes us carrying a coiled length of rope over his shoulder. He nods to the captain and looks at me uncomfortably. With my outlandish costume I'm used to the stares. We pause in our conversation until he is out of hearing range.

For a while we just watch the sea. At the moment, nothing is pressing.

A strange cage sits at the center of the aft deck. I have been trying to decipher its meaning since the inception of the journey but until now have remained at a loss. A large fishing net lays folded nearby, adding to the mystery. This is not a fishing vessel that we are on, but a merchant ship, so the presence of the fishing net doesn't seem to make any sense to me. While I have the captain's ear, maybe now is the time to see if I can get the mystery solved. I indicate with my hand towards the mysterious cage.

"Can you tell me what the purpose of that is?"

He follows my gesture to the strange cage. His eyes appear to darken imperceptibly. He looks back at me and seems to consider. Finally he explains. "We are attempting to capture an elusive sea creature. These creatures have taken to attacking our ship as we pass through the Sea of Ten Thousand Islands on our approach to the land of the Hyperboreans. These strange creatures known only through legend are known as merfolk. Mermen–if male, or mermaids–if female. We've only seen mermen so far. Aegeus, the King of Athens, has placed a handsome bounty on the retrieval of a live specimen. Of course, he is skeptical that the accounts that we have brought back to him are true, but the King is willing to provide quite the reward if we can prove these creatures existence to be factual. If we ever do manage to capture one of these sea creatures, the fortune we will earn might well pay for the addition of a second ship, something I've been working towards."

"And you think you can capture one of these creatures?"

"With Poseidon's permission. I have been trying for some time now, but up until now I have been employing archers and spearmen with no success. I've learned the hard way that these sea creatures are far too quick to be captured in that manner. Once, during a previous trip, a particularly skillful archer did manage to wound a merman with an arrow placed expertly into his shoulder, but the creature's partners pulled him into the ocean depths before we could retrieve him. What these mermen tend to do, is to slip in close, usually at night, attack any exposed crewman with their own skillfully wielded bows, and then retreat before we can mount any kind of a response. It's really quite maddening."

The captain gestures towards the folded net. "So this special design is what I've come up with. This contraption has been constructed to my own specifications. In the water it is virtually invisible. The netting is designed to cling onto and entangle a limb with barely any contact. All I really need for it to do is to slow down any attempt to escape by an entangled merman. That will give my archers just enough time to wound the creature sufficiently to allow for us to retrieve it from the water before its fellows can save him. I have tested this net on ordinary sea creatures and it has performed flawlessly. I have high expectations that our efforts during this trip to Hyperborea will result in more than just the usual trade goods." He winks as if to share this confidence.

I frown at the net and the waiting cage.

The captain notices my reaction. His look grows worried. "Do you not approve of this venture, my lord?"

I consider the strange story he has told me. It is with delicacy that I respond, knowing that I am just a passenger passing through these parts. "Well, considering that these mermen have been attacking your ship unprovoked, you may have on your side proven justification to respond in kind. While I'm not completely comfortable with the idea of keeping a captive locked up in a cage like you would an animal, this is your ship and your decision to make. I will not interfere. By the way," I add with a quieter voice in the form of a light-hearted chastisement, "please address me in the manner that I requested."

"Certainly, Alex. Thank you for understanding my situation. But what I would suggest is that when we reach the Sea of Ten Thousand Islands, you remain in your cabin. Less complications that way, I hope you understand. The less you see, the less you know."

"As you wish."

He gives me a knowing look. "Not that I need worry about your safety, knowing who you are and all."

"I understand the wisdom of your suggestion, captain. I will do as you say."

"Very good, Alex. And thank you for understanding."

"I suppose I should get back to my cabin," I say thoughtfully, glancing at a growing cluster of crewmen at the far end of the ship busy at work untangling tackle. The first mate Abderos directs the small team and his loud voice is beginning to make conversation difficult. Most of the other crewmen are below deck manning the oars as the calm winds we have been experiencing have not been enough to satisfy the captain's demand for forward progress.

"You don't have to, you know."

"I just think it is best. I notice that your crew seems somewhat uncomfortable when I am about."

"You do make them nervous," he chuckles. "You need a mirror to see how you look."

"I thought my disguise was a good one."

"Some things can't easily be kept hidden. You are wise to keep your distance. Still, I don't know why you are so determined to keep your identity a secret. If my men knew who was on board they would take courage, knowing that this voyage surely has the blessing from the gods."

I frown at the captain dubiously. "Let's hope it's that way."
* * *

"What do you mean, 'he's gone?'"

"We lost track of him, sir. The last we have of the Olympian is him boarding a ship heading for the Land of Hyperborea."

"What!!?" Mercer's chubby cheeks grow brilliant red with fury.

"I know, sir. That was not expected. I thought we had a better handle on him."

Mercer considers. It was his decision after all to veto the request to have tracking capability added to the everyday garb of the Olympians. In his opinion his mobile camera units; i.e. - _birds_ , were doing just fine. At the time, he didn't want anything added that might weaken his argument for more of such devices.

"But you still have him under surveillance, right?" His tone is hopeful.

"See, that's the problem, sir. There is no satellite assigned to that area. We are trying to retrofit an old unit and move it into place, but it might be a while before it is online."

"What exactly do you mean by 'a while'?" Mercer's tone has grown icy. This is not what he wanted to hear.

"Three weeks at the earliest, sir."

"Do it by two weeks or you're fired!" Mercer snaps, before closing the screen before him.

He drums the tabletop he sits behind. If he doesn't fix this blunder without delay Panagopoulos will have his head. It doesn't matter that it was the ineptitude of the people working under him that caused the foul-up. If Apollo goes missing, it will not be one of his underlings that Panagopoulos will look to. _He_ is the one responsible for the Olympians. And he _will_ fix it.

Mercer swivels in his chair to address another screen. The squeak from the chair has become almost comforting to him.
* * *

I feel like the proverbial Jonah. Ten days later finds me sitting on the edge of my sharply listing bunk wondering if my presence on this ship is proving to be, not a blessing from the gods, but instead a curse. For three long days we have been riding out a brutal storm. Already, three men have been swept overboard. Another died from injuries sustained after slamming his head against a damaged boom that came loose and was left swinging freely above deck at the center of the maelstrom.

And now we are limping into the waters belonging to the Sea of Ten Thousand Islands, with half the crew suffering from sea sickness and the other half weak with fatigue after doing bitter battle with an unforgiving sea. Wind rattles through my small unenclosed window while the rain pelting the ship outside is driven sideways to spray me with an angry mist. Though the moon remains hidden in the storm-filled sky to deny me a timetable, I would guess it to be nearly midnight. _This is about as miserable as it gets_ , I think to myself. At the moment, I have a feeling that no one on board right now is particularly enthusiastic about the prospect of facing any possible confrontation with mermen out there under these conditions, even if doing so does mean the opportunity to take a valuable captive.

As if in response to this very thought, a sudden shout wakes me from my reverie.

"Mermen! I see six! Starboard side!"

I hear the sounds of frantic scrambling on deck as the crew responds with all the precision learned from a much-practiced drill. Forced to remain in my cabin at the captain's orders, I can only guess at the activity taking place amidst the storm. Peering through the tiny window doesn't help much. The view is only towards the portside which is, for one, facing to the wrong direction. And secondly, the darkness and gloom outside my window is so great that even with my enhanced vision I can only make out dark shadows moving against an even darker background when a crewman does venture into range. But the shouts that ring out beneath the fury of the storm do help me to keep somewhat abreast of what's going on outside.

"Net in the water!"

"Feeding line!"

"That's enough! Stop the winch!"

I hear the distant ping of arrows; first a flight going out from the ship, and then incoming missiles. All of a sudden I hear,

"We need help over here! Epiktetos is down! Someone stop the bleeding and get him below! Now!"

"My god! There's more of them out here than we thought!"

The play by play of the battle goes on, while frustrated, all I can do is to sit back and listen. Finally, I hear,

"We caught one! All archers to the stern! Quickly! Before he gets away!"

"You nailed him! Good shot, Diokles!"

"Bring up the net! Get on it! Faster! Everyone to the stern!"

The ship seems to groan as the sudden weight of the net pulls against it. It seems that it must be more than one merman's body on the net for it to be putting such a strain on the ship, unless others are helping the entrapped victim. All the while arrows from the mermen continue to thud outside my cabin walls as they miss their human targets and find only the ship's timber.

"They're all over the net! I've never seen anything like it! What the... Archers, over here!"

"Captain, you're hit!"

Another voice. "Tend to the captain!"

"Let's bring it up!"

"Everyone; heave-ho!"

Suddenly there is a loud scraping sound accompanied by a gush of water and I can visualize the net being winched up onto the deck; maybe with its trophy. The commotion has reached a level of pandemonium, but still I hear a surprised cry find its way above a sudden barrage of exclamations.

"Good god, it's a bleeping mermaid!"

"Watch out, she's got a knife!"

I hear a male shriek as someone evidently feels the edge of this blade. This is followed by angry sounds and then a dull thud of something heavy striking flesh and bone.

"Okay, she's down! Someone hold her while we untangle this!"

"Quick! Let's get her into that cage before she comes to!"

Uneasy mutterings and references to various sea deities accompany this frantic effort of the crewmen. Even from the muffled prison of my cabin I get the distinct impression that this captive is much more than what anyone ever bargained for.

The sounds of frenzied activity continue long into the night, and by the time things start to calm down as the mermen are painstakingly driven away, I ascertain that six more crew members have been either killed or severely injured by the mermen's arrows, and that the captain's own situation is dire.

By daybreak I finally decide that I've had enough of my seclusion. The storm seems to have abated somewhat and the rain is coming down more vertically than it has been for the last few days. More importantly, the battle with the mermen has ended. My promise to Captain Leonidas to keep to my confinement has been honored.

As I leave my cabin with my disguise carefully in place I notice a crowd gathered around the cage centered on the deck. First mate Abderos is at the core of this group and he glares at me with unmasked belligerence as I approach. I peer past him into the cage to see what it is that they have caught.

Awake now, the creature that stares furiously back at the faces gawking at her is stunning, to say the least. _Otherworldly._ If I didn't see this creature with my own eyes I would've thought such a being impossible to exist in the real world. Her dark violet-tinted wet tresses are a tangled mess but they don't even begin to obscure the flawless beauty that radiates outward from a set of brilliant turquoise orbs. The mermaid is barely clad in a thin damp wrap with two strategically placed seashells that probably accentuate rather than hide the provocative mounds that betray her gender. Ocean-themed jewelry adorns both her slim wrists and delicately curved neck and serves to highlight her unique coloring, which is a subtle shade of lavender. It's not that she boasts a deep tone of that unusual coloration, but she has really more of a hint of lavender that seems only a few shades off from Artemis' own sun-bronzed flesh, as an example.

The lower part of the mermaid's anatomy that is in no way human is curiously textured, with the smooth skin of her abdomen transitioning into an alien skin of translucent scales ranging from amethyst to sapphire, to fuchsia, to cerulean blue–taking in all the colors of the rainbow and everything in between all those extremes. The mermaid is young too; probably barely out of adolescence. Everything about her appearance is totally alien, but in a dazzling manner, I might add. Curled up protectively beneath her, the supple fish-like tail; or rather _flipper_ , is not as large as I would've imagined, considering how mobile these creatures appear to be in the water, but even stationary the wide flipper seems to thrum with a latent power.

The mermaid is also injured. I don't see evidence of the arrow that must have pierced her shoulder, but the now-crusted blood lining the area in question and the faded stains that run down her side give ample proof that her capture must have come at a painful cost to her.

"So this is the much sought after prize?" I ask no one in particular.

"What's it to you?" Abderos sneers.

I feel the mermaid's eyes upon me. I turn and look at her. The reaction I feel when our eyes meet surprises me. There is definitely a jolt of something like pure electricity that runs through me at the contact _. What was that all about?_ I notice that her eyes widen also for just a brief instant. There is an undeniable spark of chemistry that pulses between us, but possibly something even more. I let my gaze linger, but she has looked away feigning disinterest.

"Just curious," I say in belated response, struggling to keep my voice steady after the strange experience I've just had. "How is the captain?"

"Resting in his cabin. It doesn't look good for him." He chuckles meaningfully; a scornful sound. "Too bad for you."

I ignore his words. "I think I'll check on him."

Abderos seems ready to say something else stupid but then thinks better of it. Instead he just nods his head. "Go ahead. He is doctored up though. He might not be coherent."

I incline my head in acknowledgement and head over to the captain's cabin across deck.

A crew member is attending to the captain when I arrive. I immediately discern that an arrow has pierced the captain's right lung, and though the shaft has been removed and the wound carefully bandaged, the amount of bleeding that has no doubt been taking place internally in both his lungs and inner organs will eventually lead to his demise. A fast approaching demise at that. There is nothing that can be done for the poor captain. Alas, only a rudimentary knowledge of typical medical procedures has been included in the extensive storehouse of information that has been mysteriously filed away in my mind. Not enough to fix him; only enough to condemn him.

Abderos, as first mate, is next in line to command the ship when the captain soon passes. This is bad news. The wheels begin to turn in my head as I contemplate on how I am going to deal with the foul man. Things might to get very complicated shortly. A number of possible scenarios flow through my mind but I dismiss the automatic response as being inappropriately premature. The poor man's not even dead yet. I turn to leave.

"Lord Apollo?" The voice is strained and weak. "Is it you?"

"Shh," I warn. "It's only Alex."

The captain's attendant, hearing the exchange, looks at me curiously.

"The captain's delirious," I explain. "He's calling upon the gods for help."

"Help me, Apollo," the captain moans. A trembling hand reaches for me. I brusquely push the hand aside.

"Give the captain more alcohol," I instruct the attendant. "He is in much pain."

I leave the cabin just as the attendant reaches for the nearby bottle of the aforementioned painkiller.

The commotion around the mermaid's cage has intensified when I appear back on deck. I pause outside the captain's door to listen in to the nearby discussion as light rain continues to fall around me.

"The only requirement is that she be delivered alive," someone is arguing in a voice that reeks of filth and seediness. "Nothing is said about what happens to her before that."

"But what does the captain have to say about it?"

I hear Abderos' coarse voice. "The captain is as good as dead! He matters not in this discussion! I am in charge now! I decide what is done to this sea wench!"

"I think we should ask the captain while he's still coherent. Maybe..."

"Silence! I will not tolerate dissention on this ship!" Abderos glowers at the men gathered around him. These seem to be the foremost-ranking members of the crew. I listen curiously. What happens in the next few moments will determine how this ship is going to be run. That will have a direct impact on both me and my plans. Abderos' look grows wicked. "And I think I may have a way for each of you to prove his loyalty to the new order of things. It involves sharing in a piece of the action... with _her_!"

Abderos' suggestive stabbing gesture towards the imprisoned mermaid has an immediate effect on me. I feel the blood inside my head begin to boil. While not wanting to give away my thoughtfully planned disguise, I can't let this man carry out his evil design. My thoughts churn as I think about how to handle the situation while minimizing the damage that will probably result from my acting in her defense. I can remove from duty anyone I choose–no one here has the power to stand up to a god, after all, but I cannot sail a ship alone. This is not one of the skills imprinted on me. Somehow I will have to manage my actions in such a way that the remainder of the crew is not compromised to the point of ineffectiveness.

I casually begin to approach the gathered party just as the mermaid's cage is being jostled opened by two burly men brandishing large blades. The suddenly agitated mermaid presses herself against the far side of the cage, sensing danger. Abderos is already unfastening his belt as he enters the cage along with his two henchmen. Heat rushes to my forehead. A fervent desire to _kill him_ screams across my consciousness and I barely restrain myself from doing just that.

"Hold her still for me," he commands brusquely. "But let her scream as much as she wants. I like it that way."

"Abderos!" I demand in a voice of authority.

He swings around. His jaw drops open in disbelief. He can't believe that someone could be so brazen as to challenge his authority, especially when this challenge comes from a hated passenger and not even a fellow crew-member.

"Let her be!"

"Says who?"

"I say it."

The voice comes from behind me and I turn around in surprise along with everyone else to see the captain sagging against the doorframe to his cabin. His face is as pale as death.

"You are a wicked, evil man, Abderos," he says in a surprisingly strong voice that is dripping with contempt. "I've known it all along. I should have tossed you overboard a long time ago."

"But captain..."

"Silence!" The captain grits his teeth and forces himself to straighten so that he now stands fully erect. A thin trickle of blood squeezes free from his tightly checked lips. He glares heatedly at his first-mate. "I hereby exercise my right as captain of this ship. Before these witnesses I declare you, Abderos of Cyprus, former first-mate of the Danos, to be unfit to serve on this ship. Kyrillos is hereby named first-mate in your place!"

And with this last gasp of effort he slides down the side of his door frame and collapses into an unconscious pile of human flesh onto the deck. The attendant quickly bends down beside him. After checking the captain's pulse he soberly straightens.

"The captain is dead," he announces in a toneless voice.

All eyes turn to Abderos, and then to the one whom I assume to be Kyrillos, the shipmate who had, until a moment ago, been Captain Leonidas' third in command. I note with relief that this man Kyrillos is the same man who had earlier called into question Abderos' commands. Maybe a sense of order can be maintained on board this ship after all.

"You heard the captain," Kyrillos says, wasting no time in assuming command. "Now get out of there," he gruffly commands the men still lingering indecisively in the opening of the mermaid's cage.

Abderos turns to the surrounding crewmen who had moments ago been his loyal cronies. "Are you going to pay heed to the ramblings of a dead man? I am the rightful captain of this ship! Bind that imposter!" He thrusts his hand towards Kyrillos.

I detect a sudden blur of movement, and then the would-be usurper's eyes open wide in disbelief. He slowly lurches to his knees. Separating herself from the big man, the mermaid sinuously slithers back into a corner of the cage, a stolen blade gripped tightly in her fist. The crewman she had taken the blade from stares down at his empty hand and then at the mermaid. Fresh blood drips from the steel in her hand. Suddenly all eyes turn to Abderos in horror. Slowly, as if in slow motion, the former first-mate's head slides messily from his shoulders as his large body falls forward to land with a dull thud onto the already sodden decking.

Wow. She did that? I didn't know anything could move like that. This sexy-looking mermaid is one lethal sea demon.

Abderos' henchmen hustle fearfully from the cage and the door is diligently locked. All eyes stare at the _crouching_ mermaid–if such an assumed position can rightly be called that. Her unusual tail is bunched menacingly beneath her and she looks ready to strike out at the slightest provocation. A pair of blazing turquoise eyes darts from one gaping face to another as if in challenge. Finally they settle on mine. The others begin to notice her choice of contact. They all look at me as though I'm somehow responsible for the deadly creature in the cage.

"We don't know you, stranger," Kyrillos says to me in a cautious tone, "but tell this creature to give us back the knife."

As if it could be that easy!

Despite having my doubts, I indicate that I'll try and approach closer to the cage. I stop when I am but an arm's length away. The imprisoned mermaid refuses to retreat but instead stays frozen in the same position on the other side of the bars. I hold out my hand for the knife and meet her unsettling pair of eyes with a steady gaze. I resist the impulse to reach inside the bars and gently sweep aside the matted hair that tumbles down into her face. Something inside me wants to stroke the proud curve of her high cheekbone. I want to fold her against my chest and protect her from all things evil. I want to... Wait a minute–

Where are these thoughts coming from?

I shake my head to clear it. It is almost as though this sea creature has been given a powerful glamour that captivates her victims and I have been hopelessly caught in its web. Her eyes continue to burn into mine, glistening with resentment, but then finally they flinch as she succumbs to my will. I am, after all, a god–even if she doesn't know it. She bows her head and reluctantly hands me the blade.

I hear a sigh of relief behind me from the observers. Dark mutters that have all of a sudden become bold are proof that not all have been caught in her glamour.

I turn to face Kyrillos. Steel hardens the edge of my voice. "She will not be touched."

I say it as a statement and not as a question. For I mean it as a statement and not as a question. As true as I am Apollo the Olympian god, this mermaid will not be touched while I am aboard this ship. These crewmen can think what they like, but this is one unalterable fact that I mean to enforce even if it entails revealing my identity.

The now Captain Kyrillos glares for a moment at the implied order given by a mere passenger aboard his newly acquired charge, but then acquiesces. He seems to know instinctively that he has but one choice here. His voice is firm with authority but not unkind. "She will not be assaulted by any of my crew. But I think it best, stranger, that you go back to your quarters and let me handle things from here."

I begin to turn away. Behind me I hear Kyrillos' commanding voice begin to address his crew. "Don't just stand there! Clean up this mess! And get this creature some food! No, I don't' know what she eats! Give her some fish! And someone attend to the captain's body! We can't just leave it there like that!"

Back in my cabin, I think about the captivating creature imprisoned in the cage. She is so alien, yet I feel so irresistibly drawn to her. Something about her intrigues me. Questions spill free in my mind. What kind of life has this crew pulled her from? Does she live her life completely under the sea? Apparently she breathes air with no difficulty. How about under water? Does she have gills? Standing as close to her as I had been, I saw no evidence of such, but some alternative form of breathing apparatus must have been designed into her body.

Designed?

The sudden thought leaves me musing off center. Yes, she has to have been designed. Something like this does not happen in nature. Taking it a step further–being designed implies a designer. Who is this Great Designer? What is His purpose? What is _our_ purpose? For a moment I feel a strange kinship with the mermaid. I too, am a clear product of imaginative design–as are all the other Olympians.

None of us are natural.

I experience a sudden chill in my bones at the revelation. The truth of this silent statement should have been obvious, but I've never let it be acknowledged by my full consciousness. I know that I am different as are all Olympians, but until this moment I've never thought about the implications so seriously. It's true that my soul is wrapped up in a husk of flesh that embodies a human's highest personifications of perfection, but inside I am no different than any of the mutated lifeforms that have been sprinkled across Hellas.

I am an aberration. Just like this mermaid. Made only to serve a purpose–someone else's purpose; not my own.

The reality of this truth hits me like a swift kick to the stomach. And here I have been so vain thinking myself superior to all other creation. _A god even._ -Well, actually it is true that maybe I _am_ a little superior to the rest of humanity, but that difference is only superficial. I should be ashamed of how I've looked down on others! The realization of what I am is humbling.

I bow my head and try to suppress the worrisome thoughts that this train of thought is allowing to take root. Instead I force my thoughts to return to the mermaid.

What will become of her? Does this King of Athens intend to keep her locked up in a gilded cage for the rest of her life? Will crowds come from all over Hellas to stare and point at the strange creature put on display? Will this be her fate?

Will I even allow this?

It is a sobering thought, one best left for another day.

I stretch out on my bunk. Maybe I can take advantage of the momentary lull in the action to catch some sleep. It is a fact that I haven't slept properly in days. Sure enough, in moments I am snoozing comfortably.

Unfortunately this 'lull in the action' does not last long.

At some point later this same day, the mermen return with a vengeance. The battle is renewed. I am awakened by the loud shouts and sounds of the crewmen on deck as they frantically try to defend the ship. From what I have discerned, a daylight attack is a first for these deadly sea creatures. This captured mermaid must be important to her people. The mermen fight with frenzied determination. They seem to take chances that they hadn't taken before. Many of them succumb to the arrows of the ship's archers. A dozen members of the human crew also fall, leaving the merchant ship badly understaffed, but the remaining mermen are finally driven away.

Almost immediately, with no break in between, the weather again deteriorates. Outside my small window day has turned nearly as dark as night. A furious wind roars continuously in the ominous sky like the tortured moan of a wounded sea monster and threatens to tear free from the besieged ship any exposed piece of timber. Solid sheets of rain pound with an angry drummer's cadence upon the roof of my cabin. I catch brief glimpses of jagged cliffs as they rear up in the hazy fog above our recklessly tossing vessel and threaten to smash us to pieces if we get too close.

We are firmly in the clutch of the Sea of Ten Thousand Islands. The timing could not be worse.

For a moment I worry about the condition of the mermaid left exposed on the deck in her cage. But then I console myself with the knowledge that she if probably better off than any land dwelling person would be under the same circumstances. Water _is_ her element after all. Still, I can't help but worry about her, hoping that the caged beauty is not frightened by the fury of the storm she has been left exposed to.

When the hapless Danos strikes the hidden ledge I am thrown clear across the cabin. My head slams against the wall with nearly enough force to render me unconscious. But I am glad that I remain awake because I realize in the same moment–that judging from the great shudder that occurs the ship has just been rent in two as a result of the furious collision and in moments we might all be underwater. Below deck I hear the screaming of men trapped in the wounded vessel. It is a death trap down there, but still it is probably better to be one of those men than the seamen who had been above moments ago. These have all been swept away. I hope that some of these trapped crewmen will find a way to survive. But their prospects don't look good.

I ignore the wetness pooling on my forehead from a deep cut and kick open the door leading from my cabin. We are listing terribly to one side but the greatest challenges to maneuvering across the deck are the raging winds and the crashing waves that make it nearly impossible to avoid being tossed overboard.

I set my sights on the cage still lashed tightly to the steeply banked deck. Fortunately the splintered rupture that runs across the deck from the cracked hull is just beyond the cage, leaving the mermaid's quarters still intact and somewhat accessible. Well, at least as accessible as can be hoped, considering the circumstances.

The mermaid's small hands hold tightly to the bars to her cage as she watches the destruction going on around her. Her body swings to and fro, buffeted by the fury of the storm. Still, she grimly holds on. She sees me. It seems that her eyes light up with hope but I can't be sure.

I make my way over to her by grabbing hold of the sky-pitched gunwale for stability. My progress is difficult because not only is the angled wood decking slick beneath my feet, but the ship keeps moving as violent waves tug on it like a starving dog to a bone. Fierce rain stings my cheek as it is driven sideways. One rogue wave crashes over me and I hold on desperately until the water drains away. I am left drenched, saturated, and riddled with the bitter smell of salt. Finally, I reach a point above the mermaid's position and let myself slide down the decking to the cage that holds her prisoner. With a small cry she jumps aside in surprise as I latch onto the bars imprisoning her.

Strangely, I have no thought for my own safety, only for that of this exotic creature. It does occur to me that she will soon be freed anyway when the sea eventually smashes apart this cage along with the rest of the ship, but still I feel a need to intervene. Call it heroics, call it vanity; call it whatever you want–but I want to be the one to free her.

The mermaid looks at me with wide eyes. Long black hair swirls about her head with a life of its own, animated by the fury of the storm. Her full lips part slightly in skepticism as she realizes what I'm about to attempt. Gripping the solid wood bars in each hand, I bend myself with power. The familiar flow of supernatural strength rushes to my hands and the bars in my hands snap apart like kindling. I reach for another set of bars and repeat the effort. Soon, I have made an opening wide enough for the mermaid to pass through.

She darts through the space with serpentine agility. Her cool bare flesh brushes against mine, mocking me with the shudder this arouses from somewhere deep inside myself. She looks back at me once, and then dives effortlessly into the water like a quick spray of water rejoining its element.

She is gone. Just like that.

What did I expect?

Suddenly sober, I contemplate my situation. _This is bad._ As I watch, a few survivors manage to struggle forth from below and out onto the deck like squirming maggots flushed from a dead carcass. None of these frightened crewmen last very long. Their cries fade into oblivion with the waves that crash over the side of the ship and either drag them away or pound them against the rocks.

Thinking about my dilemma, I get an idea. It's probably not a very good idea, but it's the best one I can come up with on short notice. I draw forth the knife I've been hiding in my belt and begin to cut away on the lashings that hold down the wooden cage. This cage will have to do as my flotation device. It is a desperate plan, I know, but what else can I do?

Freed of its bindings, the wooden cage races down the sloped deck with great enthusiasm. I hold on tightly and ride it like a pro. It slams hard against the lower gunwale very nearly dislodging me and then tumbles overboard with me hanging on as a determined passenger. Freezing water greets me rudely.

I suck my breath in sharply at the sudden shock of water and fight my way back to the surface by working my hands up the bars. Not proving very buoyant, most of the wooden cage insists on remaining slightly submerged, so only my chin manages to break the surface. And that, only for brief snatches that allow just barely enough time for me to gasp in a ragged breath of air. It seems like a miserable alternative to the hulking ship sitting gutted on the rocks nearby, at least still out of the water. The overpowering smell of brine fills my senses. Nothing exists for me other than an angry sea. I begin to doubt my current choice of residence.

I squint through the driving rain and darkness when I next get a chance. Maybe I can go back. At least there I was out of the water. But no; it's too late now. The ship is no longer close enough to swim to. It is growing ever more distant the further I and my cage drift away. Soon, I will be alone out here. The thought is somewhat frightening.

I watch detachedly as the Danos suddenly slides beneath the waves. It happens with no fanfare. There is no sound, no big splash– _nothing_. It is almost reproachful that it succumbs with so little fight. I begin to feel quite fond of this cage that keeps me mostly afloat. This feeling lingers even as nightfall begins to settle into my lonely world out here lost in a turbulent sea. But then, as the hours begin to creep away, an unmanageable shivering starts to set in. My fingers begin to grow numb and I start to realize the full gravity of my situation.

I'm not going to make it.

Even if I were to swim for it, there is no _it_ to swim towards. I know; crazy isn't it? Here I am right in the thick of the Sea of Ten Thousand Islands, and there is not an island or even a bare suggestion of land anywhere in sight. Of course there is always the possibility that I'm surrounded by islands, and it's only because of the darkness and the severity of the storm that they are hidden from sight. But while being a realistic assessment, that thought doesn't give me the courage to give up this purchase and search out such a fanciful salvation. Striking out on my own would probably mean a certain death. While staying attached to this floating object hardly seems better, at least there remains a chance–even if remote, that it might float me to safety.

Out of desperation I decide to pray. If my lips move silently or not, it does not matter for the wind steals every sound for its own anyway and the surf swallows any breath attempted.

"I know your name is not Poseidon, but if you are out there, please hear my plea: Do to me as you wish, but don't let my life be in vain. If I brought into this world more pain than I did comfort, I deserve to die. If I cannot change the balance, do not prolong the wretchedness of this life. But if I can be fixed, then let me live another day and I will try to do good."

My ill-formed words fade away into an empty vacuum. I feel silly for even trying. Only water and wind slosh against my salt-scorched ears in answer.

Finally I cannot hold on any longer. Even my mind is starting to feel numb. I feel my fingers slipping, their sensitivity diminished into a strangely detached sensation.

I am going to die.

Suddenly I feel a cold hand squeeze hold of my numb forearm.

I force my eyes to open, not even realizing that they had closed. Even in the blackness of the sea I recognize the turquoise eyes staring up at me from out of the depths. I smile inanely. She came back for me.

As my hands slip from the bars of the cage and I fall towards the inky depths below, my one regret is that she came too late.
* * *

"One more set," Francisco, the drill instructor shouts with encouragement.

Already panting, Jill wipes her brow and starts into the well-practiced routine. From the corner of her eye she sees Ralph steal a glance her way. He is busy chatting with his fellow guides over a cup of coffee while the small group of contest participants sweat and grind it out in preparation for their big moment. Jill stifles the silly grin that wants to spread across her face. She knows that in the short time that she's been in training, unexpected results have already been achieved. Jill almost doesn't look like the same person who arrived here a few short months ago. Her body is lean and curved in all the right places, her color is healthy, and her aura is bright. She has not been the only one to notice.

Beside her, Madhuri finally gives out. "I'm done," she gasps in defeat, heading to the side. "They are going to kill me even before I get on set!"

Jill flashes Madhuri a sympathetic smile but keeps on uninterrupted.

"Come on, enough already!" Toby cries, sweating like a pig but refusing to give in to his stocky body's demands. "What are you trying to do; torture us?"

"Just ten more!" Francisco urges with enthusiasm. "Ten, nine, eight, seven...!"

Jill focuses on getting everything she can out of the final reps. When she finishes her last rep, she gasps triumphantly.

"Very good! Excellent even!" Francisco crows with delight. "And now, guess what? You're done for the day! Go ahead and run along to the showers. But don't forget to practice like I told you! Be back tomorrow; same time, same place!"

"Like we have a choice," Ffion grumbles at my side as we make our way down the wide corridor leading to the showers.

"I actually don't mind it anymore."

"Of course you don't. Look at you! Me, I'm just as skinny as I've always been. More tired, maybe, but I have absolutely nothing to show for all this hard work!" Ffion shakes her sweat-dampened blonde curls in disgust. But then she considers. "Well, at least my kids will still recognize me. I got that going for me at least."

Jill surprises herself with a very girlish giggle. "And at least you will be able to keep up with them as you chase them around the house after all this!"

Ffion adds her own giggle. She suddenly turns sober as she pauses outside the shower room and clutches Jill's arm. "I do miss them something terrible. What am I going to do, Jill?"

"We're halfway there, Ffion. It will be worth it when it's all over. Just think of the stories that you will be able to tell."

"I guess," Ffion allows doubtfully. "I still wonder if maybe I should've sold my winning ticket. We could've been rich. I could've taken care of my family better than I could ever have dreamed. Am I being selfish in doing this, Jill?"

"I don't think so, Ffion. This way you have a chance at doing both; of living a dream _and_ taking care of your family. I hear that opportunities and endorsements are waiting for us after the show that will make it worthwhile monetarily, in addition to having the time of our life. I think you did the right thing."

"Thank you, Jill," Ffion says with a relieved smile. "You always have a way of making me feel better. Now let me see if I can get rid of some of this icky sweat!"

Jill follows the blonde girl into the shower room. She has no doubts that _she_ did the right thing. The more deeply that she has become immersed in the preparations for the big event, the more keenly she feels that her role in it will be significant. It is just a feeling, but it drives her to ready herself for this moment with an energy that she didn't know she has.
* * *

A very different world greets me when I awaken. This world has trees, a blue sky, and yes–even sunshine! The only thing left remaining from the miserable world I left behind is the only thing I would've taken with me–the beautiful lavender face of the exotic angel staring down at me from a concerned pair of startling turquoise eyes. _Am I in heaven?_

The mermaid tosses her unruly mane of dark hair and it falls like a billowing cape around her bare shoulders and into my face. I notice that her hair is no longer wet. She must have been out of the water for quite some time looking after me. Why is she doing this? Why is she helping me? She could have gone back to her people, instead she came back to help me. This gorgeous mermaid really is an angel.

I go to sit up but she stretches the flat of her hand out and pushes me back down.

"Stay right there," she commands in a voice thick and sensual like warm honey. "You need time to recover."

I look at her in astonishment. "You talk?"

She rolls her huge eyes in irritation and 'puffs' some loose strands away from her shapely mouth. "What did you expect? Despite what you seem to think, I am not some kind of animal, you know."

"I know you're not. I just didn't think..."

"That's just it; you didn't think!" the mermaid lashes out, startling me with the sudden heat in her voice. "That's the problem with you humans! You never think! You just assume things and don't bother to learn otherwise."

She twists sideways so that only her back is left facing me. Before she does this, I manage to see the small tear that had started to slide down her lavender cheek. I've upset her. That's not what I was meaning to do. _She must think me so thoughtless._

I'm forced to stare at the back of her head. What my eyes really want to do is to drift downwards towards the shapely curve of her hips but I won't show such disrespect to her person. At least that is how such goggling would feel under these circumstances. I feel compelled to improve her opinion of me. Compassion is not something I have freely been able to express as a much-spoiled Olympian but I let it temper the tone of my voice.

"I take it your experience with humans has not been great."

Her shoulders heave sharply. She wipes her eyes. "You can say that again!" she manages, sniffling back the tears.

"Can you...? Wait," I interrupt myself. "First tell me your name. We can't have a proper conversation if I don't know who you are."

"My name is Calypso." Her tone is still clipped, but I sense that her irritation is already fading.

I wonder briefly what to tell this mermaid named Calypso. The disguise that had kept my secret had been so carefully planned but those accouterments of an earlier necessity have long since been lost at sea. I decide to tell her the truth. "I am Apollo."

Her turned head nods once in the affirmative. "Yes, I know."

I inhale sharply. "You knew? How?"

"My people do know of the Olympian gods. I saw that you were different than other humans. You tried to hide it, but I could see that you were much more than what you were pretending to be."

I reflect soberly on her words. "Is that why you decided to help me?"

"No, I helped you because you saved me from the men. Thank you for that, by the way."

"And thank you too, for saving me from the sea. I owe you my life."

"That is not altogether true." Calypso finally turns her face to look at me. The area around her eyes is still raw but she has regained her composure. "I was not in time to save you. Your body stopped breathing. It was a long time before I could drag your non-breathing body to this mountain island, through the caves that led inside, and into this hidden oasis at the center of the island. You are quite heavy, by the way," she adds with a look of disapproval. "I thought you were dead, but it seemed to be the proper thing to do. I knew that humans bury their dead, so that is what I was going to do to you. Out of respect, that is. When you began to wake up, I knew then for a certainty that you were a god."

"Still, I want to thank you. I will not forget what you did. By the way, how is your shoulder? I saw that you were shot by an arrow."

"It's fine; my kind heals quickly."

"I'm glad."

I push myself into a sitting position and this time she does not try to prevent me from doing so. Calypso doesn't draw away but remains close at my side and I think for a moment how _right_ this feels, with the delightful smell of her hair blowing into my face and the warmth of her toned and curvaceous body so close to my own.

Somehow I manage to pull my attention away from the incredible creature for just a moment, at least long enough for me to examine my surroundings. Calypso called this place an oasis–and I call it a paradise. A verdant forest surrounds us, complete with a gurgling stream running past us that is bordered on both sides by a stunning array of flowers made up in a rainbow of brilliant colors. We happen to be nestled in the center of a small clearing lined with soft groundcover that is sprinkled throughout with small yellow flowers that smell suspiciously like butterscotch. The backdrop to our hidden paradise is provided by a towering wall of deep-fissured rock that surrounds us on all sides, its circumference great enough to allow for lengthy exploration of our paradise. While the height of the cliff-face is not great enough to block out the sun, it is yet easily high and steep enough to discourage any possible attempt to scale it, either to get in or either to get out.

"This place is amazing," I say in a hushed voice.

"It is my secret spot. I come here when I want to get away from it all. Sometimes I need a place like this to do just that."

I detect a note of weariness in her voice. "What is it that you do that you need to get away to a place like this?"

"King Atlas is my father," she says matter-of-factly. "I am the sole princess of the Jengu nation. That is what we call our people. We are also called merfolk."

A princess? Figures.

"I see," I say slowly. "That is why your people fought so hard to rescue you."

"Yes, it was stupid of me to venture so close to your ship. I was just curious, and see what it cost me! All those lives lost! Just because some silly girl wanted to see what was on a human ship!"

Without warning Calypso begins to sob disconsolately. I put an arm around her slim shoulders. She sinks into me. All too keenly, I can feel her almost bare body shuddering against mine. _What is it with her? Is she always this emotional and fickle?_

"I thought your people were attacking the ship."

Her sobs catch in her throat. "We've never attacked first! Each time my people try to parley, you humans start to attack us! You are the ones who don't see reason!"

I think about her words and try to see things from her point of view. I think about what Captain Leonidas had told me. I think about how the battle had developed with the merfolk, what was it–only a little more than a day ago? If the mermaid's perspective is the correct one, the seafaring human-folk of Hellas have it all backwards. It's funny, how wrong some people can be about a situation. I think about the lives that were lost because of this misunderstanding. See what damage such error can cause?

"It's all pretty stupid, isn't it?" I acknowledge, feeling my chin vibrate against her head as I speak. A tangled mass of spilled hair plays with my face. I ignore the tickle this gives me and enjoy the intimate closeness of her clean-smelling body. "People can be so ignorant. I wish the world could be a different place."

"You do?"

"Of course."

"Then do something about it! You are Apollo. Maybe there is purpose to why I brought you forth from the sea. Call it destiny. Use the opportunity that you've been given to make the world a better place!"

Calypso's zeal for righteousness is noble, but naive. She hasn't seen to the extent I have, what the world is like. I want to make a difference, but I am also realistic.

I lift my head and shake it slowly. "I don't know if that's even possible. You might be overestimating our abilities, Calypso. An Olympian is not as all-powerful as you may think.

"Also," I let my arm fall limply from her side. It's not what I want to do–surrender the feel of her smooth flesh upon me. What I want to do is to hold her tight and to forever please this stunning creature with even more than just words. But I need for there to be honesty between us, even if the pain this honesty brings is cruel. "I am not the nice person you seem to think I am. I have done some awful things. Many people have suffered because of me. You see, Calypso," I gently cup the smooth curve of her chin and turn her face to meet mine. "The Olympians were meant to be perfect, but I am a man who has been flawed with evil. Do no expect good out of me. Do not let your expectations grow high. And do not allow yourself to get too close to me. You will only get hurt."

Calypso's radiant turquoise eyes stare fixedly into my own. I note with an ache her slightly parted lips and the delicious curve of their ruby sweetness. She stretches forth an inquisitive finger and touches my face gingerly. Her fingers lightly trace the outline of my bottom lip. "I don't care if you hurt me," she insists in a tremulous voice that's barely audible.

It is with supreme effort that I stand up and separate myself from the temptation that waits at my feet. The physical aspect of this forced stance is not so bad, as I am feeling my depleted energy stores being returned to me more and more each minute. Rather, it is the emotional agony that cleaves me through that is the real culprit. And seeing the shattered look on Calypso's young face only adds to the pain.

"But I do, Calypso," I say thickly.

The transformation that takes place right before my eyes is disquieting. Calypso recovers quickly from the open disappointment and is suddenly not the vulnerable young thing that she was just a moment ago. An imperial arch to her eyebrow now accosts me.

"That is not your decision to make, Apollo!" Calypso's eyes glitter dangerously as she stares up at me, every bit the regal princess enduring an outrageous affront.

"Yes, it is," I say quietly.

Calypso bites her lower lip, just the way Artemis always does, and suddenly I miss my dearest sister with a painful longing.

"I see," is Calypso's only response. Her eyes run meaningfully down the length of her flipper.

I sigh. "Look, Calypso, it has nothing to do with you, or who you are. I really mean it when I say that I don't want you to get hurt. I just met you, but I feel a really strong attachment to you. It would tear me apart to cause you pain, and I know that's what I would bring. I think it best that for now we just keep things neutral."

"Neutral, huh?" Calypso looks away as she tries to digest this. It takes a while but finally she shrugs in acceptance. "Okay, I suppose I can do neutral." Calypso tries to be lighthearted with this breezy response, but still she looks disappointed.

I fold my arms across my chest. "So what happens now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do we live here on this island, happily ever after?"

Calypso uncovers a bemused smile despite herself. "I wish! But actually, I have to get back to my people. My father will be worrying about me. There are responsibilities that I will need to care for." She sighs wearily. "Duties–always duties. I will sneak back here as soon as I can. As for you," she spreads her arms wide. "Enjoy my little island. There is water to drink and berries and shellfish to feast on. When I return, then we can work out a plan for your life."

"How long will you be?"

"I don't know. I will try to get back here tomorrow. Maybe I'll even bring you a treat if you are good." The side of her lip curves coyly.

"What kind of a treat?"

"Don't you wish you knew!"

"I hope it is real food that you bring." The thought of shellfish and berries does little for me.

"Why, am I not enough?" She pirouettes provocatively before me.

I chuckle in amusement. "You are more than enough, Calypso. Just stop teasing me by dangling before me those promises of extra treats."

"I just want to raise your level of anticipation for my return."

"Believe me, Calypso, I will be waiting with all the anticipation that I can stand!"

Calypso's pretty face crinkles into a smile and she beams approvingly. "Then I will be back as soon as I can."

I lean over her and place my lips upon her lavender forehead. A sweet scent that reminds me of a particular orchid that I thought was found only on Olympus greets me when I do so.

"I'll be here."

She smiles one last time and then slithers towards a partially hidden cave mouth with seductive grace. I watch in conflict as she disappears from view. Part of me wants to follow, but I know that her world is one that I can never be a part of. Some things just cannot be. I want to stamp my feet and howl with frustration, but that won't change our all too obvious differences.

So I just sit down where I am and draw my knees up to my chin and hug them. Life isn't fair. The cards that I've been dealt dare a pretense of being royal but all they are, are lousy rank cards. I don't know... maybe I'm just feeling sorry for myself. But after all I've been through, certainly I deserve a little self-pity, don't I?

I scratch my head in contemplation as I look at the vacant cave entrance. Thanks to this magnificent creature I have my life back, but all I can see on the road ahead are obstacles. I count them on the fingers of my right hand. There is a girl I cannot have. There is an ocean that I cannot cross. There is a world that I cannot fix. There is peace that I cannot enjoy. And lastly, there are answers that I cannot find. I know there are more, but that's all the fingers I have at the moment.

Which to tackle first?
* * *

Iapetus tilts his head back and looks up at Mount Olympus. Beside him astride his faithful donkey, his aged father does the same. The steep rock face confronting them seems all but impossible to scale, not only for a moderately fit fisherman in the prime of life, but especially for an old man with failing limbs. Jack seems to be making the same appraisal with his long head tilted upwards as the three weary travelers consider their next step.

"Are you sure this isn't far enough for you?" Iapetus wonders hopefully.

"Maybe we can find a trail that leads up."

"Even if we do, Jack will have to stay."

Jack seems to glare at his master with open accusation.

"He will be all right. There is feed aplenty and brooks to drink from. Jack is well trained. He will stay nearby until we return from our quest."

"That is if wild beasts don't find him first," Iapetus grumbles under his breath. So far they have been lucky. Along the road it has been surprisingly clear of the always feared wild beast. Maybe it's true that the recent rise in would-be heroes have been making a dent in the savage nature of Hellas' extensive wilderness. Iapetus hears that this has become a way for many of these up-and-coming strongmen to prove themselves, and because this involvement doesn't involve beating a fellow countryman's brains in, this effort has the blessing of each city's king.

But if they are to search for a route that will take them up Mount Olympus they will have to leave the safety of the main thoroughfare. This means exposure to the full scope of dangers the world of Hellas has at its disposal; ruthless bandits, ferocious beasts, and even the land itself. Yes, even the very land offers its own share of unknown traps and bizarre properties to thwart and even kill an unprepared intruder. Iapetus has heard of some of these: disguised cavities in the earth; deadly trees that shoot poison darts; and well concealed ground vines that entangle a pair of legs on contact and never let go, are several examples.

"This is a noble quest that we have chosen," his father insists. "The gods will look after us."

Iapetus rolls his eyes and steers Jack away from the abruptly ended road. He briefly does wonder why the road concludes like this, but doesn't come up with any satisfying answers other than the likelihood of this gathering spot being a popular destination for travelers coming to view the mountain of the gods. Large stones line the circle here at the end of the thoroughfare, and a well-used altar sits at the center of the circle with a clear view of the mountain.

Evidently the option to actually ascend this mountain is not offered. The way straight ahead is nearly vertical, with only questionable handholds and foot rests leading all of the way up to a barely visible summit. A person would have to be insane to attempt to scale the mountain from here.

Iapetus sees his father eying the setup for worship and quickly leads Jack past it. He does not begrudge his father his beliefs but their journey has been long and he is tired. And not finding an easy road to the summit has his patience wearing thin.

The trio enters the thick brush at the side of the road. At first the going is difficult, but then they come upon a trail that runs along the base of the cliff-face. Iapetus wonders at the imprint of hooves being revealed in a few muddy sections of the trail. They seem a little large for deer. These prints are about the same size as the ones Jack lays down beside them. Iapetus does not overly worry about this sign. If there were large paw prints in evidence, now that would be a different story! But hooves belong to creatures that feast on plants, not on flesh. These, he can deal with.

When they break into a creature-occupied clearing, he is forced to reconsider his presumption.

Six bizarre beasts confront the small party. Though somewhat humanlike in appearance, these creatures stand astride two powerful legs not so unlike the donkey Jack's own rear legs, and sport tails and ears rather resembling those of a goat. Iapetus notes the well-muscled hairy torsos and realizes that if these crude beasts are hostile he doesn't stand a chance against even one of these large males standing alone.

"Humans," they mutter darkly, seeing the intruders.

"Greetings." Iapetus tries to be sociable while attempting to keep his fear in check.

"You're trespassing, human."

"We are strangers to this part of the world. We did not know that we intruded into your land. We seek only the summit of Olympus."

The six large obstacles in their path guffaw coarsely.

"Then you seek the impossible," one of the creatures finally says. Iapetus notices that this apparent spokesman is deeply scarred; perhaps by means of something similar to the large whip attached to his waist. Iapetus feels in his own body the agony that must have been suffered by this creature in receiving such wounds. His sympathy is short-lived when the creature continues.

"As intruders, you will pay for the desecration of our forest."

Iapetus begins to sweat when the speaker approaches nearer and looks them over carefully–hungrily, it even seems. "Do either of you play?"

Iapetus reacts with a start. "Play? What do you mean?"

The creature holds out a worn flute. "Do you play an instrument?"

"No," Iapetus replies fearfully. "I am but a simple fisherman."

"That is unfortunate," the spokesman continues with an ugly sneer. "I would have offered you a deal. If you could have satisfied us with a pleasing musical performance, you could have gone free. But now you will have to suffer the consequences."

Iapetus is surprised when his ancient father coughs up some phlegm and then begins to sing. He stares up at the old man mounted on his donkey's back as a haunting dirge begins to take shape from the weathered lips. It is not the most mellifluous sound that reaches the ears of the bizarre beasts surrounding them, but it is a heartfelt rendition of an old familiar song. Iapetus' father sings about the god Dionysus. The story he tells fills the hearers with sadness over the god's ill-treatment by his more powerful brothers. It extols the efforts of the beleaguered god to improve the condition of the downtrodden lesser creatures scattered around the earth. Most don't appreciate these efforts. Some even persecute the god for his unwanted benevolence. But then the song concludes on a happy note, as the god Dionysus is finally welcomed back into the fold of his divine brethren high upon Olympus.

An uncomfortable silence lingers as the two groups regard each other. Iapetus thinks he can detect evidence of a moist sheen that has formed within the eyes of the leader. This beast doesn't want to admit it but the song touched him. This one finally speaks.

"That is a song honoring our chosen god. What gives you the right to sing it?"

"I too, have offered prayers to the hallowed god of wine," the old man creaks. "Dionysus is not unknown to me."

The powerful creature folds his arms across his hairy chest. Despite Iapetus' father providing an able performance, this creature clearly does not feel compelled to render him his due. It is with grim foreboding that Iapetus waits for a decision. The leader finally speaks.

"Because you sang and did not play, we still demand payment. You will take for yourselves what you can carry upon your back, and leave behind that beast of burden as an offering."

"No!" Iapetus gasps.

"It's either that or forfeit your own lives. Your choice."

"We need him," Iapetus pleads, drawing upon the argument of practicality and not admitting to the heartache he will feel if separated from his loyal companion. "We are as good as dead without his legs."

"That beast is no use to you where you are going," the goat-eared creature spits with his own bruising practicality. "And we are hungry."

" _You would eat him?"_ Iapetus exclaims in disbelief. "I'll never let you have him!"

"We eat human, too. So consider yourselves lucky."

Iapetus tries to turn and drag his threatened donkey back the way they came, but the powerful creatures surround him instantly. One holds him tightly captive while others haul his father unceremoniously from Jack's back. They carelessly toss aside the supplies and strip the anxious donkey naked. Iapetus can only look on helplessly. He struggles futilely in the hold of his captor as one draws forth a wicked blade and then brutally drags it across the exposed neck of his beloved pet in one violent motion.

His eyes wide, Jack reacts reflexively and Iapetus hears himself scream. The donkey's legs kick out convulsively. His body quivers, and then slackens in the hands of his assailants. The killers bath their hands and arms in the gush of blood that flows from his severed neck, reveling in its liquid warmth.

Iapetus slumps weakly in the arms of his captor. Bitter tears stream down his cheeks. If he could, he would kill every last one of these ruthless beasts. But he is helpless.

After a moment he is roughly released.

"It is done," the hateful creature says blandly. "Now go. Or the same will happen to you."

Blinking through his tears and with his whole body shaking violently, Iapetus gathers up their belongings. With his father lurching unsteadily after him, he stumbles from the clearing.

While his father mumbles prayers to the gods beneath his breath, Iapetus curses them all.
* * *

"Still nothing, sir."

"Need I remind you that you're running out of time?" Mercer's voice would almost qualify as a snicker if he didn't think he was above such childish behavior.

"No, sir. I'm doing all I can, but by keeping our presence here on Hellas so painstakingly covert we are left with limitations in what we can do."

"Let me know the moment you have an eye back in the sky. We have to find him."

"Of course, sir."

Mercer ponders the now silent screen. Reports have reached him about a massive storm front that had locked into the region Apollo's boat would have been heading through. All he can hope is that the captain of that vessel was a seasoned sailor.

He slams his fist into is open palm and curses his luck. Of all places to run to, this delinquent Olympian would have to head for an area that hadn't been pre-staged for recording purposes. And from what he has been gathering, no one seems to know much of anything about the entire region in question.

The Land of Hyperborea.

What is this place exactly? He has looked into it, but no one seems to be able to give him a straight answer. Theories, yes, but no facts. From what he has been able to put together, the Land of Hyperborea seems to be a land of misfits; rejects left over from earlier experiments, who had somehow managed to migrate across the sea to a secluded land. How they did this is fodder for another story, but the fact is they are there, inhabiting the shores of a continent further north of the storybook land of Hellas.

When a courageous sea captain was able to find their hidden land, (making for still another story), and establish trade relations with the people there, it was allowed by those controlling the fate of Hellas before Mercer's tenure here. It seemed that no harm was being done by this allowance. No one thought to follow these happenings with any sort of follow-up investigation or surveillance. There simply was no audience out there to follow the mundane exchange of trade items. It wasn't worth it. And who needed to see the stray misfits when there were plenty right at home; centaurs, sileni, beasts of all sorts, and fairies and beautiful creatures aplenty.

Mercer can see now that such an oversight was a mistake.

Now, they are in trouble. And something needs to be done soon.

A satellite in the sky might be able to find the missing Olympian and track him, but their long range cameras won't be able to provide anything more intimate. Already the editing crew is complaining that they are running low on archived material from which to assemble storylines to satisfy the rapacious appetite of the show's many viewers. Apollo has been one of the audience's favorites. The Apollo team is growing anxious for new material. If Mercer doesn't give them something soon, Panagopoulos will be calling for sure.

Mercer begins to wonder if some kind of intervention might be in order. It would be risky, but he is almost desperate enough to try it.

Or maybe this is time to finally get just plain lucky.
* * *

Three days have passed. I've thoroughly explored Calypso's secret paradise and seen all that it has to offer. It is beautiful and rich with fruits and good things to eat, but it can get old all too quickly if this is going to be my only home for the rest of my life. If Calypso fails to return, this might very well be the case.

One of the places I've explored is the cave Calypso had left through. This cave quickly transforms into an underground river the deeper I explored it, until it is becomes completely submerged in water. I traveled its dark length as far as I dared. But not knowing its length and not wanting to run out of air I eventually was forced to turn back.

Now I sit here in the same clearing I had shared with Calypso only three days ago and stare thoughtfully at the walls enclosing my little paradise. On average, the jagged profile appears to be about the height of twenty-five tall trees. Given time and patience, maybe I can scale these walls. It will be difficult, because in some places the cliff-face becomes literally vertical, but I think I can do it. My fingers are strong. There has to be crevasses in the rock with which to grab hold of. I would have to be committed to leaving at that point. There would likely be no going back. And then completely escaping this island paradise would mean swimming into an unfamiliar sea to an unfamiliar destination amongst unfamiliar dangers.

As I consider the downside, the plan to climb these walls slides way down my list of options.

"Apollo!"

I turn abruptly at the sound of Calypso's long over-due voice.

"You're late," are the first words out of my mouth. Immediately I chastise myself. Instead of berating my savior, I should be happy that she came. Calypso seems to pay no mind to my brusque greeting and approaches eagerly, still dripping saltwater from her fresh emergence from the sea. The exotic beauty of the creature strikes me anew.

"I couldn't get away," she explains in a rush. "Even now I'm pushing my luck by being here. My father is being such a pain right now. I guess getting captured by humans has suddenly turned him into an overly protective and smothering father. Here, I brought you the treat I promised."

Calypso starts to extend a damp pouch to me but then quickly retracts it. Her eyes shine with a playful coyness. "Wait, first you have to ensure me that you were good while I was gone."

"Well, I didn't leave, for one."

"Did you try to leave?"

"Of course not!" I lie, plucking a hapless starfish from her hair.

"Because you can't leave. At least not without my help. Even if you _are_ a god. The exit continues a long distance underwater; you would never make it."

"Why would I want to leave, knowing you would be here?" The glibness of my response sounds phony even to me.

"Despite your name being Apollo, you are still a man. Men seem to get all independent acting and have this self-reliant thing going on. It would probably bother most men to have to be so totally dependent on a mere girl."

"It doesn't bother me in the least," I lie again.

"Me, I like it that you're dependent on me." The look she gives me as she slides her eyes across my chest definitely has provocative undertones.

"I bet you do."

"Anyway, here." She stares into my eyes, for a moment mesmerizing me with their turquoise enchantment and then shoves the pouch at me.

I take the pouch from her and begin to work on the tightly knotted catch holding it closed. A clump of stray seaweed has become entwined with the fastener making the damp bag difficult to open. Calypso watches me impatiently and at one point seems about ready to lean in and take over from me. A good-humored smile makes its way to my face as I yank it away from her. I finally get the stubborn pouch to open and spill the contents onto the carpeted ground in front of me for examination.

"What is this?" I say, looking dubiously at the three mysterious packages wrapped protectively in the broad leaves of some unknown underwater plant.

"'Real meat' of course; just as you begged for. And some Juku fruit. That's our favorite treat. You should feel lucky because it's really hard to get. Oh, and I hope it didn't get too wet, but I also included a fire-starter set, because I know you probably prefer your meat cooked like all the other land-dwellers that I know of."

"Where did you get this stuff?"

"I have a friend who trades with the land-dwellers; he got most of it for me. The Juku fruit I stole from my father's stash. 'Princess Privileges,' you know." Calypso's lavender cheeks dimple adorably.

"This _friend_ did not get suspicious?"

Calypso smirks mischievously behind her hand. "I told him the meat was for a new pet I found."

"Thanks a lot!"

"He did promise me that it's fresh. And I'm always adopting stray sea creatures. No one has any reason to be suspicious."

"I do appreciate you getting me these things," I am thoughtful enough to say. Impulsively I lean towards Calypso and give her a quick hug to prove my point. I discover her desirable body to still be soaking wet. Of course, what else would one expect from a mermaid? Continuing, I say, "But what I really need is your help in coming up with a plan to leave this island."

"Oh." She seems taken aback for a moment. Her eyes drift aside hiding what's in them. "So then, you want to leave. I guess I never did find out where you were going when your ship went down, did I?"

"The captain was taking me to the Land of the Hyperboreans. Have you heard of that place?"

"Of course. That is the place of those land-dwellers who I was referring to. But they don't call themselves _Hyperboreans_. They call themselves the _gifted_. We simply call them _land-dwellers_. The only reason I'm familiar with that term you used is because I heard someone use it one time to describe them, in the context of the trade they carry on with your seafaring people. We have little contact with them, other than to do some trading with them of our own. Why do you want to go there?" She regards me with a look of genuine befuddlement.

"I have my reasons."

"Is it a secret then?"

"I just don't want to talk about it." My voice is harsher than I intend it to be.

Calypso's lips turn down into a pout. "Fine then! Be that way! I was just asking you a simple question! You don't have to get all snobby on me!"

"I'm sorry, Calypso. But it's not like that. I guess I'm just not ready to talk about it, is all. I hope you do understand."

Calypso pats me on the arm with unconvincing reassurance. "Sure, Apollo. It's fine." She turns her head and looks back the way she had come. Her eyes suddenly grow restless.

"I've really do have to get going. My escort is probably looking all over for me. I don't want to get into too much trouble with them or I won't be able to get back here so easily next time."

"Will you bring another treat?"

"I'll try."

I kiss her forehead and watch her leave. It seems as though we are separating on a tense note, and it's all my fault.

Why couldn't I have just given her a simple answer?

The truth would have been easy enough. I already did admit to her that I've done some very bad things; things that will need time for me to reflect on. And Calypso deserves my trust. All she has done is to help me.

But what I didn't tell her is that my heart is still broken.

I need time to mend. I need to finish this quest. Only then will I find the healing that I so desperately need.
* * *

"What is the problem then? If he didn't have on his person anything identifying him as an outsider to Hellas, what is there left to worry about?"

The face in the screen stares at Mercer like an oxygen-deprived fish trapped on the wrong side of a fish-tank. Mercer thinks the man's cheeks puff in and out sort of like a fish also. The man finally finds his words. "The problem is that we needed him, sir. Not only was he accepted by the locals as the last word in planning the detailed structure of the Olympics, but he was in a fine position to make it possible for the off-world contestants to be seamlessly introduced into the Hellas' lifestyle. The games start in a few months and it will be next to impossible to properly prepare someone else to take his place. Frankly, I must acknowledge that we are in very big trouble. We may have to consider canceling Panagopoulos' plan to bring untrained civilians to Hellas."

"We are _not_ canceling any such plans," Mercer snaps impatiently. "And those people will not be untrained. Even now they are being prepared for introduction into everyday life in the world below. I just received a report yesterday that everything is proceeding on schedule. We will do what we need to do to make sure this all happens on schedule."

"But, sir..."

Mercer cuts off the distraught face. "Make any adjustments that are needed. But don't you dare give any thought to abandoning our set goal of putting those six contestants down there on Hellas to be included the scheduled series of events. Previews have already been broadcast to advertise these upcoming events. What do you want us to do? Tell billions of viewers that we made a mistake? Never! The show must go on!"

What he doesn't tell the face in the screen is that _he_ is the one who would be held responsible for any failure to deliver the scheduled product, and he will _not_ take the blame for someone else's stupidity. That particular staff member who had been previously inserted into the staging area should not have gotten himself killed. The accident should have been preventable. It was neglect and nothing less.

The hapless face blubbers some more, but Mercer knows that _somehow_ , he will pull this off. Mercer will fix things as he always does and no one looking in from the outside will ever know that this show only manages to survive by means of hasty bandages and splints.

"And notify his next of kin," Mercer concludes as an afterthought. "Follow the proper protocol. Let them know that there can be no retrieval of his body. We're not taking the chance of being seen."

After all, the last thing Mercer needs is for this unnecessary death to bite him twice.
* * *

I feel somewhat abandoned. Calypso comes twice more where she has to out of necessity keep her visit brief, but then finally she arrives one day looking more relaxed and less pressed for time.

"No one came with me today," she says with relief. Water drips from her chin as she looks at me with a happy grin. "They're finally beginning to back off and I'm not being watched every minute. Oh, here's your treat. I even brought some extra Juku fruit. We can share it this time."

I take the pouch from her and set it behind me. "So, how have you been?"

She looks down at her hands. "Busy. My cousin is getting married soon and I have been helping her to arrange the wedding. Also, my father doesn't seem to think I'm trained in arms nearly as well as he would like, so has me taking extra practice rounds every day. My other instructors..."

"You only speak of your _father_ ," I note, interrupting her. I don't want to push the point, so I only spread my palms to encourage an explanation.

"That's all I have for a family," Calypso explains with her eyes still to the ground. "My mother, the former Queen, died shortly after I was born."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I do have aunts. And I have my nursemaid, Nausica. She's like a mother to me. My father also tries to do his best; that is when he's not too busy ruling over me and the rest of our people."

I try to change the subject. "So you have more time today?"

Calypso nods vigorously. "Until late afternoon at least. Everyone thinks I went to visit a friend of mine." She steals a hopeful sideways glance at me. "That story is true, isn't it?"

I chuckle. "Yes, Calypso. By now I would consider myself at the very least a friend of yours. I hope I have earned that right."

"Okay, you can be my _friend_ , Apollo," she allows with a coy smile. "If that's what you want."

"Thanks," I return wryly. "But do you know what friends do for each other, Calypso?"

Calypso gives me a suggestive smirk by way of reply.

"They help one another," I continue on undaunted.

Calypso's shrug suggests an unspoken, 'and, your point?'

"I need your help to get off this island."

"Why?"

"'Why do I need your help', or 'why do I need to get off this island?'"

"The latter. What's wrong with my island?" Calypso almost looks offended.

"There's nothing _wrong_ with this island. It's just that I don't intend on spending the rest of my life cooped up here. As I told you before, my plan had been to journey to the Land of the Hyperboreans, or the _gifted_ , as they call themselves. I would like to see that plan through to conclusion. Will you help me?"

"Hmm...," she says, circling around to my backside while continuing to eye me thoughtfully. She retrieves the pouch she had brought, opens it deftly–almost too deftly, as to mock my own sluggish efforts with the thing, unwraps one of the packages, and then pulls out a piece of her much coveted Juku fruit. She pops the sweet morsel into her mouth. A contented look comes over her face as she chews on the fruit. Her eyes focus on my own.

"I will try," she finally says.

"Good, when can we go?"

"Please, Apollo! Relax! This is going to take some planning. I'm not strong enough to bring you all the way to the mainland by myself. We will have to come up with something that will work."

"How about a boat?" I suggest, stating the obvious.

Calypso nods her head slowly in a patronizingly manner. "A boat is a good plan, yes." Then, more dramatically, " _If we had a boat!_ "

"What do you mean? You can't get a boat?"

"Come on, Apollo, really? Do I look like I need a boat? _No!_ The Jengu have no need of boats! I wouldn't even know where to look for one."

"Don't the _gifted_ have boats? Couldn't you get a boat from one of them?"

"Actually, they don't have boats either. At least none that I've seen. They seem to be afraid of the water. Or, maybe they are simply afraid of _us_. But either way, I've never seen one of the _gifted_ out on the water. When they trade with my people, they come down to the shore, but never do they enter the water."

My response is glum. "Yes, I can see how this could be a problem."

"Like I said, this is going to take some planning."

"Let's talk about this later. First, there's something I've been waiting to show you."

Calypso takes the pouch and eagerly follows after me. "Apollo, don't tell me that you have a treat for _me_."

"I suppose you could call it a treat."

"What is it, Apollo?" She clutches onto my arm snugly. "Will you tell me?"

"Just be patient and wait. This is something that you have to see."

Calypso can barely restrain her curiosity as I lead her up the path I've worn through the lush underbrush. Colorful birds and butterflies flit about and the scent that fills the air is intoxicating. Calypso moves along with remarkable dexterity. I would have thought that such a capable creature of the sea would be at a huge disadvantage on the land, but Calypso's sinuous forward movement through the underbrush certainly challenges that notion.

I point this out. "You do quite well for yourself outside the water."

"I manage," she admits. "But this is really not my natural element. You must know that."

"I realize that," I say, deciding to use this bridge to lead the conversation in another direction. "Tell me, Calypso, do you spend all of your time beneath the water?"

"Of course not! We _do_ have to breathe air, after all. It's not like we're fish." She gives me a disgusted look.

Puzzled, I pause on the trail for a moment and look at her. "Then how do you stay under the water so long?"

"We hold our breath. Some of my people can hold their breath for days."

"That doesn't make any sense. There has to be more to it." I start walking again and Calypso quietly follows. Her expression is what I would expect if I had just yelled at her.

"I am not a fish," she finally mutters at my back.

"I didn't say that you were."

"But you were thinking it."

"Actually I wasn't. But now that you've brought it up, do you have gills?"

She looks at me in shocked disbelief. " _Fish_ have gills! Humans do not!"

I feel as though I've badly offended her. "Calypso," I say comfortingly, "you're about as far from being a fish as I can possibly imagine. All I'm trying to determine is how your people are able to spend such an incredibly long period of time beneath the water before they have to come up for air."

"I don't know," she admits.

I divert from the subject. "Where do you sleep then?"

"In my bed." She smiles primly at me. "And don't ask me if I sleep naked, because I'm not telling you that."

I plow on, undeterred by the flirtatious undertone. "On land?"

"Yes, of course on land! What else would you expect?"

"Where on land?"

"The islands, of course! Where else? Most of the islands are similar to this place, only larger. The island where my home is located is the largest of them all. These islands all have underwater cave entrances, and some of these caves can be quite extensive. Many of my people actually make their homes in those caves, preferring the security of that shelter to the open sky. Me, I prefer to dwell in the open air above ground. Our palace was built within the sheltered hold of one these islands; partly in and partly out of the water. I like it here–outside beneath the sun. When I'm not under the sea, that is. _That_ is my true element, the water."

"I did suspect that, yes."

She smiles sheepishly. "So where is this surprise that you wanted to show me?"

"There."

We've come to the end of the worn trail and find ourselves delivered into an intimate clearing, one that is comfortably appointed with carpeted rocks spaced about the clearing and that are just about chair-sized; all naturally prepared as if exclusively for our benefit. The secluded spot I've set aside here for myself is also well decorated, being brilliantly infused with hundreds of flowers in full bloom of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Best of all is the view.

I rest my hands lightly on Calypso's bare shoulders and swivel her body to face the hidden marvel I had discovered during my exploration of this island.

The shocked gasp that escapes her perfect lips is totally worth it.

"Unbelievable," she murmurs, flabbergasted.

And it is at that. The sweeping vista encompassed by this private overlook centers around a storybook waterfall, one that is dramatically framed by the best wild nature has to offer. A luxuriant growth of vegetation fills in the scene, offering shades of color that complement the pristine focal point made of water.

"I didn't think you would've seen this in your previous visits," I tell her. "It took me long enough to forge the trail up to this spot. I think we are the first to ever look upon this scene. It's pretty special, isn't it?"

Calypso's lips remain parted in awe.

"I wanted to share it with you," I say awkwardly.

She finally turns to me. "It is amazing. I've never seen anything like it. Thank you, Apollo."

"This is where I like to do my thinking. I find it quite relaxing."

"And you want to leave _this_?"

"This island is beautiful. But I feel trapped here."

Calypso extends herself onto one of the waiting perches and leans back to regard me. "If I were to be honest I would tell you that I really don't want you to leave here. But that would be selfish. If you want to leave I won't stop you, as long as that's what you really want."

"Yes, that is what I want."

She sighs. "Then I will do what I can to help you."

"Don't misunderstand me, Calypso. I don't want to lose you. I want us to still be friends."

"How, Apollo? How are we going to do that? I can't leave the water for extended periods of time. It is dangerous as well as uncomfortable for me. If you leave this island, you will be leaving me also."

"We will figure something out," I assure her confidently. "Maybe we can arrange for a time and a place to meet periodically. It will work. We'll make it work." I reach for her hand; cradle it gently. "I'm not going to lose you, Calypso."
* * *

Mercer's eyes drift appreciatively across the sweeping curve of the sleek vessel's outer skin. The name painted on the tail fins is one contrived by none other than he himself. _Argo._ He feels clever. It is a name pulled from the annals of Greek mythology. But this is not a vessel to be manned by any heroes of legend. This is his baby.

It is still difficult for Mercer to believe that his request for this _jumper_ was granted. This is a state-of-the-art vessel that even he can operate. Now he need not be forever imprisoned in this space station, helpless to involve himself directly in the operations taking place below. At first, all he wanted was just to be such a willing prisoner in this place. That has changed with time and with exposure to the fascinating world below. He will have to be careful and scrupulously follow the protocols that he himself helped to establish, but now he can finally set foot in the story-land over which he has systematically made himself the self-appointed master. Panagopoulos can believe what he wants, but Mercer is the true director of affairs in the lives of all those who call Hellas their home. And this includes the Olympians, he adds with smug satisfaction. Panagopoulos pays the bills, while Mercer calls the shots. He has a _right_ to sample the product.

The man beside him is a simple mechanic, but he has proven useful so far in providing Mercer with an impromptu tour of this recently completed shuttle wing. The huge open space stretches up above their heads and disappears into distant shadows too far away for an unaided eye to pierce. While the rest of the tour was educational, finally laying his eyes upon this recently acquired craft is really all that Mercer was ever interested in coming here to see.

"Do you know how to operate it?" he asks the anxious mechanic.

"I do, sir. It's relatively simple, actually; much easier than operating a shuttle. The onboard computer is to an extent intuitive. That makes difficult landing procedures a breeze and destination mapping a virtually foolproof operation."

Mercer doesn't like the deliberate connotation with which the man uses the term 'foolproof,' but he doesn't press him further. The mechanic already looks nervous enough and Mercer is looking at what he has come here to see.

"She's a real beauty, isn't she?" Mercer murmurs, more to himself than to his inconsequential tour guide.

He neither expects nor wants a response but the man provides one anyway.

"That she is, sir. But she is a real beast, too. Beauty _and_ brawn; that is how I see her." The mechanic almost looks shocked at himself for allowing such private sentiments to slip forth from his lips.

Mercer turns a bemused smile towards the man standing uncomfortably at his side. This man may be a simple mechanic, and his description may have been an unplanned spout of words that just happened to come out right, but they are words that Mercer will steal for his own.

As Mercer's reflective eyes return to the sleek craft, he says them under his breath.

Beauty and brawn.

It is a fitting description for the vessel that will give him private access to Hellas' secrets.
* * *

"Are you ready?"

"As much as I'll ever be."

"Do you remember the plan?"

"I still don't know why we didn't practice it first."

"I'm not the one who wanted to wait. Remember?" Calypso glares at me crossly.

Truthfully, it was for my own good that I chose to forestall the practice session Calypso had suggested we have. Namely, because it involved a locking of lips and a sharing of breath. If I had gone through with that exercise, I don't know how I could've come out of it unscathed. Just looking at her soft pouting lips even now sets my heart to pattering. Of course I have not told Calypso of the reason for my hesitation–that would be way too embarrassing.

"Okay, let's do this," I say on impulse. Without further hesitation I dive headfirst into the black pool that fills the cavern floor. This is not the first time I've entered this water, but hopefully this will be the first time that I fully traverse the underground passageway that leads from the island paradise back to the sea.

I hear a distant splash and almost instantly Calypso's grinning face appears beneath my chin. She swims upside down, her slim shape hardly mirroring my much larger reflection as I stroke my way along fully submerged. I can dimly see the mermaid's lovely features in the muted light cast into the water by the reflective crystals set into the cavern walls by natural circumstance. Though scant, the light sets her scales aglitter, making Calypso an even more magical thing than she already is. Hair spills around her in the form of an inky blackness even darker than the deepest shadows of the underground cavern. She swims along so snug to me that I'm tempted to reach down and tickle her bare midriff, but then change my mind. I will likely need all my energy and concentration to make it successfully through the long journey that runs the length of this submerged passageway. Right now is no time for games.

The rock-faceted channel twists and turns, and still it continues. We swim past my previously furthest stopping point and keep going. I'm committed now. Without Calypso to help me I would never leave this cavern alive. Hopefully, she will be able to help me keep the status quo.

Passing beneath the glow of a particularly bright crystal display imbedded in the rock, I catch Calypso's pantomimed query asking if I'm doing okay. I assure her that I'm fine.

A few minutes later and that's no longer the case. Calypso senses my growing distress and drifts seamlessly into my arms. Her lips part and capture my own. I wish it were merely sensual, but trapped in a state of near panic by not being able to breathe, I am not able to fully enjoy the sensation this no doubt brings to my body. Delicious life-giving air flows into my lungs. For the moment, this is even sweeter than the prolonged _kiss_ that the mermaid gifts me with. The contact extends, even beyond the point of necessity, as I continue to cling to her, savoring the salty taste of her lips. Finally it is she who ends it. Calypso wipes her mouth, takes my hand firmly in hers, and pulls me along after her.

We really fly now. The speed with which her flipper propels us through the cavern is incredible. I try to help by kicking with my legs but any assistance this provides seems negligible.

Shortly I find out why Calypso picks such a feverish pace. We stop one more time for a less helpful exchange of air, but on the next run even Calypso begins to falter as the shared air supply begins to run out for both of us.

Fortunately, a shaft of light suddenly appears in the tunnel ahead, signaling the end of the passageway.

We're both gasping raggedly when our heads break through the surface film of the open sea. A choppy froth greets us, caused by the pounding action of the ocean surf against the rocky projections that tower high above us. The smell of brine is overpowering, saturating the air as the pungent odor seeps from the barnacle-covered rocks surrounding us. Though the water is turbulent, it is not as violent as the surf I see and hear outside the comparatively sheltered alcove we have emerged into.

I pull myself onto an exposed ledge beside Calypso. She breathes heavily from the effort she's just expended but is able to flash a bright smile at me. A sparkling crown of sea-foam crowns her wet tresses and looks like a halo. The halo of sea-foam seems to glow ethereally as the filtered sunlight from a cloudy sky plays upon it. The picture this provides me is a fitting one, I decide.

"That was fun," she drawls silkily. Her voice is nearly drowned out by the pounding surf but we're close enough that she doesn't need to shout. "Let's do it again!"

"What? The swim? Or the kiss?"

"The kiss!" she cries. Her eyes sparkle with merriment.

"I think if I did _that_ again it would have the opposite effect on me!"

"Let's find out," she challenges.

"Maybe later," I allow with a wistful smile. Her lips _did_ feel really good. I glance back the way we have come. "You like to cut it close, don't you?"

"Why, did I scare you?"

"I think you scared us both. Were you, a mermaid, actually running out of air?"

"You took it all," she protests, hitting me on the arm in mock anger.

Now I know why she forcibly disentangled herself during our first exchange. I really did take all of her air. The fact that she allowed it so long, shows how much she must like me. I'm flattered, but almost to the point of chagrin. For here I am selfishly using her so that I can leave the island that she never did want me to leave.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I guess I couldn't help myself."

"At least it worked. I wasn't sure if it would."

"Now's a fine time to tell me that," I say with a frown.

"Hey mister," she pokes a finger into my chest. "You don't drown, remember? If you had, I would've just dragged your sorry behind the rest of the way and revived you again. It was simply easier this way." She breaks into a wide smile. "And more fun."

"Then, thanks," I offer appreciatively. After all, it _was_ more fun this way than doing it unconscious. I glance around the sheltered alcove, not seeing what I'm looking for. "So where is this _boat thing_ that you procured for yourself?"

I borrow the expression from the verbal description Calypso had given me for what she had managed to provide to help facilitate my _escape_ off this island. A quick frown flirts with her expression as she detects a note of teasing in my voice.

"My 'boat thing' is around the corner lodged in some rocks. I didn't think it would be safe around here. Are you ready to go back into that again? If so, I'll take you there now."

"I'm ready."

Calypso slips seamlessly into the water and I try to follow her. We have no choice but to pass briefly through a stretch of water exposed to the open sea. Here, the force of the sea is especially powerful as it pushes with insistent force against the jagged seawall at my side, but with a furiously applied effort of concentrated strokes and kicks I manage to keep from getting pounded too brutally against the sharp rocks. Calypso leads me around the corner and we emerge into another moderately sheltered alcove, this one containing stepped ledges that rise from the water and allow for a more manageable ascent out of the heaving surf. Tucked in a corner and trapped between two boulders with a looped cord holding it tight, is what passes for barely more than a floating log.

"That is your 'boat thing?'" I ask skeptically, as I heave myself onto a barnacle-clear rock.

Calypso stays bobbing in the water this time with only her damp head and bare shoulders exposed to the air. She follows my gaze towards the object in question.

"What's wrong with it?"

"If you ask me, I would say it looks more like a log than a boat."

"No," she disagrees, "it has boat-like parts to it. See," she drifts over to it and touches part of the unlikely assembly with her hand in demonstration. "It has pieces tied to it that will allow you to stay completely above the water at times."

"At times? I'm supposed to feel happy about that?" I'm teasing her actually, and my crooked smile must give it away, because she suddenly throws a stray sea shell at my head. I duck aside and throw one back at her, missing her on purpose.

"I'm the one who is going to be doing all the work around here," Calypso complains, "while you are sunning yourself up on the deck of my beautiful boat. So don't be grumbling about the conditions, okay?"

"That thing is barely a floating log," I mumble to myself.

"What was that?" she demands, throwing another sea shell at my head. "Am I hearing complaints already?"

"No, captain. Everything is fine."

"Good! Let's get it ready then. Where is that pouch of yours? I will tie it to the boat."

I unfasten the pouch from around my waist and toss it to her. Calypso rigs it to the _boat_ and then tugs the questionable-looking vessel free from its mooring and gets it ready for travel. Pulling it alongside my rock, she says,

"Okay, get on. I know we need to wait until after dark to leave, but let's try it out."

I slide precariously onto the bobbing vessel and glance at her sheepishly. "Something doesn't seem quite right with this arrangement."

"I agree. How about we switch places?"

"If I could grow a tail and you could grow legs, I would. Until then, I seem to be made to be up here and you down there."

Something I say must disagree with Calypso, because she unexpectedly tips over the already unstable vessel and I splash into the water beside her. As my head pops to the surface she spews a stream of water into my face and laughs joyously. Not having similar skills I just splash her abundantly with water scooped from my hands until she is forced to seek the safety of the depths. For a moment all is quiet. Then, I feel a surge of water pressure build up beneath me as Calypso jets upwards through the water column. She erupts through my arms like a torpedo and would keep going skywards except that my arms close around her waist and trap her. Struggling briefly in my arms, she easily succumbs. An instant ago she was the hard muscle of a creature of the sea and now she is soft and compliant. The smooth shoulders of her bare back presses against my chest and her wet tresses fill my face. With a contented sigh her head lists backwards and her cold cheek rests upon mine.

I lean around her upturned chin and plant a slippery kiss upon her exposed throat. She twists in my arms and suddenly we're face to face. A hairsbreadth separates one set of lips from the other. Turquoise eyes stare into blue. Hers are wide and curious. I feel her warm breath play upon me.

"Practice?" she whispers softly.

"Just in case," I whisper back.

She nods soberly and then closes the distance.
* * *

He has never before felt such an angry pang of desire. The flawless body displayed in brilliant detail on the largest screen in his office fills him with so much passion that it actually hurts. Mercer finally releases the pause command, freeing the image from its compromising pose. The goddess' well-tanned limbs flash in the sunlight as she splashed herself with the cool waters of the scenic waterfall. But Mercer finds that certain parts of the divine form displayed before him are far more scenic than any waterfall, and he is forced to frantically hit the pause command once again with a trembling finger.

He already has a burgeoning library of such films but this is the latest addition. It took all of his cleverness to put into place more extensive footage of his favorite Olympian, but now his spy-cameras are in place and he knows by heart Artemis' daily routine.

Panting heavily with the cravings brought on by his insatiable animal-lust, he decides that the scene frozen in place before him has burned itself adequately into his memory. Eager for more, he lets the film play on. His practiced trigger finger stays at the ready.
* * *

It seems too soon. How could nearly six months already have passed? Apprehension fills Jill as she packs her belongings. Her time spent here in training was carefully governed and predictable. It was easy. Jill has no blithe notions that her life will continue that way. A life-changing adventure awaits her. Jill's heart pounds with nervous excitement just thinking about it. Yet she won't trade this opportunity for anything in the world.

Someone taps on her door.

"Who is it?"

"Ffion," comes the muffled voice.

"Hold on." Jill fastens the cover on her final packed bag and approaches the door. Her blonde friend sidles through the opening. She hugs her arms against her chest and shivers.

"It's cold out in that corridor."

"Yeah, I don't know why they insist on keeping the air conditioning set so low. Maybe it's to keep us in our rooms."

Ffion laughs. "I think you're right. That's one thing I won't miss about this place."

"You're already packed?"

Ffion nods, eying Jill's neatly arranged row of bags waiting beside her bed. "I see you're no better off than I am. What, did our belongings multiply while we were here?"

"The costumes we are supposed to bring take up a lot of extra space, don't they? It's a good thing they gave us more luggage carriers. I would never have fit all that in my own bags."

"Speaking of costumes, did you make up your mind on what you're going to wear for your debut?"

"I think I'll be going conservative. That outfit you like scares me."

"But you look so _hot_ in it! Come on, Jill; you only live once."

Jill blushes. "Do you know how many eyes will see me? _Billions!_ I would be so embarrassed!"

"That's the whole point. After this is all over you will have guys all over you; not just one not-to-be-named cute guide. You won't be able to keep them all away!"

Jill smacks her friend playfully on the arm. "Stop it, Ffi. You're just trying to get me into trouble."

"It's trouble you need, girl!"

"You make it sound like my life is pathetic. I was happy even before all this, you know."

Ffion regards Jill soberly. "Were you really? What I see before me is not the same person I saw when I first met you. You have come alive, Jill. You are a new person. Seize the moment, and don't ever look back."

"Ha," Jill scoffs, "you just envy the freedom you think I have. You are the one who is lucky. Look at you; you have a great husband, great kids, and a really great personality."

Ffion smiles crookedly. "I get that a lot; 'you have a great personality.' But you're right. I do have a great life. And this little adventure will make it even greater."

Jill tucks her arm around her friend. "Come on, let's go to breakfast. Then we can about getting that 'little adventure' started."

# PART FOUR

* * *

The stars help to guide me. But as an uninvolved passenger, it is only Calypso's innate sense of direction that matters as she strokes her way across the gently rolling surf with me in tow. The star map stretches above my head like an endless silken tapestry. I know many of the formations and the individual stars staring down at me. I always have. From the moment Artemis and I first lay upon our backs and gazed upon the nighttime stars, this sky has felt like an old friend. It probably helps that my memory is such that I only need to see something once to have it permanently imprinted upon me. But some of this knowledge was already there just waiting to be harvested.

My gaze and attention switches to my mermaid friend, Calypso. Her smooth shoulders flex and glisten in the moonlight as her arms stroke a rhythmic pattern in accompaniment to the powerful pulse of her even more effective wide flipper. Hair spills around her. These inky locks ripple as one with the current. Her speed through the water has these endless curls splayed out behind her.

Gods, is she beautiful!

I almost regret that I am leaving her island. She would have me a permanent guest in that island paradise. There is so much in favor of capitulating to her wish. I would be surrounded by beauty and not just the islands. There would be peace. My every physical need would be cared for. What could be lacking?

I need more than those things.

We pass another island. So far, this is the thirty-sixth landmass that we've come near to. Others I've seen in the distance; dark shadows that rise in the night.

I keep waiting for Calypso to tire. Certainly she needs to rest? Her endurance is incredible. I wonder–not for the first time, how a creature so amazing ever came about. She is a miracle of creation, just her unique colorful flipper a marvel in engineering.

I just wish we were more compatible.

But I am meant for the land. She is meant for the sea. I keep trying to reconcile these two differences but convention keeps getting in the way. _It can never work._ I try not to listen to that calm voice of reason. The voice keeps chanting the same unpleasant tune. I want to put my hands over my ears. Somehow I will tune it out. My own stubbornness will deny the truth. After all, I am an Olympian–I will not be denied. _Yeah, keep playing that tune._

We continue to plow through the surf. I let my restless thoughts fall behind with the wake that chases after us. The moon shifts higher. Calypso finally veers towards the next island we come upon. This island is very small; more a collection of large boulders tumbled across a protrusion of sand than a landmass worthy of the name _island_. As we enter the shallows I slide off my wooden vessel and tow it onto the sandy beach.

Calypso drags herself onto the beach and sits with her back to the 'island.' Her tired flipper rests in the water looking droopy. It floats and bobs with the tide. I see her chest rise and fall as she gulps in great breaths of air. She is exhausted. I plop down next to her and slide an arm around her damp waist.

"You're amazing, did you know that?"

"And you're heavy," she complains, shouldering me playfully.

"You feed me too well."

"I think it was all the Juku fruit."

"See, it _was_ your fault!" I brush aside a wayward strand of hair plastered to her face. Water drips from her chin and I run a finger gently beneath it to steal a drop.

"I've never had to move along so slowly," she moans. "I felt like such a target."

I remember Calypso's warning about the great sea creatures that inhabit these waters. Such monsters are not usually much of a threat to a speedy mermaid like her, but would likely be of great concern to something less mobile in the water. Something like me. At the time I wondered if Calypso was using this caution to convince me not to leave the island, but now having experienced the vulnerability that comes from being exposed to the open sea I'm getting a better idea of the danger that exists in these waters.

But we've made it this far. I'm certainly not about to turn back now. "How much further?"

"Not much. I probably could've made it had I had tried. But I might need all my strength when we get there. Though hopefully not."

The meaning of her words sounds ominous. My eyebrows rise. "What haven't you told me, Calypso?"

She looks at me furtively as though she has been hiding something. "While we do trade with the _gifted_ at times, and as I told you they are fearful of the sea, we are not at peace with them. They scrupulously guard the coast. If I am seen coming ashore I will likely be attacked by their warriors with their bows and their spears. I might need to get away quickly."

"I wish you had told me of this earlier."

"It wouldn't have changed anything."

"Yes, it would have. I thought we could still be together after this. Now, I'm beginning to realize that it will be difficult to be with you."

Calypso's shapely lips squeeze together in ire. "I am not the one who wanted you to leave the island."

"I know. It was me. But I didn't know it would mean this." I squeeze her tightly in consolation. "It doesn't matter. I'll still make it work. I'm not going to let anything separate us."

Calypso turns her head and looks at me in the moonlight. Her eyes are wide in wonder. "You are determined about this, aren't you?"

"You had better believe it. I'm not losing you."

She leans into me. "Thank you, Apollo. You make me feel so happy."

She suddenly stiffens. "Oh, no," she mumbles tonelessly as she stares over my shoulder.

I follow her gaze. About twenty heads cloaked in darkness have silently emerged from the water and stare back at us. One of them slowly swims towards us. Waters streams from his powerful shoulders as a magnificent merman rises from the depths.

Calypso gasps sharply and clutches onto me so tightly as though by loosening her grip she will lose me. She tucks her face into my damp shoulder as if to hide.

"Calypso," the majestic merman cries in a booming voice, "what have you done?"

"Go away, daddy, I'm not leaving him!" While her voice is muffled, her meaning is not. Calypso would abandon her people if only to be with me. I feel a lump form in my throat.

More mermen materialize from the water around us. They rise from the sea and surround us. Looking at the superbly muscled torsos, I think I can handle maybe two or three of them without too much difficulty. But I can't defeat more than two dozen warriors at one time. Especially not when they are armed with spears, blades, and bows, some of these pointed at me even now.

"My little princess," the king continues in a broken voice. "What has happened? What has this _human_ done to you?" The inflection with which he says _human_ is all the evidence I need to have to know that I am in big trouble.

Calypso pulls her face free from my shoulder and confronts her father. Her eyes blaze defiantly. "He has done nothing to me, daddy! Leave him alone!"

"This _human_ has confused you, I see. Addled your wits. It has you not thinking straight." He continues to approach, near enough that I can admire the elaborate jewelry and the beads that adorn the vast torso of the great king.

"Get back!" she cries. Calypso snarls like a tigress defending her young. She pulls out a pearl handled blade that I didn't even know she had and thrusts it to her own throat. Her expression is desperate. "Stop! Or I'll do it!"

This makes the merman king finally pull up. "Give that to me, Calypso. You might hurt yourself."

"No, daddy." Calypso starts to cry. "You have to promise me! Promise me that you won't hurt him!"

"I can't do that, my little princess. You know I can't."

"Do it!" she practically screams. Blood starts to trickle down her neck.

Her father gulps. His eyes grow restless. He is scared that his daughter will actually take her own life for the sake of a detested _human_. I can see it clearly in his eyes. He must know his impulsive daughter all too well.

"Very well," he mutters thickly.

"Say it!" she cries.

"I will not kill him." I almost think he adds the word _yet_ under his breath, but I am not sure.

"Louder! Say it louder, daddy, so everyone can hear you!"

Rage storms to his deep turquoise eyes. He exhales heavily and then turns to his warriors. "We will not kill this _human_. The princess has ordered it. So shall it be."

With that Calypso abandons the blade to the sand and clings frantically to me. Her impassioned sobs fall against my chest and her tears pour upon my lap. It takes two mermen assisting her father to pull her away from me. Another warrior clubs me on the side of the head with a heavy weapon of some sort. Since the intention is to render me unconscious, I decide to play along. There is no need at the moment to reveal my true nature. I will pretend to be one of their reviled _humans_ and see where it takes me.

Back to their kingdom, it turns out. If they are not going to kill me, I don't know why they wouldn't at least abandon me to the tiny island. Maybe they consider that to be a form of leaving me for dead and they are striving to be honorable to the extreme so as to fulfill the princess' conditions. I doubt that is the case of course, so a million thoughts play through my mind as two strong swimmers tow me along through the water tied to Calypso's wooden vessel. With the two mermen's begrudging assistance, I now travel as a bound captive with the returning party of mermen warriors.

The speed with which we move through the water proves to me that Calypso must have really been struggling with my weight. The two brutes towing me along are probably twice her size and their bodies thrum with ready muscle. My weight is hardly an inconvenience to them.

The rest of the mermen remain submerged as they streak beneath us through the water. Swimming deep beneath the surface must be their natural preference. It is only for my sake that my two handlers stay aloft, and for that at least I am thankful. Still, the spray of ocean salt stings my face and the continually folding swells of surf keep filling my mouth with water, making it difficult to maintain the façade of unconsciousness. But somehow I manage.

Calypso remains close to her father's side. She has no choice. I see them once during the journey, he with his huge fist holding her slim arm captive. She dares to sneak a look at me when my escort nears, only to be yanked along yet faster by the angry king.

We finally near our destination. As the two mermen attending to me suddenly yank me down under the surface, I fear for a moment that I will find myself in a tunnel such as the one leading into the interior of Calypso's island. An even more fearful thought occurs to me as I wonder if one of these two brutes will be forced to help me breathe as did Calypso back in the tunnel leading from her island. Fortunately this underwater passageway turns out to run underwater for only a brief distance, and we emerge shortly into a realm of total blackness. Well, almost total blackness. As we move further along I can see that ahead of us there is evidence of artificial lights spaced apart at regular intervals. This must be one of the huge caves Calypso was telling me about.

I peek through my eyelids, totally in awe of the apparent vastness of the space. Enough light now appears that allows me to see further into the recesses of the shadows filling the cave. Multiple specks wink at me from great distances away. I guess them to be the light emanating from individual dwellings. This kingdom of merfolk is more extensive than I would've thought. If this one cave is any evidence, there must be thousands of these amazing sea creatures!

Eventually we reach the end of the great cave. Once again we plunge beneath the surface. This time I am kept submerged for an even longer period of time. When we finally resurface I see no need to keep up the ruse of being unconscious. I sputter and gulp for air. My captors eye me scornfully. My human needs are a weakness to such mighty warriors of the depths. One by one the others in our party emerge. For my own peace of mind, I make sure to get a moon-lit glimpse of Calypso's familiar face before letting the surroundings reveal themselves for what they are.

We are outside. It is still night, but the stars above are comforting evidence that we are free of the caverns. Towering high above the same water that still embraces us, multi-tiered layers of man-made (or rather, merman-made), structures rise up over us. This is clearly the site of Calypso's palace home. Even blanketed in darkness the architecture is magnificent.

"Put him in the dungeon," the king commands brusquely.

"But daddy..." Calypso tugs futilely at the strong hands holding her captive.

"Silence!" The king's lips are a thin line. "He is alive, isn't he?"

I am roughly handled by my guards as the ropes holding me bound to the floating timber are removed. We are now waist-deep in water, so it is expected that I can support my own weight. Despite being bound for so long I manage to stand unsteadily on my own two legs. As I rub my chafed wrists I glance around for a sign of Calypso amongst the crowd that is beginning to disperse. I catch one more glimpse of the distressed princess before she is whisked away from my sight. A moment later I am being herded in an altogether different direction.

My captors lead me down a dark tunnel beneath the palace. The pervasive smell of mold and mildew is probably made worse by the fact that the water that my legs swish through never gives way to dry surface beneath my feet. This water is a permanent fixture. I guess such conditions are more suitable for Calypso's folk. And sure enough the two guards at my side move quite capably through the tunnel with each simply holding a wrist of mine prisoner. _As if that's enough._ They must have a lot of confidence in their supposed physical superiority over a normal human; otherwise they wouldn't dare to leave me unbound like this.

But then, what use would it be to resist? If I were to attempt escape, where would I go? Can I out-swim these mermen? Can I overpower so many? Hardly. I shall try to remain cooperative, and see if I can learn what they intend to do with me.

The tunnels branches forth into another tunnel and then still another, and soon we arrive at the dungeon. I am shoved into one of the holding cells–thankfully the only such cell that seems to be fully elevated above the ever-present waist-deep water, and the heavy prison door is locked securely behind me.

Grimly, I take stock of my surroundings. It is dark here, just like I feel. The only light that is cast comes from a half-spent torch set in the wall outside this group of cells. With it I can see the patch of straw spread loosely in the corner of my cell, a chamber pot, and two bowls set just inside the bars. I am alone in this cell, but I see movement in some of the others. It's unlikely that there are other humans in these cells, so I imagine these other prisoners are mermen who have proven to be violators of the law and are awaiting trial. Criminals all. My only crime is looking somewhat human.

Oh, and stealing the heart of the king's daughter. Yeah, that one might get me into a little bit of trouble.

Guards come and go. Most of this activity is the result of these guards dutiful patrols of the corridors while out doing their rounds. Twice though, a guard stops outside my cell and adds some stale water to one bowl, but no food to the other. Judging from the sounds my stomach makes and the internal clock ticking expectantly inside me, nearly a whole day passes before a dry piece of bread is finally dropped in the other bowl. What are they trying to do? Starve me? It occurs to me that 'not killing me' does not mean that the Jengu have to treat me well. In fact, I am surprised that I haven't received far worse treatment than this.

My first real visitor is a merman who is nearly as large as King Atlas. I can tell immediately that this is not going to be a social call just from examining the sharp angles in the brute's face placed there by his temper. This one hates me with a passion.

"So this is the _human_ ," he says to the guard at his back.

I think to myself, _what is he, dense? Look a these legs. What do I look like?_ At least he stated it as a fact and not as a question. Otherwise, I would think him even stupider.

The guard grunts and says, scratching his head, "He is a quiet one, my lord. Hasn't said a word so far. Real strange-looking though."

"Let me have a word with him," the newcomer requests.

"Certainly, my lord." He disappears with a heavy scraping of scales and a slurping of water.

The merman who the guard called _lord_ approaches near to my bars. His eyes blaze as he looks in at me. I sit with my back to the hard stone wall with my knees drawn up and regard him blankly. I have no idea why this merman feels about me the way he does.

"Listen to me _human_ ," he rants. "If I find out that you so much as _touched_ my betrothed in a way that is inappropriate, I will skin that human hide of yours and feed it to the sharks."

_Betrothed?_ Why do I get the feeling that Calypso hasn't told me everything? I remain silent and continue to watch the enraged merman. He seems to notice the surprised look that registers in my eyes upon hearing this information.

"Yes, that's right; Princess Calypso is my betrothed–in case you didn't know that before now. We've been busy planning the wedding, and here, all along, under my very nose, she has been sneaking out to see _you;_ a _stinking human_! I should skin _her_ disloyal hide while I'm at it!"

_So I guess it really wasn't a cousin who she was helping to prepare a wedding for. It was her own wedding she was planning_. This is great. Really great. What else don't I know about my dearly beloved Calypso?

_Actually, I really don't know much of anything about her._ Other than the fact that I'm crazy about her!

I don't know if this so-called _betrothed_ of Calypso's is expecting a reply, but he continues to stare angrily at me in silence. Having nothing to say in response, I return the silence.

"What are you, stupid?" he finally says. "Don't you know that I can make your life even more miserable than it's going to be? Don't you know that I can make life miserable _for her_? She is going to be my wife, whether you like it or not. If I find out that her heart has been a disloyal one, I will turn her life into a living nightmare."

"No, don't do that," I finally say quietly, rising to my feet. "Leave Calypso out of it. It was all my doing. I seduced her. She had nothing to do with it."

He grows quiet, and just looks at me. Finally he says thickly, "Then you will pay."

With those words he dips his head and disappears.

I sink back down against the wall of my prison cell and cover my head with my arms. Things were already complicated. Now they are shaping up to be even more complicated. How am I ever going to make this all work out in a way that doesn't get me or Calypso killed, and that doesn't turn her life into a miserable nightmare?

Hours go by, and then more hours.

My next visitor is very different from the last. I am sleeping when I hear a sharp hiss of breath. Slowly coming awake, I feel something sharp strike my arm. I groggily look up just as Calypso is drawing back her arm getting ready to throw another broken fragment of shell at me.

"Shh!" Calypso warns with a finger to her lips as I rush up to the bars to greet her. Her whisper is hurried and her eyes feverish with worry. "No one knows I'm here."

"Calypso!" I hiss under my breath. "What's going on? Are you really getting _married_?"

"It's a long story," she hisses back. "And the short of it is, no, I'm not getting married. Never–to that merman! I would rather die. But my father's been the one arranging the wedding. He's been insisting that I marry that cruel and ancient Lord Kalidan. I thought I'd have time to come up with a way to get out of it."

A tear starts to roll down along her high cheekbone and I brush it aside. Her words begin to come in whispered gasps. "Then you came along. I had it all planned. I was going to run away with you. If only you would have me. We could've lived together on that island. We would've been happy. But then you rejected me. I was so hurt. But I knew then I couldn't go through with this sham wedding. Not when I knew that someone like you was still out there. I was going to run away as soon as I knew you were safely on dry land. I was never going back to my home. But they found us. They caught us, Apollo!"

Calypso turns her face to me and angry tears spill down her cheeks in an unstoppable torrent. Her bottom lip is curled and trembling. "Father's going to make me marry that beast!" she chokes out. "Don't let him do it! Please, Apollo, help me!" She clutches onto my arms frantically. Her fingers dig into my skin. "Please, Apollo, you have to get me out of here!"

I look at my bars. I look at her. What does she expect of me? She is someone else's _betrothed for pity sakes!_

But even as I think it, I see it's not her fault. She is every much a victim in this as I am. _But what can I do to change things?_

I slip out of her grasp and pace the cell. Calypso clings desperately to the bars that I abandoned and sobs quietly with her face to the ground spilling tears. Before I only needed to worry about myself. I thought Calypso was at least safely home, even if not happy to be home under these conditions. Now I see that it's a different story. Especially after meeting her fiancé. This makes it an even worse story. I don't trust this Lord Kalidan one bit. He is going to hurt Calypso badly if this wedding is allowed to take place. If not physically, than at least in ways that will cause her irreparable damage to her soul. I can't allow that to happen. Decided, I finally turn to Calypso.

"How much time do we have before the wedding?"

"Two weeks!" she wails despondently. "My father just moved it up a whole month!"

"In those two weeks, do you think you can find an opportunity to escape?"

"I think so," she sniffles. "But I'm not leaving you here."

"You have to, Calypso. That's the only way it can work. Otherwise I'll be too worried that you'll get hurt. Go to your island. I will come find you. I know I can't pass safely within the mountain walls without your help, but when I get there I'll wait for you outside. Check for me every day. I'll come. I've memorized the location of the island by its alignment with the stars. I know where it is. Somehow I'll come to you. I'll find a boat... anything... somehow I'll do it. You have to believe me."

"They'll kill you, Apollo," she moans quietly. "I can't let them do that to you."

"I'm not so easy to kill. Don't worry about me." I cup her chin in my palm and force her to look into my eyes. "Promise me, Calypso. Promise me that you'll run away."

Calypso's shoulders convulse as strong sobs take hold of her again. She blinks wetly at me through the tears. When she replies, her voice is barely audible.

"Okay, Apollo. I promise you."

My hands tenderly frame her cheeks. I pull her face near. Her lips tremble expectantly but I place my gentle lips upon her forehead instead.

"Go now," I whisper. "Be safe."

She balls her clenched fists against her eyes and spins away. The wake her departure makes in the underground stream sloshes against the stagnant walls, otherwise her departure is silent.

I find my spot against the wall and sit down to think. There must be _something_ that I can do. Calypso can't marry that creature. She needs to get away. If I ever want to be with her again, somehow I have to escape this island filled with merfolk. And it has to happen as soon as I hear that Calypso is away safely.

If I can't do it, then what use is it anyway to be a freaking Olympian?
* * *

It is still unclear in Mercer's mind if the employee standing before him used to work in genetics, or if he is simply a past student of the subject. He wasn't really listening to the explanation when the man was introduced to him. His mind was elsewhere. Nor did he catch exactly what connection he had with genetics–just that it was mentioned during the introduction. All Mercer cares about is that this employee seems to know a lot about Hellas and is claimed to have something significant to add to the mystery surrounding the disappearance of the Olympian Apollo. Impatient at having to wait for the employee to arrive in his office, Mercer motions for the man to speak.

The man fidgets quite nervously and Mercer is about ready to berate him for his untimely reticence when he finally begins to talk. "There is another possibility you might not be aware of, sir. It is possible that Apollo was not lost at sea."

Mercer just glares at him. The man swallows thickly and rapidly continues.

"Most people aren't aware of it, but there may be another race of engineered beings that share the planet with Panagopoulos' most current creations. It was thought that these were all exterminated but recent rumors seem to indicate that a sizable population might remain. If Apollo is still alive and has fallen into their hands, there may be a totally different problem to deal with."

"Explain."

"These genotypes are unique ocean-dwellers–mermaids and mermen to be specific. Merfolk; if you will. Physically, they are quite robustly built. To my knowledge, only the Olympians themselves have been engineered with greater physical capability. If Apollo has fallen into their hands it may be extremely difficult to extract him."

Mercer considers for a moment. It is true that this planet was the site for earlier experimentations; he had become aware of that history in preparing himself for this assignment. But just as this man says, any evidence of this work was supposed to have been eradicated with the last terraforming process. If this cleansing wasn't so thorough, and some people knew about it...

Mercer feels himself seething. "Why wasn't I told about these abominations? And what in the world are mermaids doing in a Greek-themed world?"

"Like I said, until recently it was thought that they had been completely eliminated in preparation for Project Olympus. Panagopoulos' terraforming equipment is usually quite effective in harrowing and then re-shaping a planet. But being predominantly an ocean-dwelling species, these genotypes would've been significantly more difficult to eradicate. I only learned about their likely survival a couple of weeks ago when rumors were confirmed that the ship carrying Apollo went down in that storm. Another rumor going around is that one of the agents planted in Athens overheard a discussion about plans to capture one of these creatures by that ship's captain."

Mercer mulls over this new evidence, muttering out loud as he does so. "We are in deep trouble if the audience ever catches wind of this. We'd be the laughing stock of the entertainment world. Mermaids; can you imagine?"

"Sirens are not so different, sir," the man offers helpfully. "Possibly it can be worked into the story."

"In all the stories that I've ever read, if anything, sirens have wings; not cursed tails!" Mercer cries.

"Maybe you can put a spin on it, sir. The average viewer doesn't know the true stories. Being of the sea might allow for an adaptation of the tales of old and add interest. After all, you never know."

_Who is this guy, anyway?_ Mercer doesn't want to acknowledge it but this man is brilliant. Of course he can't let him know that. He will feign opposition to the idea. Mercer allows himself to turn beet red. He prides himself on his acting ability. "Unacceptable! That's not how we operate! If it doesn't fit, it's not finding its way into any storylines, no matter how interesting a story it makes."

"My apologies, sir."

"And why are you only telling me this only now?" Mercer is still livid despite his mind now contemplating ideas on how to turn a possible disaster into a score.

"I did say something. But nobody listened to me. After all, I am only a construction worker here at the station. I left the field of human genetics years ago."

Mercer glowers at the man. He finally relents. This man is not the problem. There is no need to crush him like the bug that he is. He may be of some use in the future.

"How did you end up there?" Mercer is curious despite himself. This man certainly seems to have a more extensive background in genetics and things pertaining to Hellas than what would be required of a simple construction worker. Why would anyone take a menial job when he can achieve greater things?

"The type of work I do now is all I want to do. It pays the bills and I have time for my kids."

Mercer still isn't satisfied. "Then how is it that you seem to know more about what's going on down there than I do?"

"People talk. Shuttles are constantly coming and going down where I work at the docking portal. We hear the real gossip before anything unpleasant is filtered out and sent on up to the important people." The construction worker looks around nervously. "I hope I'm not getting anybody in trouble. I mean..."

"Don't worry about it," Mercer says smoothly, already scheming to make an example of anyone who may have kept valuable information from him. He decides to throw in a bold-faced lie for good measure. "I'm not like that at all."

The employee nods in relief.

"I would like to hear more about these ocean-dwelling genotypes. Now, if you would just tell me who on this station would know the most about these rumors..."
* * *

I am sleeping when they come for me. The guards slosh noisily about in the tunnel that leads to the dungeon, awakening me. Their weapons jangle at their sides trying to turn the approaching troupe into a festive parade. _I can only wish._ I know long before they arrive and surround my cell that they have come for me. Sure enough, they stop before my cell. My cell door is unlocked by one of the guards. I take careful note of the rope looped around his neck that holds the key to my cell–just in case.

"No funny stuff, do you hear?" one guard says gruffly.

This time they come with a length of strong rope, and guessing its purpose I hold out my wrists cooperatively by way of reply. Now is not the time to attempt escape but to appear the cooperative prisoner. I follow along as they lead me from my cell. I'm guessing that Calypso hasn't attempted her own escape yet. Otherwise these guards would be far less accommodating. As it is they allow me the dignity of walking unaided and unharassed back through the corridor from which they came. Not that my progress is unimpeded; the seawater that fills these corridors slops about my waist and weighs down my legs. This ever-present conduit of water is a perfect convenience for the mermen but a hindrance to me.

However I can't help but wonder how well they maneuver on the upper floors without legs to propel them upright. Calypso had seemed to move along just fine on land, but it can't be as comfortable or as natural as their preferred aquatic habitat. Knowing this, if this palace were situated on the mainland I might be tempted to make a break for it. I'm sure I can easily outrun any pursuit by these leg-challenged sea creatures. As it stands though, if I try to run away I'll probably be forced to keep running in circles around this island until I finally tire out. I smile to myself at the ridiculous image this brings to mind.

Our party diverts from the main tunnel and heads up a side ramp. This gives me a better picture of the mermen's capability away from water as we ascend clear of it. They move along well enough, but it doesn't look comfortable or efficient for them. The manner in which they ambulate kind of reminds me of a seal–a sea creature I saw for the first time when I was sailing aboard Captain Leonidas' ship. The seals I witnessed moved superbly in the open sea, but when they clambered up onto the rocky shoals their dexterity suffered a great deal. So yes, up here on dry ground I see for a fact that I do have a huge advantage over these mermen. I just wish I can think of a way to capitalize on that advantage.

We pass other mermen and even some female mermaids through the wide corridors we move along. These mermaids are the first female merfolk I've seen other than Calypso. Just as humankind is made up with a wide diversity of physical appearances–some good, some not so good, there is evidence of diversity here also. Of course none of these mermaids even begin to approach Calypso in beauty, though some of the females I see in the corridors are really quite eye-catching.

As can be expected, my appearance here garners much interest. Merfolk stop what they are doing and stare. Many look at me scornfully. I never knew two legs was such a sin. But some simply show curiosity. I imagine that underneath it all these creatures are really no different than land-dwelling humans. They come in all types. I can't simply place them all in one convenient category of _human_ -haters.

We pass through a large hall with many more merfolk present. They loiter around the hall and watch our small party pass through their midst. I let my eyes scan the surroundings. The décor of the palace is simple and one thing that seems notably missing is chairs. I suppose there's a good reason for their absence. But low couches do line the walls and upon some of these recline more merfolk. The garb of all is minimal, but class distinctions are easily evidenced. It seems that the type of jewelry each one wears is the key to sorting out rank.

Ahead of us the buzz of voices grows louder as I hear signs of an even larger audience. It is towards these sounds that my guards steer me.

We enter into the crowded throne room of the palace. As can be expected there are no thrones present per se, to be technically designated as such. Instead King Atlas reclines at the head of the room upon a gilded divan of some sort, arranged in such a way so as to give him the appearance of being even larger and more magnificent than he already is.

"If it isn't the human," he booms in a powerful voice, turning in our direction as we enter the throne room. He looks at me as one might regard a pesky fly. By his manner I detect a dismissive posture; he wants to attribute no dignity to the lowly land-dweller standing before him. The King waves his hand in a brusque gesture. "Bring him forward."

This time the guards are not so thoughtful, and I am yanked forward aggressively by the guard leading me by the rope. I feel the chill presence of drawn blades at my back. These guards are taking no chances with their human captive while in the King's presence.

I look around and see no sign of Calypso. However I do see Lord Kalidan. He hovers in close company with some other well-dressed merman and mermaids. The lords and ladies of the court, I suspect. I can't help but notice the satisfied look on his face as he watches me being trundled past him. It gives me some pleasure to see that he has to tilt his head back to meet my eye as I draw abreast of him. On my feet I tower over these merfolk.

The guards deliver me before King Atlas. I wonder what these merfolk have in mind for me. I hate not knowing. King Atlas promised his daughter that I would not be killed. Does he intend to honor that promise? If so, what will he subject me to that will satisfy these merfolk's outrage at my keeping illicit company with their precious princess? It idly occurs to me that I should be more worried. But this blasé is what happens when you are a god.

Water drips on the mosaic tile around me as the moisture continues to seep from my soaked garments. Another idle thought runs through my mind that there must be a lot of spilled water to clean up on these upper floors as merfolk come and go from their favorite element. A picture runs through my mind of a mermaid servant following close behind a dripping new sea-arrival with a mop. I try not to smile at the inane thought. Instead I try to focus on what King Atlas has to say.

"It has been decided, human."

My thoughts race through a list of options as he pauses dramatically. Again, it's not out of fear, but out of a desire for preparedness. I wonder if it would make a difference if I tell him my name. Calypso knew who I was, even without being told. Certainly the King would know about the Olympians also. Recognizing me as an Olympian might help him to get beyond this _human_ thing he has against me. Clearly there is a blind prejudice with these people regarding anything human. An Olympian, I would imagine, is somewhat beyond that limited description.

But no; I have already decided that I will not draw upon my title. At least, not yet. I am no better and no worse than any other creation here upon Hellas. I will not turn my belief in this conviction into a lie. No one sees my inner turmoil as I stand stoically before the King and wait patiently for him to speak.

The King solemnly delivers his judgment. "For crimes committed upon the person of Calypso, my beloved daughter and the crowned princess of the Jengu nation, you have been found guilty! You are hereby banished to the Isle of the Dead!"

The hushed gasps tell me that this is probably not a good place to be sentenced to. But at least it's not _here_ , on this large island, where there are hundreds of merfolk everywhere you look and no place to run to.

I guess he sees the relieved look on my face, so in an effort to cure this look, he continues with an icy sneer, "While not imposing a direct sentence of death, _human_ , do not think that this punishment is any less desirable than death itself. In fact you will be begging for death before you've seen the conclusion of even one week on that island prison."

With those words the guards tear me away from before his presence. I see the smug look on Lord Kalidan's face as I'm shoved past him. The gathered throng watches me pass through their midst. I am a spectacle. Some feel sorry, but most look at me with scorn.

I am hustled, not back to the dungeon first, but directly to the open ocean. For some reason I had expected otherwise. There will be no time to get my bearings. I look everywhere but see no sign of Calypso. For all I know they might have the princess securely locked in her room until the day of the wedding. The thought worries me.

We pass through the underground tunnels and caverns on our way to the sea. It all happens in a blur. Somewhere along the way I have the wherewithal to count my captors. Six seem to be permanently attached to me, even though others come and go depending on the circumstance of where we are and the perceived threat my presence presents.

Before I know it I'm bobbing in the current and choking on the salty waters of the ocean. At least it's daytime. It feels somehow wrong, but the sun is shining brightly in a brilliant blue sky. A flock of seabirds call and circle above. They conspire with all other flying creature, and their shrill calls mock the interloper poorly suited to their environment. The ocean swells are calm at the moment; still they crash mightily against the steep banks of the landmass at our side.

This time I have no flotation device to help keep me afloat. I feel a strong jerk and then I am dragged mercilessly through the water by the long cord holding me prisoner. In the chop of the sea it is a struggle to find air to breathe. Three mermen tow me along. This enables the guard detail to move through the sea at an incredible pace. Evidently they don't care if I make it dead or alive to our destination. They probably think it doesn't matter.

I know that this is the opportunity I was waiting for. Whatever waits for me on this Isle of the Dead cannot be more difficult to escape than an island filled with merfolk with no way to leave. I should be grateful. While this optimism comes to me somewhat forced, it keeps me from attempting escape. It also keeps me from grief.

It becomes a game. I try to predict when my body will plunge free of the surface film and enable me a brief second to gasp for breath. The timing has something to do with the roll of the surf and the speed with which we move along. I get good at the game. Breathing becomes more predictable as I learn how to pace myself.

Our water journey turns into hours. The water seems to get colder; choppier. Soon I see dark shapes moving in the sea around us. They dart in and out. Larger dark shapes drift by our traveling party more methodically. It doesn't escape my notice that the three guards not manning my tow rope have their spears drawn. Twice they are forced to use these weapons. Some of the dark shapes get too close and the guards have to ward them off. One dark shape gets close enough for me to see clearly what it is. _A shark._ One large enough to bite a human in half. A huge eye stares at me hungrily as the sinister creature slips gracefully past. For a brief moment I am glad to have my armed escort.

I finally arrive at the island of our destination with all of my body parts still intact. At the prodding of the guards I stumble up onto the rocky shoals on numb limbs. I take a moment and look around at my new home. With the bright skies extending my line of sight, my eyes can take in the entire landmass with one sweep of my gaze. Seabirds flock at one end of the island and seals loiter lazily in another corner. There are no trees and little vegetation. Even from here I can make out the macabre glitter of starched bones loosely scattered in among the rocks. Such bones are everywhere. At least some of the skulls are human. I know this because I can easily identify the large bones lying nearby as femur bones. These skeletons had legs. Yes, this certainly appears to be the Isle of the Dead.

My guards hurl the loose end of rope at me. They don't need it anymore. I probably don't either. There is not even a tree on this island to hang myself from.

"There's a freshwater spring at the center of the island," one of the guards says gruffly. "You will have to find your own food. If you do, this might allow you to survive a month; maybe two months; maybe more. As you can see, it would not be wise to try to leave."

I follow his meaningful gesture to the rolling surf. A dozen shark fins break the surface even as I look.

"The seals here make this their home year round," he continues. "These sharks and other sea creatures that are even far more dangerous are never far away. It is these other sea creatures that might make your stay here shorter than you expect."

"I'll take that under advisement," I say dryly.

"This will teach you not to touch our princess!" He delivers the last statement with scathing disdain.

I meet his burning eyes but don't reply. He loves his princess with a fierce loyalty. He probably has no idea of the fate his King would serve upon his own daughter. I have no argument with this merman nor with his companions. While there are six of them and I could probably defeat them with enough effort, I have no compulsion to do so. I even reject the thought that crosses my mind to keep one of these guards alive and force him to bring me to safety. The god I once was would have felt no compunction with such a move.

I am not that person at the moment.

With that the mermen turn and I allow them to dive unharmed beneath the waves.

I am left alone. Slipping the rope from my wrists, I turn to face my new home. I look at the barren landscape and the polished bones spread across the broken rocks. I look at the hot sun from which there will be no protection. I think about the cold nights with no cover to climb into. I think about the storms that will pummel this exposed piece of rock and me with nowhere to go to escape the fury of these storms.

Maybe this is _not_ better than my previous predicament.
* * *

Iapetus leans his father against the cliff that they at some point hope to scale. It has been days now and still they have not found a route that will take them to the summit. That goal now seems impossible. Both he and his father are exhausted. They are starving. They are battered. Both physically and emotionally. His father's coughs have gotten worse. What little progress they have made in their search has come at an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Haven't we come far enough, father?" he pleads for the one-hundredth's time. "Isn't it time we turn around and go home?"

"We will make it," his father insists. His voice has adopted a mechanical flatness to it. "The gods will help us."

Iapetus picks a stray twig from the thin disheveled hair of the old man. "You may die out here. Do you really have to see the palace of the gods? Isn't faith alone enough?"

"This is not a journey of faith, my son."

Iapetus looks at his father soberly. "Then what is this journey about, father?"

"It is a journey of the soul."

Iapetus' eyebrows rise. "What does that mean?"

"You will see."

His reply is maddeningly cryptic, and Iapetus just shakes his head and steps back. He has not the patience to distinguish the ranting of an old man from the dying plea that had first persuaded this journey. Maybe _he_ is the fool for even being here. He sighs wearily.

"I'm going to look for food," he says.

"I'll be here."

Iapetus plunges into the brush. His search takes him to a rocky outcrop swallowed in vegetation. He pauses to listen. This seems to be the perfect habitat for beasts to lie in wait for unsuspecting prey. It is also the site of a huge berry patch that his starving eyes have just spotted. The berries are swollen and blue; they hang succulently from the boughs of low-growing shrubs that ring a cluster of stray overgrown boulders set apart from the larger rock structures nearby.

Hearing and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, Iapetus starts forward. Birds and small animals scatter at his approach. Everything seems normal. With his senses more heightened to the possibility of danger he hears the crunch of forest litter beneath his feet as though exaggerated many times. He wishes that he were more attuned to the ways of the forest. But he is only a simple fisherman stranded far from his natural habitat. He is the proverbial fish out of water.

His fingers tremble slightly as he kneels down and coaxes free a particularly large berry. He resists the desire to shove the morsel greedily into his mouth. Instead he savors the bite. The juice bursts into wonderful flavors in his mouth. He hopes that these berries are not poisonous. But if they are, he can die a happy man. These berries are absolutely delicious!

Iapetus eats his full, and then spreads his garment out to gather enough to bring back to his father. He wishes that he could take an entire shrub with him, but knows that it's not possible.

The deep growl is his first warning that he is no longer alone.

He spins around. What he stands face to face with makes his blood run cold. Though vaguely resembling a lion, the creature before him seems to be suited with a coat of iron. Snarling ferociously, it towers over him, being almost as tall as a horse. Iapetus has a sinking feeling that this must be the beast that the hero Hercules was looking for.

Why does he have to be the one to find it?

He takes a step backwards as the creature steps towards him. Iapetus grudgingly acknowledges that it moves with remarkable fluidity for something so monstrous. As it methodically begins to close the distance, growling ominously all the while, he gets the chance to examine more closely the impressive teeth that line its jaws. Each tooth is about as long as his hand. He notes too, the lethal claws that sink deep into the ground as it approaches. Any fallen branch that these razor-sharp claws don't crush beneath their ponderous weight they slice cleanly through. Even if he were to be armed to the teeth, Iapetus knows that he wouldn't last two seconds against such a formidable beast.

Thunk!

The beast stumbles backwards in surprise. Even though the oversized arrow sliding harmlessly down its strange hide to the ground doesn't penetrate, it strikes with enough force to give the beast pause.

Suddenly two more arrows in quick succession strike the lion-beast with solid blows to its iron hide. Furious, it tilts back its head to roar in defiance. This proves to be to its own undoing. For the next arrow finds its way into the open maw and imbeds itself deeply in an unprotected throat. The roar turns into an anguished moan. Clutching helplessly at its throat with its huge paws, the beast fights to dislodge the protruding shaft. But it has penetrated too deeply to dislodge.

Another roar rattles the forest at Iapetus' back and suddenly a huge form is hurtling past him. Iapetus recognizes Hercules just as he slams into the injured creature. The struggle is ferocious. Two behemoths fighting it out so close to Iapetus' position makes for a terrifying experience. He huddles on his hands and knees, hoping the battle doesn't find him.

With a great act of will, Hercules gets his powerful arms around the body of the creature he is fighting. He bellows mightily and the veins stand out in stark detail all over his body as he puts every last effort into crushing the writhing body held tightly in his arms. There is a loud crunching sound, and the creature's chest cavity caves in with a violent implosion.

Hercules casts the lifeless body away from him and it lands heavily enough to shake the ground.

"That's what you get for scratching me!" he snarls. Blood trickles from a deep cut on his broad chest. Other than that it looks like he has come out of the contest unscathed.

Iapetus straightens from where he crouches. Hercules turns to look at him.

"So we meet again," he booms, with a victorious grin now plastered on his face as it finally seems to sink in that he won. "As you can see I found my lion."

"Yes, you did at that," Iapetus says with an unsteady voice. "Is this then the district of Nemea?"

"Yes, I found out I was going the wrong way when I came across you on the road. I went two days out of my way until someone pointed me in the right direction. There need to be better signs on the roads." He looks at the fisherman curiously. "Though I do not believe you were alone at the time."

"My father is still with me. I left him somewhere safe while I looked for food."

"This is dangerous country to be in." Hercules looks meaningfully at the corpse. "What brings you here?"

"I am bringing my father to see Olympus before he dies."

Hercules roars with laughter. He is still chuckling as he draws forth a blade from a scabbard at his belt. Iapetus' eyes open with alarm, but he calms when the giant man bends over the carcass and starts to saw at the armored hide. After a few minutes of this, his mirth at Iapetus' expense turns into disgruntlement.

"Cursed hide is too hard," he grumbles, looking at his blade in disgust.

"Why don't you use the creature's own claws?" Iapetus suggests helpfully.

Hercules scratches his head. "You may just have something there, little man."

Iapetus knows that he is not large; but he is by no means a 'little man.' He decides that it might be best not to challenge this hugely muscled man on the matter.

Hercules takes one of the huge paws in his hand and directs the largest of the claws in such a way that it acts like a knife. Sure enough, the razor-sharp claws shear easily through the tough armor.

"You're a genius," he says to Iapetus. "What made you think of that?"

"I don't know; I guess it just made sense to me."

"I need this hide for proof of the kill," Hercules explains. "I was worried that I might have to carry this entire carcass across the countryside with me. You saved me a lot of work."

"You saved me from that beast's jaws. I think we're more than even." Iapetus stares at the carcass Hercules is carving up. "What _is_ that thing? It doesn't even have natural blood!"

Hercules pauses briefly and looks at the oily black blood seeping past his improvised cutting tool. "That's because it's a _dark_ creature sent from the underworld. I've made a living ridding the world of this sort of creature. Only now I'm doing it out of penance."

"Penance? As in repentance? What have you done wrong, to require this sort of penance, if I may be so bold as to ask?"

"Lack of faith. And to pay for it, Zeus has me doing ten difficult labors."

Despite their obvious physical differences, Iapetus feels a sudden affinity for Hercules. Yet the mention of Zeus causes Iapetus to refrain from saying anything. Something must have happened in Hercules' life for him to suddenly turn to a devotion of the gods and to fancy himself as having received a communication from the great god Zeus. Iapetus knows that the human soul is weak, and he realizes that even he could be persuaded to _believe_ if despair ever becomes great enough. So to avoid the possibility of bringing up an uncomfortable subject, Iapetus simply says, "I remember; you told me about that assignment."

Hercules grunts in acknowledgement and then goes back to what he was doing.

"Well, I guess I had better get back to my father. He must be wondering where I am."

Hercules looks up and stabs a finger towards the vertical mountainside just visible through the trees. "If you really must complete this silly pilgrimage, there is a spot right over there that some people have used to climb Olympus. Not that I would ever be interested in going there. I took Zeus coming to me for me to have anything to do with the gods that live there. But I get told many things and that route up the mountain is just one of the useless bits of information that I have floating around up here." He taps the side of his solid skull.

"Really? That is great news! You have no idea how long I've been looking for a way up the side of that mountain!"

The great hero shrugs. "'Tis nothing. If it brings you closer to the gods; good for you. If you fall to your death; don't blame me."
* * *

The journey between worlds takes far longer than she expected yet finishes before she is ready.

Jill stands in the lounge and watches pensively as the blue planet crawls nearer. The unblocked view to the outside fills a whole wall so she feels as though she could step right through the glass and float off into outer space. Such a clear view also allows Jill the opportunity to examine the approaching planet in careful detail.

Hellas, she decides, looks more similar to earth than it does to New Taiwan, the home of her birth. The continents are smaller and bunched closer together, and the mountains have been thrust higher than those of earth, but the conventional mix of landmass and ocean are a comfortable sight. Even though Jill did not grow up on a world like this, she muses that a longing for such a home must be fused into her primordial consciousness.

Jill knows that the similarities to earth don't end with just those viewed from space. With Panagopoulos' massive machines, the surface of the ground which she can't yet see in any detail would've been scratched clean and then sown with familiar forms of life long ago. Too many dangers harmful to man would've existed in the alien environment that had previously existed here. Such has been the practice on planet after planet as new ones are discovered and made available to the ever burgeoning population of mankind.

Looking at one such example of terraforming right outside her window, Jill lets her mind drift to thoughts of how such a massive undertaking is accomplished. While the average human's lifespan has been extended to be of a much longer duration than centuries ago, thanks to the remarkable advances accomplished in the scientific and medical community, it still seems unbelievable that a new environment can actually be reconstructed in the short period of time that it takes–well within a human's lifespan. Despite this, Jill is still filled with unanswered questions. What about the massive trees some of these new terraformed worlds contain? The deep jungles teaming with dense vegetation? The extensive populations of fauna? How did this life all become so quickly established and take on a look of such permanence?

Jill realizes that some of it can be attributed to the work of human geneticists. In the course of the last few centuries an incredible amount of work has been accomplished in the field of genetics. For instance, it has been discovered that certain traits can be adapted in certain ways and certain conditions can be encouraged to perform far beyond what is ordinary. She also knows that some of the flora and fauna that these new worlds are seeded with are not of terrestrial descent. Some forms of life found elsewhere have proven to be safe and highly desirable additions to consider for introduction into these new habitats. Jill wonders how many of these alien lifeforms were included in the terraforming of Hellas. Some of these are quite bizarre. Will she get to see some?

What she does know for a certainty is that Hellas is not like any other world in any case. The man-made creations that have been allowed to exist upon this planet have proven fascinating in the extreme. It is as though Hellas has been offered as a playground to the imaginations of the genemasters; an opportunity to bring to life the likenesses from all their wildest fantasies. –At least anything pertaining to ancient Greek mythology. With a few other fanciful creations thrown in for good measure.

A voice from behind her startles Jill from her reverie.

"Soon now."

She turns to face Ralph. He is hovering only inches away from her. The heat his strong male body is giving off is all too tangible. His warm brown eyes meet hers. He is still trying to seduce her. But Jill's heart has already been given away.

To create space for herself, Jill backs up until the cold glass from the view-screen is pressed up against her back. Ralph moves forward but she puts her hand out to stop him.

"Yes," she says in response, too timid to address his forwardness but strong enough not to let him exert his will over her. She tries to keep it neutral and only discuss what lies on the surface. "Tonight will be my first night spent on Hellas. I am excited."

"I'm still not happy about it. You won't be safe down there without me. I can't believe they're allowing this to happen."

Ralph is referring to a last minute change of plans by the Project Olympus committee. Originally the contestant winners would each be provided with an experienced guide; i.e. _bodyguard_ , to provide protection from any dangerous elements that might be awaiting them on the planet's surface. The thought was, it would not be good for publicity if anything happened to these defenseless civilians.

But all this has changed. Forced to sign a waiver releasing Panagopoulos and his organization from any responsibility, Jill and the others will now be sent in _alone_ , with only those already planted in the resident population to look to for support. While Jill doesn't care either way, Ralph has been finding it difficult to accept the fact that his responsibility will be ending when the waiting space station receives its cargo of V.I.P. passengers shortly.

"Don't worry about me, Ralph," Jill says soothingly. "You trained me well. I am ready to face whatever comes my way."

"I hope so. But I don't like the idea of you being left so exposed to those inhuman savages down there. They have no morals, you know. I hear that they're no better than animals."

"I think you're wrong." Jill feels an uncharacteristic urge to challenge this biased statement. Ralph and everyone else like him need to unplug their eyes and ears and face the truth. "Haven't you watched any of the shows about this world? Haven't you seen the tenderness these people can show amongst themselves? The love? The sympathy? The joy? They are no different than you and I!"

He shakes his head. "All I see are beasts and savages. There is nothing noble about them. And that includes these so-called gods."

Jill feels the heat rise to her cheeks. She is furious! To avoid saying something harsh, she turns her back on him. She is saved by the scene that is just now starting to present itself outside their starship.

" _Hades._ What a name," Ralph mutters, glancing over her shoulder at the space station beginning to appear. "But I guess it's a fitting description to those stationed way out here."

"When this is all over I want to work there."

"Really? You would actually _want_ to do that? When this is all over you will probably be able to pick any job you want. Don't bury yourself in anonymity, Jill."

"That just shows you don't know anything about me, Ralph. I don't need the limelight. I don't need a prestigious job. I just want to do something that makes me happy."

He harrumphs. And then mutters, "Maybe this experience will open your eyes."

"Maybe it will open everyone else's."

Jill doesn't know why she utters the cryptic response, but it feels somehow appropriate.
* * *

He thought film alone would be enough to satisfy the obsession, but it's not.

Mercer's heart pounds as the planet approaches. The superb craft swoops towards the surface with an ease that is calming. His flight is being aided by an advanced bank of onboard computers. He is thankful for them. Even though he is not flying manually, no one can track him. The _Argo_ is operating completely offline. In addition, with the help of a technician unaware of his intentions, Mercer has learned how to clear all condemnatory evidence from computer memory when he is through. Neither will Mercer's absence be missed. At least not if he returns within a reasonable period of time. He has left a convincing explanation for his excursion with the port-master that should suffice. _Just making the rounds now that I have flight capability._

That end of matters taken care of, Mercer directs his attention to the world that now begins to fill his vision. He has picked a good day for his visit. The sky is overcast. Clouds are thick, threatening rain. With this cover, none of the native inhabitants of Hellas should be able to see the unnatural craft settling to land. He has done well.

Mercer checks again on the global positioning data displayed on the screen before him. The _Argo_ is a _smart_ craft. It will bring him down exactly where he has told it to go. The _Argo_ will even account for uneven terrain–such as trees in the way; and large boulders; and will find a suitable place to land. There is nothing for Mercer to do. He can sit back and relax if he wants to.

But Mercer can't. Anticipation fills him. His preparations are in order. He has mapped it out. He has timed it perfectly. He has already donned the tight-fitting camouflage outfit he had specially ordered. It is gear similar to that worn by special reconnaissance forces needing ultra stealth. He is ready.

The _Argo_ glides gracefully into the valley he had previously scouted with the aid of satellite vision. With gentleness that impresses Mercer, the craft settles down in an open clearing.

It is time.

Mercer clumsily pulls the close-fitting helmet down over his head and opens the hatch. Advanced technology has given him superior sight and provides a plethora of helpful data by means of the special faceplate attached to this helmet. Armed with these expanded capabilities, Mercer hopes to gain an advantage over anything or anyone he happens to come across while on this illicit day trip. He hopes to come across only one.

Artemis.

And in doing so, he hopes to keep himself unseen at that. To be discovered down here can, and mostly will, spell death. Hellas is a brutal world that shows no mercy. As beautiful and captivating as the Olympian Artemis is, she remains a deadly construct. He will have to be careful in the extreme.

Fortunately he knows Artemis' routine like the back of his hand. He knows her route to the waterfall. He knows when these daily trips happen. And thanks to the extensive work of his spy-cameras, he knows a good spot to hide. A place where he can watch Artemis bare it all without the restrictive barrier of glass, distance, and time all getting in the way. He has accounted for everything with his customary attention to detail. He expects no surprises.

As he steps out onto Hellas' soil, he briefly wonders about the V.I.P. visitors already down on the surface halfway across the world. He probably should be busy monitoring their progress even now from safe within his office, but he decides that they should be fine for a few hours. Mercer nearly laughs when he thinks about the look on their faces when they were being loaded into the shuttle to take them planet-side. _Saps._ Don't they realize that they're just victims of hype? All that will be accomplished by their little foray is having the opportunity to bump shoulders with ordinary constructs dressed in the historical costumes of ancient Greece. What a farce! They won't even get the opportunity to be exposed to any of the really interesting creations of Hellas, such as they centaurs of the wilderness, the satyrs of the dark forest, the sileni, the multitude of individually crafted beasts, the giants, and especially the fairies and nymphs. Oh, and I can't forget about the Olympian gods, Mercer adds with a sardonic chuckle to himself. You can forget about seeing one of these special constructs. It is a rare opportunity for even a lifetime inhabitant of Hellas to see one of these gods or goddesses.

He hurries along. The digital readout in his visor tells him which direction to take. He follows it closely. Mercer wants to be comfortably in position well before Artemis arrives.

The in-your-face abundance of nature annoys Mercer. Only his special suit protects him from the swarms of insects and flying things that find him. Small creatures scurry aside from his trundling passage. He hopes nothing larger finds him. This is one thing he has not accounted for in his planning, and now fully exposed out here in the wild the danger of deadly beasts becomes readily apparent. His heart beats even faster as his imagination takes over.

Finally he reaches his previously selected hiding place. As he examines the obscured cave entrance he finds it just as he had pictured it through the camera lens. He fits himself comfortably in the sheltered slot and checks the vista this position affords. A branch hangs partly in the way, but otherwise this shelter should do. He finally feels secure. He had made sure that no cameras remained pointed in this direction. He wants there to be no evidence of his visit.

As he settles down to wait, it suddenly occurs to him that he had made no effort to cover his trail back to the Argo. In his haste he had left an obvious trail of broken tree and shrub limbs, as well as crushed ground cover and trampled forest litter. How stupid of him! He had completely forgotten his plan to cover over any such evidence in case of a later inspection of the area by Artemis or one of her sexy forest friends. It's too late now. He will have to make sure he covers all of his tracks on his way back out, even though that will mean finding the exact same path as he retraces his steps. Not an easy task for a non-woodsman like himself.

Of course, maybe he is just worrying about things too much. Most likely no one will ever come across his trail and it will be swept away in short order by a passing storm; maybe by the storm threatening even now. And even if someone were to come across his trail they would probably think nothing of it. After all, Mercer is not the only one to venture into the forest.

After awhile he goes to check his time piece. He forgets for a moment that it's covered by the suit and then he remembers that the time is constantly being displayed in one of the readouts inside his helmet. All he has to do is look. She should be arriving in a few minutes, he notes.

Mercer worries that the pounding of his heart will give away his location despite the cover gained by the commotion of the falls. _It's only nerves,_ he tells himself. _You've got this._

A sudden flash of color warns him of her approach. He looks with smugness at the time shown on the readout. Artemis is nothing if not predictable.

She comes into view. _Gods, is she beautiful!_ Seeing her in the flesh is totally unlike the view afforded by camera lens. He feels the shocking force of her presence even at this distance. There is something about her that is completely inhuman; something bordering on the metaphysical maybe. It gives Mercer a discomforting feeling.

Yet he watches with rapt attention as the goddess sets aside her assortment of weapons; a spear; the silver bow; and various sheaths containing miscellaneous blades and ammunition for her bow. Mercer feels his adrenalin soar when Artemis peels aside the flimsy garment concealing her assets. Mercer gulps as she hangs them from a branch. He finds his mouth hanging open as she raises her arms high to unknot her braids. Tantalizing curves spear the air. She shakes her hair free. Just the one scene is enough to fulfill all his erotic fantasies.

A branch cracks suddenly. In horror, Mercer realizes that in his dazed stupor he has leaned too far forward and caused the branch in front of him to break. His breath stops.

For a moment he thinks he will get away with it. After all, he thinks Artemis is too far away for her to have heard anything; especially considering the distraction of the waterfall beside her. But Artemis suddenly snatches her garments off the branch nearby and scans the area. _How could she have heard that?_

When she turns and looks straight at him, it gives him a chill as though staring into the eyes of death itself. He blinks, and then she is gone. The blood rushes from his face. He considers trying to run for it, but he is frozen in place. His legs feel like stone.

And even that possibility is lost when a moment later the goddess is standing an arm's length away and is staring down at him in fury.

"Who are you?" she demands.

It's funny, he thinks, how your mind can work when under stress. Even though the force of her words ripples through his body like a cannon-shot, his mind is able to separate the calamity of the moment from a candid appraisal of the devastating creature confronting him.

Up close she is even more stunning than he ever imagined. She is perfection itself. Mercer knows the technical data to explain the marvel before him: physical features crafted to absolute symmetry; life energy boosted to unheard-of levels; enhanced pheromone displacement; and so forth. But what he never realized was just how potent all these improvements have turned out to be in the real life model. _She's a true goddess. Panagopoulos went ahead and did it. He created a divinity._

Mercer struggles to form a reply, but Artemis has lost patience with him.

Her eyes turn dark and the razor-sharp blade sweeping across his vision is the last thing he sees.
* * *

I decide that I hate clams. Especially raw clams. That's mostly what I've eaten for the past week. The water from the spring at the center of the island is okay though. It has only a slight metallic taste. But then, maybe any water is good to a desperate man.

Nights are no fun. I didn't realize how cold it can get without the presence of any land structure to diffuse the chill. Usually I huddle in a crevice and let my teeth rattle until exhaustion finally out-battles the cold.

Days can be worse. Sunny days particularly. There is no place where I can go to escape from the sun. It's not necessarily hot here on this island. But the constant glare is like a shrill note repeated in your ear for hours on end; it slowly wears on you until that's all you can think of. My skin is turned raw. I scratch the blisters at night while I freeze and begin to forget how bad day is.

I have friends though. The seals of this island are getting to know me. At first they would scatter into the sea when I would approach. Now they linger and eye me speculatively. I wonder if they think me some strange kin. The merfolk would be closer kin, I think. But it's my company that's forced on them. They don't seem to want to give up their island and I'm not in any position to move out, so it appears as though we are at an impasse.

The sharks that patrol offshore are persistent, if nothing else. But they are not the greatest deterrent to just getting up and swimming away. Other than the obvious fact that such a swim would likely only net me a different place and way to die, is the sobering fact that sea monsters do exist out here in this ocean.

I've seen three of them. The first was an immense creature with a long neck that lifted up high over the water like a coiled serpent searching for prey. When a hapless seal ventured into its strike zone, it was all over in a matter of a second. I now use caution anytime I'm near the ocean's edge.

The second creature was more fish-shaped, but it was larger than any shark and far more mobile. I was sitting quietly searching the sea for imaginary ships when a large hump started to form some distance out from the island. It was creating a distinct v-shape in the surf as it sped in my direction and as it neared the hump grew larger and larger. Just before it reached the shore, water began to shed from the emerging form, revealing a huge set of open jaws that were in the process of closing on a fleeing seal. Its momentum momentarily beached the giant sea creature, but then munching contentedly on its achieved snack it twisted its body sideways on the rock-strewn shore and squirmed its way back into the water.

The third sea creature appeared last night. One seal in particular was starting to grow comfortable with my presence and every night it would settle down to sleep a little closer to me, until last night it had settled down almost within easy reach. I was awakened by a nearby scream only to see this same seal being snatched skyward. In the moonlight I was able to make out long powerful arms shaped like tentacles extending from deep water all the way to the island. These arm-like tentacles were scouring the island's surface in search of prey. One of these tentacles speared a fleeing seal with a giant claw as I watched, and then pulled the skewered creature back towards the water and a waiting parrot-like beak of enormous size. A giant eye far bigger than my head stared eerily back at me. I scurried to the other side of the island quickly. Needless to say, I didn't sleep the rest of the night.

So now I'm feeling a little grumpy.

The clam meat held between my fingers isn't helping matters any. It tastes the same as it did yesterday. And the day before that. Clams seem to be the only thing edible on this island.

I eye a seal pup thoughtfully as it wanders near, momentarily free of its parent's protective oversight. _No, that would be just plain wrong!_

My attention returns to the uncooked meat I'm scrapping from the almost empty shell. As least I'm not starving. But if I ever get off this island it will be a long time before I ever eat seafood again!

I look sharply skyward. Was that a trick of the sunlight or did I just see something?

I look closer. It _is_ something. Soaring higher than a bird. Could it be a sky-car? Is it possible that one of my siblings is looking for me?

As quickly as hope fills me, it departs. Our sky-cars don't have this much range. It must be a trick of the lighting.

But as I continue to watch the object grows closer. I see the flash from an angled wing. It _is_ a craft of some type. And it seems to be heading right for my island.

I let my unfinished lunch fall to my side abandoned as I stand up and stare at the nearing craft. The flying device looks like something out of this world. Wide, sweeping curves give it a graceful sleek appearance. Unlike the familiar sky-cars back on Olympus, this craft conveys its apparent passenger or passengers fully concealed within, obstructed by a deep-tinted windshield that wraps around the entire forward section. It is also much larger than a sky-car. This thing could probably fit a dozen passengers in a pinch.

I shield my eyes from the dust as the vessel settles down at the center of the island near the spring. The word _Argo_ is printed on its side in bold letters. It doesn't matter who is flying this thing; it is here to take me off this island. The elation that fills me is almost enough to disregard the alien nature of the device landed before me.

I cautiously approach.

The hatch abruptly opens and a platinum mane appears.

"Athena!" I cry, rushing forward. I have never loved my too-smart sister as much as I do right now.

She meets my rush with a rare embrace. It is almost as if she missed me. I crush her against me, savoring the familiar chemical scent of her ivory skin.

Athena finally pokes her head out from beneath my arms. "She said that you would be here. I shouldn't have doubted."

I frame her at arm's length. " _She_ said? Wait a minute, what are you talking about?"

"Your mermaid."

"Calypso?" I stare at Athena without comprehension. "When did you see _her_?"

"I didn't actually see her. I heard the story."

"What story?" My head suddenly feels like it's spinning out of control.

"The story that eventually reached Olympus. Apparently your mermaid swam all the way to Hellas to find help for you. As you can imagine, she wasn't too well received by the human population. First thing they did was to cage her and ship her off to Athens as a gift to the king. She is proving to be quite the sensation, you know. I realize that you haven't been following things, but the Olympic ceremony actually started yesterday and they plan on presenting the mermaid to the audience at some point during the competition. They say that the mermaid has been inconsolable for the whole duration of her captivity. Unceasingly she's been pleading for someone–anyone, to help. All that anybody has been able to get out of her is that the god Apollo needs to be rescued from the Isle of the Dead. She has been so frantic and feverish with hysteria I guess everyone thought she was mad and so no one believed her. Besides, she was so terribly sick and near death as it was..."

"What are you talking about?" My voice is hoarse. I'm finding it difficult to breathe.

"The mermaid is dying. Didn't you...?"

"What?" I grab Athena's arm harshly.

Wincing, Athena yanks on her arm to free it. Her ice-blue eyes glare at me. I release my grip grudgingly.

"You didn't know. Did you?" she says quietly, rubbing her arm. "It must have happened as a result of her journey. I just crossed that same sea in this fast flying craft. It took me a long time. She wore herself out, Apollo."

I feel my eyes beginning to fill with moisture. All I can think of is Calypso out in that water for day after day, exposed to the elements, exposed to deadly sea creatures, not eating, not sleeping, not taking care of herself. All just to save me.

"Take me to her." My voice is raw; guttural.

"Apollo," Athena's voice is soothing; pragmatic. "You need to come back to Olympus first. A lot has happened since you've been gone that you don't know about. This craft, for instance. The others are assembling. We need to talk."

"Take. Me. To. Her." It is all I can do not to grab Athena by the shoulders and shake her like a rag doll. Doesn't she get it? Calypso needs me!

"Apollo..."

Athena must finally get the look in my eye for she drops the subject. "Okay. Get in."

I follow her into the _Argo_ without even casting a final look at what has been my home for the past week.

"I'll fill you in a little bit on the way back," she says, slipping into the pilot's seat. I take the seat next to her. I'm almost too distressed to sit down. The technology in evidence throughout the interior of this craft doesn't even interest me at the moment.

"This flyer makes the sky-cars we have look like children's toys."

I hardly hear her. I just stare straight ahead through the clear visor at the island that now seems so small and meaningless.

"The _Argo_ can even fly through space. Though I haven't tried it yet."

She looks at me as she plays with the controls. "You are probably asking yourself, 'where did this flyer come from?'"

I stare at her blankly.

"Artemis discovered this craft," Athena continues, unfazed. The scene outside the window falls away. We are airborne. "Apparently its owner was spying on her. What she found was enough to make her come and get me. She wisely realized that she needed me to investigate. The man she killed was not of this world, Apollo."

Silence stretches out for a time as we streak across the sky. Athena's voice suddenly cuts into the stillness. "I still need more time to sort everything out, but I've already learned a great deal in the time since then. It's now clear to me that we are under observation. We have always been. I believe our watchers are either far away at an undisclosed location on this planet, or stationed somewhere outside the atmosphere. Considering the nature of this craft I tend to believe the latter. To what extent this _watching_ is being done; I don't fully know. I don't think that we have any listening devices embedded in our bodies, but I still haven't ruled that out either.

"'Why would someone want to watch us?' you are probably asking yourself. Do you want to hear the answer I've come up with? Of course you do! I think we Olympians are the primary pieces in a huge entertainment scheme. Isn't that rich?" She looks at me sharply. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

Satisfied that I'm at least hearing part of her speech she goes on. "Think of it as a play on a grand scale. The stage is Hellas itself. The actors are you and I, and the other Olympians. Others have bit parts. But we are the main characters. We are a huge hit. Thus–all the elaborate work that has been put into staging this whole production. I mean–just look at this ship! I've taken it apart and put it back together. It's an engineering marvel! The information loaded in its memory has already multiplied my knowledge of technology tenfold. It's smart, too. I simply entered the data to search for an island matching the description of what your mermaid described, and it was able to locate it just like that."

When my silence extends, Athena's lip curls into a pout. "This is important, Apollo. We're learning about the very nature of our world. There are going to be some very big decisions that we will have to make. I need you _here_. Can you do that?"

"Just get me to Calypso. Nothing else matters," I say quietly.

I feel Athena's eyes drill into me, but she finally nods and focuses on her instruments.

Open sea continues to peel away beneath us. Somewhere in the back of my mind it occurs to me that I will probably never make it to the Land of Hyperborea, my original destination before all these adventures started to happen. But who cares? The entire scope of my original intent seems so trivial in comparison to what I've found in this exotic sea creature named Calypso. Who now is in trouble.

Finally I see a trace of land in the distance. We close the distance fast and moments later we are speeding across mountainous terrain.

"We'll go to Athens first," Athena says. "I don't know if they shipped her out yet. Maybe we can catch them before they do."

The countryside opens up below us: farmland; villages; meandering dirt roads; and tiny human figures looking skyward. On the horizon I see the ocean again appear. The jagged coastline fights its boundaries and then loses where it gives in to a large bay. I recognize the city of Athens perched on its hills overlooking the bay. From this altitude it doesn't look like the greatest city of Hellas but I know that is about to change when we descend.

Athena angles us towards the palace residence of King Aegeus, the largest structure in the northern section of the metropolis. The great columns shine brightly in the sunlight and dwarf the surprisingly few citizens currently about on the large front porch. They scatter as Athena settles the craft right where some were standing.

The hatch is barely open and I am through it. I grab the first man I see by the front of his tunic. Judging by the gold bracelets and intricately worked headband he is a somewhat prominent citizen.

"Where is the mermaid?" I demand.

I feel the man shaking with terror in my grip. For a moment it seems as though he is too traumatized to talk, but he is finally able to form words.

"She was taken to Olympia this morning. The physicians didn't think she would last until the closing ceremony so the King decided to present her to the people today."

I shove the man aside. I turn back to the _Argos_. Athena is still waiting at the controls. She silently watches as I take my seat.

"I'll bring you to Olympia," she says quietly.

We fly in silence. Athena glances at me once, her eyes thoughtful, and then looks away shaking her head.

I know what she's thinking. But I don't care. In fact, I don't care if the whole world knows the truth.

I'm in love with a mermaid.
* * *

None of this feels real. Jill looks at the plastered walls of the apartment. A few chips in the stucco and a coating of grime where greasy heads have followed a tendency to lean back on the couch help make it _look_ real, but even these homey touches aren't able to fully ground her to the real-world environment of Hellas where she finds herself.

Her senses are still reeling from the overload of the day's events. Her mind feels like the flickering light coming from the oil lamp set high on the wall. The opening ceremonies were impressive, if not disgusting at times. Why sacrifice so many living animals? Each time a throat was slit by one of the white-robed attendants, Jill flinched as though the animal's pain was something she shared. She was amazed though, at the grand scale of the architecture around her–particularly the towering statue of Zeus made of gold and ivory gazing down upon the crowd. But most of all she was astonished by the people themselves.

Each of these people is a construct. An engineered human. Jill has never been surrounded by so many constructs. They look so normal. Back on New Taiwan Jill had seen the occasional construct. There weren't as many on that planet as there were on many other worlds. But most of those constructs on New Taiwan were specialty models; some designed for heavy construction, some for athletic entertainment, and some for sexual entertainment. Here on Hellas, all of those design features _are_ in evidence in some of the constructs; especially with regards to the game's participants, but most of the population looks absolutely normal.

What blows her mind is the fact that they _think_ they are normal, too. Every single one of these people has been seeded with artificial memories to make them think that Hellas has always been their home. This is true at least with the first generation citizens. Jill understands that these constructs were given the unprecedented ability to reproduce. Never before has this been allowed. But here on Hellas, Panagopoulos has somehow won some exceptions to the general rule. And nowhere is this more evident than with the Olympians.

Tomorrow she will see one of these Olympians for the first time. According to one source, Hermes is supposed to make an unscheduled appearance to present some of the awards. That's when the actual athletic contests begin. Hermes is the only Olympian rumored to be present during this highly celebrated event. _Too bad Apollo has not been seen in so long..._

"Jill, did you hear that?" Ffion has returned from the night-darkened doorway of their shared apartment and something she must have just heard has her standing before Jill with a stunned look of disbelief skewing her gentle features.

"What?"

"I was just talking to Toby. I don't know where he heard it, but something huge is going down. As soon as the Olympics here are over, we're being pulled from Hellas. A warship is being brought in. I heard it was the Black Raptor."

The news stuns Jill. "The Black Raptor? Isn't that the ship that was used to level Perth II? Ffion, are you sure Toby got his facts straight?"

"He said that we will get official confirmation of it in the morning before we head out for the games." Ffion forces a tight smile. "Jill, it looks like I will get to see my family sooner than I planned."

Jill is devastated. It feels as though her world is suddenly falling out from beneath her. "Do you know what this means, Ffion? They are going to destroy Hellas. Something must have gone terribly wrong."

"Well, at least we'll be safely gone if they decide to do anything," Ffion says in an inappropriately cheerful tone.

"They are going to kill the Olympians," Jill mutters numbly in a barely audible voice. _Apollo!_ -an inner voice screams in angst. _You are in great danger!_

"It's not like they're human," Ffion starts to say. "Don't get so..."

"Ffion!" Jill uncharacteristically screams. "Shut up! Don't be so cold! These are real people we are talking about!"

Ffion looks at her friend in surprise and then shakes her blonde curls. "I'm not being cold, Jill. It's just the way it is. Remember who you are. Don't get lost in this world."

Jill watches her disappear up the stairs to her room in a flurry of high-stepping sandaled feet. Ffion's thoughts on the matter typify what everyone else thinks about construct life. It's not human life. Jill knows that they are all wrong. All life is precious. It's what her mother taught her.

She tries to follow Ffion's lead and make her own way to bed, but sleep escapes her. All night she tosses and turns. Her thoughts are in turmoil. If only there was something she could do! But she is nobody. If anything, her position here is far worse than it would be if she were far away. Finding herself right here in the middle of things only serves to amplify the horror of reality. Her very own people–humankind itself, are nothing but cold-blooded murderers! Aargh! She is so disgusted! There is no way she can sleep!

Morning eventually arrives. The day progresses with a surrealistic feel to it. Just as Toby had predicted, the local liaison for their group, a man named Cersus, comes and addresses the six of them before escorting them to the Olympic arena. It is just as rumored; the Project Olympus committee has made the unprecedented decision to cut this adventure short. Cersus won't tell them what it is, or maybe he just doesn't know, but something dreadful has happened. The group is quiet, their minds ruminating over possibilities as they follow their escort through the crowded streets.

Fortunately Cersus knows the least crowded routes to take them through. Cersus is one of the off-world agents who have been embedded on Hellas for some time now, so he is very familiar with the local geography. Another asset is his awareness of more subtle things; things that are important for the safety of the group he is responsible for, such as which clusters of men to skirt and which ones to join briefly with. Cersus is also well planted. The locals here know him as a prestigious citizen who exerts great influence in the courts and in the everyday affairs of city life. While new to the position he currently holds, he is strategically situated in city life so as to better facilitate the contest winners getting meaningful exposure to Hellas' every day life and then some. One of these benefits is getting front row seats to the Olympic events.

The deafening crowd noise booms in Jill's ears as she takes her seat on the hard cold bench that has been assigned to them. Event personnel still mill about on the field below making last minute preparations. Some form of plow device using only a heavy beam connected to a leather harness is being dragged by draft horses around the wide track to help smooth the dirt. While she watches, one of the horses dumps a load, creating a brief crisis. Briefly entertained, Jill watches as they scurry about trying to address the mess on the track. Jill's attention soon drifts elsewhere. Her eyes briefly settle on a man who is pacing off a set distance in one of the isolated circles. An assistant marks the location. Her eyes move on. Another circle nearby seems to be set aside for wrestling events. Racks filled with towels and bowls filled with powder are being set up alongside the ring. Soon, it will be a madhouse down there.

Jill's attention is diverted to an unusual procession that suddenly begins to emerge from a huge tunnel entrance. A large covered cage seems to be at the center of the procession. She watches as the team of draft horses with an accompanying mob of attendants and a team of palace guards parade the strange object across the arena. Its resting place turns out to be on the field directly below Jill and her companions. If she had a small stone she could easily toss it and strike the heavy cloth covering the contraption, she is so close. The attendants leave with the horses; the guards remain. There are six of them. They position themselves around the structure they have been assigned to and stand motionless with their arms crossed in intimidating fashion and their weapons secured within easy reach. As she bends her head forward, Jill notices for the first time that there is another underground tunnel entrance located right below where they are sitting. A fine fabric dyed red stretches along the paved walkway leading from the tunnel beneath her, directly to the cage. Voices in the tunnel entrance below tell her that preparations are being made for a grand revealing of what is hidden beneath the heavy cloth. The whole thing is very intriguing.

"What do you think it is?" Ffion shouts in Jill's ear.

"I have no idea."

"At least we have the best seats in the house to see it!"

Jill simply nods mechanically. Even with all the excitement happening around her, she is still numb. She can't accept the fact that the lives of all these thousands of people crowding into the arena around her are all going to be extinguished just like that, if she is to believe what all signs seem to be pointing at. How can such a thing possibly happen? It is not right. It is not _human._ She feels somewhat dirty sitting here knowing about it, and not doing anything to help. She looks at a young boy's face as he sits on his father's knee. He looks like any other boy, other than for the way he is dressed. No one would ever know that these are constructs surrounding them. Why do they have to be punished simply for being what they are? Just because humans made them, doesn't mean they can take that life back again. It shouldn't work that way.

The ceremony soon begins. It opens with some more offerings being made to the gods upon the centrally located altar that takes up a great square at the center of the arena. The white-robed priests finally depart and the buzz of excitement in the crowd begins to build as anticipation for the much adored athletic events begins to climb. Jill's attention is only mildly diverted from her thoughts when the actual contests start in earnest. The contestants are all male. And very naked. She feels herself blush. Toby, seated on her other side, sees her discomfort and grins widely. Jill tries to ignore the contestant's well-crafted point-of-distractions and concentrates instead on the action. Multiple events are happening at the same time so she has to choose which to focus on. She picks the runners.

A collective gasp suddenly fills the stadium. Jill turns her head to follow suit with an entire sea of pivoting heads.

A ship is descending from the sky.

At first Jill dismisses the spectacle as simply a dramatic addition to the ceremony. But then it hits her. This is all wrong. She knows about the Olympians personal flying craft; everyone who watches the show has seen them. This ship is different. It screams technology. The craft that is preparing to land has all of the tell-tale evidences of something crafted by an advanced civilization. It is so sophisticated, in fact, that Jill doesn't even recognize what type of ship it is.

Why would they do this? After all the effort expended to remain hidden, why would they blow it all away? Jill has a bad premonition about this. Maybe the Project Olympus team figures it doesn't matter anymore. If Hellas is slated to be wiped out, who cares what the population knows? And maybe, just maybe, this craft is coming for _them_. To get them spirited safely out of the way. Everything is happening faster than expected.

Jill's heart begins to race.

The unsettling craft settles down close by. It says _Argos_ on the side. The name is an appropriate one for a world steeped in ancient Greek mythology. Maybe it does have something to do with these Olympic events.

Jill has a front row seat to everything that is happening. The audience watches in stunned silence. Everything in the arena has ground to a stand-still. The runners on the track pull to a premature stop and stare at the strange craft. Even the guards surrounding the strange cage look like they want to be anywhere other than right in full view of the alien machine that has set down right in front of them.

The hatch begins to open. An audience of thousands–no billions, Jill reminds herself, wait with baited breath.

It only takes Jill a split-second to recognize the shocking cobalt eyes that scan the crowds as an Olympian god steps forth.

Apollo!

The god is dressed in what amount to mere rags, but this does nothing to diminish his majesty. He is stunning. Jill feels his presence as a palpable force that ripples outward from his being and crashes full force into the consciousness of everyone caught in his aura. He is far greater than the flawless male body hewn of flesh standing before them. He is a god in the full sense of the word.

Jill watches along with the stunned crowd as the Olympian strides purposefully to the covered cage. His eyes blaze with a simmering blue flame. Jill hardly notices a second being emerge from the craft; her attention is fully on the Olympian of her dreams as he rips the cloth away from the cage in one violent sweeping motion. The guards have fallen onto their faces before him. They grovel in fear as the furious god grabs hold of the bars of the gilded cage that now lays naked and exposed before all. The bars cave in to his will and then he is within. Only now does Jill see the slumped form of the prisoner held within.

It is a mermaid. An actual, real-life mermaid. Jill never knew that such a mythological creature actually existed.

Apollo falls down at the mermaid's side. Thousands watch as he tenderly cradles her head in his arms. The exotic sea creature is beautiful beyond imagination, but she is clearly sick; maybe even to the point of dying. Murmurs begin to fill the stadium. A stream of people begins to slowly pour forth onto the field from the various tunnel entrances and fearfully surround the spectacle at a safe distance. Many of these are guards. Some are evidently people of high office. The trappings that adorn them show this to be the case. Yet no one dares intrude.

Only now does Jill notice the second arrival. It is the Olympian Athena. She steps forth from the craft and surveys the crowd. As with the Olympian Apollo, she too thrums with a latent power. Yet she is garbed like a goddess. The energy that radiates from her being is like a static electrical charge filling the entire stadium. There is nothing human about this goddess. She and her sibling, Apollo, are creatures that exist on a very different plane of reality.

Athena approaches the cage and stands outside it. Jill doesn't think anyone will dare interrupt Apollo anyway, but with Athena standing guard there is now no doubt he will be left alone to his anguish.

Jill refocuses on Apollo. She feels a pang of jealousy as she realizes that his attention upon the mermaid is more than just a little significant. But then she relents. Apollo doesn't even know she exists. Why should she be jealous of a female of whom Apollo clearly has strong feelings?

A feeling of calm also comes over Jill as she suddenly realizes that this is her chance. Putting together the pieces, particularly the clearly stolen craft and the drastic measures being taken by the Project Olympus team–probably as a result of that theft and more, Jill realizes that these Olympians have an outside chance to save themselves. And the team fears them for that.

But this can only happen if Jill does the unthinkable.

Ffion catches her breath as Jill slips from her seat and scampers onto the short parapet separating them from the fields below.

"Jill, what are you doing?" she cries in panic.

"Only what I should be doing," Jill replies, lowering herself down. She hangs from the ledge with her body out in space, only her hands supporting her weight. The drop to the ground below is about twice her own height. But Jill is fit. These months of training have conditioned her body. _Physically_ , this is an undertaking that might be within her realm of possibility. In other respects, she is not so sure.

The faces of her companions cluster above her. They look at her in worry. Toby reaches down with an open hand. "Give me your hand, Jill. Don't be crazy."

Jill gives Ffion a final look of apology. Then she releases her finger-hold and drops like a stone.
* * *

My tears fall unbidden to the ground beneath me. I don't care that I'm a theatrical spectacle to a crowd of thousands. My mermaid is dying. Athena stands quietly nearby standing guard. I hardly see her. All my attention is on Calypso and her trembling ruby lips as she tries to speak.

"You came, Apollo." Her voice is barely audible.

"Shh," I say gently. "You must rest."

Her eyeballs twitch behind closed lids as they struggle to open. "I hurt, Apollo."

"I am here for you, Calypso."

Her small hand is clenched within mine. Her touch is cold. A spasm takes her and I feel her hand tighten reflexively. The spasm finally passes. A swollen tongue runs across dry lips. Somehow Calypso forces her huge eyes to open. They find my own.

"I'm dying, Apollo. I'm scared."

I lean forward and brush my lips against a fluttering eyelash. "I'm not letting you die," I whisper softly. "So stop talking like that."

Calypso tries to laugh bitterly and it turns into a weak coughing bout. She is seized by another spasm, this one more violent and longer lasting. Even the iridescent tail coiled beneath her shudders from the pain. I hold her in my arms and ease her through it. When it subsides she sighs wearily and squeezes my hand. "I'm glad you are safe," she manages to say.

"Shh," I repeat. "No talking; remember?"

"Silly human," she slurs. Her eyeballs roll back into their sockets and then her eyes slowly close. "I am dreaming of us..." Her words drift into silence.

Her body slumps in mine.

"Calypso!" I cry, feeling her life-force slipping away. I try to will my own energy into her, but it is useless. I frantically try to pry an eye-lid open, but it re-closes when I release my hold. Distraught, I stare at her lips; they rest slightly parted and remain frightfully still. No breath escapes through her shapely mouth.

"No!" The ragged plea roars from my lungs. I lift Calypso's malnourished body and hold her against my chest. Tears stream down my cheeks and fall upon her lavender flesh. She can't be gone! It isn't supposed to happen this way!

I rock to and fro with the mermaid's lifeless body clenched in my arms, oblivious to all else. The agony that fills me is greater than anything I've ever experienced. I've failed her. I couldn't save my Calypso. She died so that I could have life. It's not a trade that I want.

Through the pain, I dimly become aware of a commotion taking place outside Calypso's cage. I see a female in the common white garb of a citizen arguing frenetically with the guards, and then with Athena. She will take care of it. Athena and I may not always get along, but in my moment of tragedy she is here for me. I can sense her concern.

But a moment later she is ushering the female in to speak to me.

I blink at the citizen over Calypso's unmoving bare shoulder and through my tears. I want to scream and tear something apart, and this person probably has no idea how close I am to taking it out on her. But I take a deep breath and let the passion subside. I try to focus on the person in front of me. This must be important. The female is plain of face and simple in appearance. Something about her though, is different and catches my attention.

"She has something to tell us," Athena says crisply, looking uncharacteristically apologetic for disturbing my grief. She turns and faces away, resuming her don't-you-dare-approach-any-further stance to all those stationed outside. I see that the local King stands outside with the small assembly gathered on the field. They still don't dare confront us. It's a good thing for their own sakes that they don't.

The girl Athena showed in is clearly scared to be here, but I watch as patiently as I am able to while she struggles to gather herself and speak.

"My name is Jill, and I am not from Hellas," she states matter-of-factly by way of introduction. "In fact, I am from the same world that made _that_." She stabs a tremulous finger at the flyer we came in.

If this were a different setting, I would be very interested in what she is revealing. As it is, my thoughts are wrapped up in Calypso. It is a struggle for me to split my attention.

"Go on," Athena prompts, when I stay silent and the girl named Jill hesitates overlong.

"I came to warn you that the entire world of Hellas is in danger," Jill continues in a voice that continues to shake with trepidation. "A huge ship, thousands of times larger than that ship is coming with weapons to destroy this world. You..."

I gently rock Calypso's still form and listen with half an ear. This human named Jill stares fixedly at the mermaid held tenderly in my arms. I see her gaze fall upon Calypso's quiet face. Her eyes cloud over. Emotions rage beneath the surface of her face. I can see fear, panic, desperation, and what's that I see? Jealousy? Something is going on in that face, but I don't want to deal with any of this right now. The only thing on my mind is Calypso. She is all that matters. I let my gaze fall from this female who claims to be from another world.

Athena speaks. "Tell him, Jill. Why have you come to warn us?"

Jill remains silent, her lips pinched together. I think she's not going to reply, but finally she does.

"You have to leave this world, Apollo. I can't let them kill you." Her voice is hoarse and choked with emotion.

"How would you have us do that?" is Athena's cool response. "Do you have a plan on how we are expected to survive?"

"No. Well... maybe the start of one. You have that ship; let's make use of it. Take me hostage. I will pretend to escape in this ship, but you will hide on board. It will take us back to the warship. Somehow, you will have to subdue the entire ship. I know it sounds like a long-shot, but it seems that's your only chance."

Athena smiles grimly. "You're crazy. I like it."

"How many are on board this ship?" I find myself asking. My thoughts struggle to rise above the grief that consumes me. Somehow I have to make Calypso's sacrifice mean something. She gave her life for me; now I must use this life in the way that she would want me to use it; to help others. The timing is horrible, but this might be for this very moment that I'm needed.

"Hundreds. Maybe thousands. I don't know much about starships, especially military ones. But much of the help on board a starship are constructs... sorry, I mean people who might quickly give their allegiance to your cause. It could shift the balance."

"'Constructs.' By this you mean people who are like us– _made_ ," Athena interjects thoughtfully. She glances at me and explains for my benefit, "That's another thing I learned from the ship's computer." She smiles bitterly at me and then turns back to Jill.

"I think we have no choice but to believe you. What do you think, Apollo?"

"Let's go back to Olympus and assemble the others." I squeeze the lifeless body possessively against my chest. "I'm taking Calypso with us."

Athena looks at Jill. "You're coming with us, too."

Jill looks up with worry at a certain isolated group of people staring aghast at us from the arena seats above.

"Yes, I figured as much."
* * *

They don't seem to realize just how disconcerting it is for someone like herself to be in such close proximity to beings like them. Even a calmly spoken word by one of these godly beings thrums with an unusual power. Perfection ekes from their every pore. Jill feels her flawed flesh of humanity multiplied tenfold. But they carry on as though unaware of the significant gulf that separates human from god.

"I was right then," Athena sums up their discussion from her place at the pilot's seat. "Hellas is simply one huge theatrical production. This is all fake." A sweeping gesture takes in the vista outside the window of the _Argos_.

"Pretty much," Jill replies at her side. She glances behind her at the devastatingly handsome figure cradling the still form of a mermaid in his arms. The fine scales adorning the lower half of the sea creature had been brilliantly-hued at the start, but her coloring turns duller by the minute. Jill feels a lump form in her throat. If only it was her in those arms! Not dead, of course, but fully alive and staring up into those penetrating eyes of blue. But she need not flatter herself. This mermaid was gorgeous beyond belief, with curves to die for. Who is she but a plain, ordinary human? Ffion had called her _pretty_ , and others had echoed that claim, but here in a world where genemasters have stretched the boundaries of physical perfection and beauty to the max, Jill knows that at best she is very plain. Apollo would never notice someone like her.

Especially lost in such terrible grieving as he is.

"So that space station you were telling me about is not a threat in any way?" Athena continues in a new thread.

"I don't think so. We weren't at _Hades_ for very long, but all I saw in the dock was unarmed shuttles. There was nothing even remotely like this." She indicates the ship they're in.

"I agree that our ultimate target needs to be the warship. What did you call it, the _Black Raptor_?"

Jill nods. "The _Black Raptor_ has a reputation for being one of the most powerful warships ever built. It won't be easy to take over such a craft."

"But if we do, then we will be well armed."

"Yes, that's true." Jill looks away pensively.

"You worry about what happens next." Athena says it as a statement and not as a question.

"Well... I guess so. I wonder if we're only prolonging things. They will come after you in force if you somehow manage to succeed with the _Black Raptor_. You can't run forever."

"We'll worry about that when the time comes."

Jill detects no concern in the goddess' voice. Even in discussing what needs to be done to get the Olympians safely off Hellas, Athena has never shown an ounce of doubt or worry. Jill wishes that she can have such confidence.

"We also have to account for the ship that brought you to Hellas," Athena continues.

"The _Scorpion_ is not a warship like the _Black Raptor_ ," Jill says with a slight frown.

"It is a starship just the same. We will have to take possession of it also, after we take the _Black Raptor_ and the space station."

"Won't they know something is happening and try to get away?"

"I've been studying the communications system in use on the _Argos_. If similar technology is in use on these other ships and on _Hades_ , I think I can modify the system on the _Argos_ to temporarily block communication between these sources. It might give us enough time to infiltrate each of these targets before our actions are detected. By then it will be too late for them."

Jill is suddenly glad to be on the same side as this super-being. Athena speaks as though all this is as simple as baking a cake. Jill has nothing to say.

Up until now they have been leaving Apollo alone with his mermaid and his sorrow, but Athena now addresses him over her shoulder.

"We're almost there, Apollo. Where do you want to put down?"

_Where do you want to bury her?_ Jill knows that this is what she really means. She glances outside looking for a distraction and notices for the first time that forest now spreads out below them instead of ocean. The individual trees are blurred by the speed of the flyer, but Jill can tell that this is a forest rich in old growth and containing trees of great height. In all the episodes she had tuned in to watch, she was never allowed a view from above Olympus itself to get an overview. Her interest is piqued.

The palace of the gods suddenly appears below them. Jill admires the glistening spires; the lines and angles of the walls; the beautiful architecture. Olympus is a stunning feast for the eyes.

Apollo is sluggish to respond. "Anywhere is fine," he finally grunts. As if a god can _grunt_ , Jill thinks to herself. Even this noise sounds sexy when coming from him.

Athena looks back at him; seems ready to respond; stays silent instead.

Jill feels her excitement begin to mount as Athena drops the _Argos_ smoothly down into an open grassy area beside the palace wall. She is going to see Olympus itself! Anxiety hits her also. Not only is she about to face additional Olympians face-to-face, but she also realizes that she is about to be put on display for the whole world to see. Cameras are hidden everywhere here at Olympus. She should know; she has watched every episode. As soon as they leave this ship every move will be recorded and witnessed by possibly billions. Athena reminds her of this.

"I apologize in advance, but we will have to make this look convincing."

Jill nods, wondering just how convincing Athena means. They have gone over the story carefully leading up to this moment. Many have already witnessed Jill's actions in the stadium, so that will have to be explained away as a temporary bout of _fan madness_. They realize that it might be difficult to get that explanation to fly, but as long as their performance from here on out can be convincing enough, they might have a chance to go through with their still developing plan.

The hatch slides open and Athena's hand is already gripped tightly around Jill's arm. She flinches as the goddess' fingers dig in before she adjusts her grip. Jill has the feeling that if Athena chooses, her fingers could close in upon themselves through both flesh and bone with little or no effort. She is glad that she is on Athena's good side for the moment.

As Jill places her foot upon the lawn of Olympus, she makes an effort to remember the moment so as to know exactly how everything looks and feels. If she ever survives, the stories that she will be able to tell to others will be dramatic in the extreme and she wants to be able to give a full recounting of them.

Athena jerks her forward harshly giving her no time to dally. "No ogling, mortal. You're not here to sightsee."

_She is going to be very convincing,_ Jill decides worriedly.

Apollo stays behind, and Jill is dragged unceremoniously behind Athena past the Palace walls and through the outer courtyard. Jill takes in the exquisite landscaping; the spectacular fountains; the life-like statues of marble. Who takes care of all this, she wonders? Most of the behind-the-scenes detail has never been included in the featured episodes, so such matters have always remained a mystery.

Athena pushes open the great door to the palace and ushers Jill inside. Jill stares in amazement at the vast lobby she finds herself in. Marble, gold, and ivory clad the walls, pillars and floors. The statues set in alcoves look like living spectators here to greet them.

Jill doesn't get much opportunity to gawk because at this moment a beautiful young man approaches through an arched doorway. She recognizes him from the shows. But of course here in real life, everyone is far more stunning than on the screen.

"Who's home, Ganymede?" Athena demands brusquely as she drags Jill past him.

He blinks at Jill curiously through large-lashed eyes as he answers the goddess. "Just Zeus, Hera, Hephaestus, and Hestia. Ares and Eris are on their way. Dionysus is still out trying to round up the others."

"Get them. Tell them to meet me in the library."

He bows respectfully and departs.

Athena wrenches Jill painfully forward by one arm towards a side corridor. "You, my troublesome mortal, have an appointment with a locked closet. I hope you like the dark."

Jill doesn't think the feral look in the goddess' icy blue eyes is necessary in order to still remain convincing. And neither is the harsh shove just now.
* * *

A foot breaks free of it hold in the rock and stone debris rains down below. Without slowing I continue to climb upwards. Time is growing short. _They_ are on to us. The sky-cars have mysteriously all lost power. Our captors are trying to cripple our mobility. Anything that operates on an energy that _they_ control has been made inoperable. But I have no one to blame but myself for being here on the side of this mountain climbing my way up to Olympus manually.

I just could not leave without saying goodbye to some of my favorite Hellas residents. Also, I had to take care of some last minute loose ends. This was my last chance to do so.

For tomorrow may be my last day on Hellas.

I just hope Athena, using the stolen craft, will be able to locate Artemis in time. Everything has been carefully staged to happen tomorrow. Artemis is the only Olympian still missing.

Athena has to find her!

Time is running out. Our plan will unfold whether Artemis is here or not. The human who is helping us–Jill, knows what she needs to do. She is the key piece to the entire operation. The thought concerns me. She is only human. She is the weak link. If she breaks down and can't follow through with the plan, all is lost. Everything depends on her.

In the same breath that I curse the delicacy of the situation, I silently thank the human. She is a brave one. And noble. A courageous act like hers has restored my faith in humankind. She has risked it all so as to help the Olympians and the people of Hellas. If we ever survive this, the young woman's name will go on to become an honored one. I will make sure of it.

Above me huddling on what amounts to no more than a whisper of a ledge, I see two figures. As I pull myself up closer, I see that one of these figures, a male, holds the other male tightly to his body as though grieving over him, and is not willing to let go and lose him down the side of the cliff. It is an old man that he mourns over.

I quickly pull myself even with them.

"What has happened?" I ask.

Startled, the man nearly slips from the ledge. He stares at me with continually widening eyes, as though suddenly coming face to face with death itself.

"You are real," he murmurs half to himself.

I feel myself over. "Yes, I believe that I am. What are you doing here?"

"My father... he wanted to see Olympus before he died. I had promised him. But he's gone now." Tears rim the man's eyes as he clutches his old father even closer against his chest.

I glance at the old man in his arms. I glance up at the remaining climb. I am in a rush. I meet the young man's eyes and I am about to tell him goodbye and good luck when I see the look that is in there. It is the same emotion that I feel lodged deep inside me. There is nothing but total emptiness. Absolute despair. Calypso is gone and there is nothing that I can do to bring her back. I know how this man feels.

"I'll take him," I say tonelessly.

The man moves aside in disbelief as I work myself nearer. I slip the lifeless body over my shoulder and find a spot where his slight weight balances well.

"Follow me," I tell him gruffly.

The old man's son does the best that he can, but I quickly leave him far behind. I finally reach the summit of the near vertical cliff-face. Positioning the old man in a sitting position against a tree, I go back to help the other man complete his climb.

Soon he is safely at the top and attending to the stiff body that I had placed against a tree. I notice that the old man's body has decided to slump sideways in my absence.

"Thank you," he says quietly over his shoulder.

"We're not done yet. Move aside."

He looks at me uncertainly but backs away from his father. I lift the corpse back onto my shoulder and head towards the line of trees nearby.

"Coming?" I say to my back. Soon hesitant footsteps are following behind me.

"Why are you helping?" the man finally has the nerve to ask.

"Let's just say that I lost someone dear to me recently. I know what it means to grieve. I also know what it means to fulfill a promise."

"But you are a god..."

"My tears flow just as easily as do yours. Do not say more."

The man follows silently for a while as I weave my way through the trees. We are still some distance from the palace but we should be there before darkness falls. I soon turn to the man following sheepishly behind.

"You must have journeyed far."

"Yes, I am from a small fishing village many days away."

"Do you miss it?"

"Very much so. I have journeyed far and seen many things, but I miss my fishing. All that's left to me that is dear to my soul is to have my boat and to have my ocean back."

"That is an honorable goal to have. You will have the life that you so desire."

A moment passes, and then I hear the hesitant voice of the fisherman behind me. "Uh, lord? What is it that you want? That is, if you don't mind my asking."

I think about his question. _What is it that I want?_ A clear answer eludes me. But the poignancy of this fisherman's situation doesn't escape me. So many fall short of their dreams. Can I help change this? If so, maybe it's not about what I want. Calypso was right. I need to help others. If it lies in my power to do this, I would be negligent not to make this my life course.

I finally respond to the man's question in a wistful voice. "I too, have journeyed far. But for me, the journey has not ended. Unlike you, I cannot have the life that I desire."

"I am sorry, my lord."

"So am I."

As I march resolutely towards destiny I repeat the words silently to myself.

" _So am I."_

* * *

Jill waits in the dark. She would be terrified if her body wasn't already on overload. The meeting that she was pulled into earlier was almost too much. She felt like a scared rabbit in a den full of lions. When it was demanded that she talk, the rehearsed lines stumbled from her trembling lips like wounded ducks in shackles. At least she squawked like a duck. She was sure that she had blown it. Nobody could possibly believe the act.

But then, _the wink_.

It was barely in evidence. But it was there just the same. Athena turned away quickly but not before Jill felt relief flow through her body. Blood crept back into her veins. Athena was _happy_ with her.

The _real_ meeting is happening outside in the forest under the cover of darkness. From what Jill has heard, only the Olympian Artemis is still missing. Everyone else is now here. She has met them all. Without exception, each of these Olympians is disturbingly superhuman. Some are clearly even more exceptional; particularly Zeus, Apollo, and Athena. The very air about these three feels _charged_ , as it were, with an extraordinary energy. Jill wonders what strange magic the genemasters tapped into to create such potent personas.

One of the Olympians, Hephaestus, gives Jill the creeps. The way he looks at her, makes Jill wish that she hadn't listened to Ffion's advice in choosing an outfit. Self-conscious, she had pulled her top higher and more securely about herself. He had seen her do this, and had grinned lasciviously.

But Jill would almost prefer this to the look she receives from the one named Eris. She is made to feel like a repulsive bug that is only acknowledged because its existence is causing annoyance. The dark goddess has a dangerous beauty and a way about her that hints at no restraint. Considering the arsenal of weapons borne comfortably upon her shapely form, it is a very real threat that this Olympian poses to any who would displease her. Jill gets the sense that on less than a whim this goddess of war might decide to go for one of her weapons–even if you so much as look at her wrong. She shudders to think what being trapped alone for very long with this deadly being might be like.

Her mind drifts back to Apollo. Her favorite god remains bowed beneath the weight of tremendous baggage, yet still he is divine. The way he takes charge of the situation even in the presence of the mighty Zeus; eyes that beam with the purity of justice; his passion for preserving the life of Hellas' diverse inhabitants–Apollo is a god that Jill would choose to worship in a heartbeat. She feels in her own soul his sadness for his loss. Jill holds no resentment for the mermaid that stole his heart. All she wants is for the gorgeous Olympian to find happiness again. She is glad that she had the courage to act in their behalf.

Jill hears noises outside her closet-prison. They must be done. She wonders how the meeting went. If things don't go according to plan she may never know. Now, all she can do is to wait. It all happens in the morning.

Jill huddles in a corner of the closet with her arms drawn tight against her bosom. The two walls pressed against her back offer little in the way of assurance. Alone in the dark, vulnerable in a house of gods, Jill is forced to face the silent whisperings of self-doubt. _What if I fail? What if I can't pull it off? What if..._

The doubts continue to plague her all through the night. Jill doesn't expect to succumb to sleep and neither are her expectations disappointed.

She knows when it's morning because just like that it all starts.
* * *

It will all happen soon now. There is nothing I can do other than wait with the others in the dark interior of the _Argos_. We sit quietly together. Eleven powerful lives all in the hands of a mortal. Yes, _eleven_. Artemis was found at the very last minute. She almost didn't come. Her forest friends are her new family. Only a plea that this was her chance to save them convinced her to leave them behind.

Her warm presence against my side is comforting. It would've been difficult to leave without her. True, if our mission today is successful I would've gone back for her. But there would have been no guarantees. For all we know a backup warship might already be on the way. There may be no going back.

Without warning the hatch begins to open. It is time.

Jill's taut face appears. She looks over her shoulder and then dashes inside. Her face doesn't regain a semblance of calm until the hatch is safely closed again.

"Do you think it worked?" Athena is already in her face.

"I don't know." Jill looks at each of us with worry. "I think so. Hebe was _very_ convincing."

_Dear Hebe._ She is counting on us to be successful. It was her job to free Jill from the locked closet in the guise of a sympathetic fellow mortal. The job of the spy cameras hidden throughout the palace would've been to bear witness to Jill's assisted escape. This silent testimony is crucial for this daring plan to have any chance of succeeding.

Here on the _Argos_ it is safe to talk. Athena made sure of that. She speaks into the restless silence that greets the update.

"Then let's get out of here."

Athena settles into the pilot's seat and fires up the engines.

I meet Jill's eyes. "Thank you, Jill."

My simple acknowledgement seems to melt her stoic resolve. She folds into the nearest seat and begins to sob quietly. I reach over and pat her hand. "You did well, Jill. Just hold it together a little while longer. It will all be over soon."

Her sobs intensify. Artemis looks at me with eyebrows raised. I shrug and settle back into my seat next to my sister. She and I exchange a knowing look. Humans are difficult to understand.

I feel the gentle pressure of acceleration as the _Argos_ climbs steadily into the sky. We soar higher than we ever did before. For a moment the craft shakes as though caught in a current. A moment later we are greeted by an infinite quiet. I sense more than feel the _Argos_ accelerate to an even greater speed.

Over Hermes' shoulder I see the navigation screen that Athena manipulates. It shows both starships depicted as little blips on the screen as well as the space station. Other objects are not of immediate concern. Athena drags her sharp fingernail across the screen to highlight the warship. I sense the _Argos'_ propulsion system recalibrate. Soon will be the moment of truth.

Everyone remains silent. Even Eris bites her tongue and simply stares out the window at the stars so clearly visible at her side. Hestia chews her nails, and Hephaestus scratches the back of his neck. Hera leans against Zeus' shoulder as if grown bored on a sightseeing trip.

A voice from the communication console suddenly startles me.

"Incoming vessel, jumper class 230; please identify yourself. Repeat; please identify yourself."

Athena nods towards Jill. The frightened human leaves her seat and settles down nervously next to Athena. Her voice is unsteady but sounds frantic enough as she responds to the incoming message.

"I just got away from Olympus! Please let me board!"

The response is immediate. "Who is this?"

"This is Jill Parmenter! I'm one of the winning lottery winners! I was taken by the Olympians! Please help me!"

There is a moment of silence. Then, "Please proceed to the space station _Hades_ , Jill Parmenter. You will be debriefed there."

"No!" Jill's cry is convincing. "You don't understand! I'm scared! I did something wrong! I can't go back there!"

Again, the silence extends. I expect they are running the tapes of evidence fed in from the surveillance cameras on Hellas to catch up on what is going on. Here is where the earlier acting scenes come into play. If the whole purpose of this world is to provide staged acts for an audience, then we are all putting on the show of our life.

The voice suddenly returns.

"Where is the visual feed to your ship?"

"The what?" Jill acts credibly dumb.

"We need you to activate the visual feed so we can verify that you are alone."

"How do I do that?"

"There is a switch next to the navigation screen that says _visual_. Set it for _on_."

"Okay, I see it. It's been smashed, sir."

"Smashed?"

"Yes. I think whoever had this ship before may have disabled it."

There is an audible sigh over the transmission as we all wait with baited breath. Finally the voice responds, sounding somewhat impatient. "Very well, Jill Parmenter. Proceed to your target. A tractor beam will take over shortly and pull you in. Out."

Jill slumps in her seat, completely spent. Her job is done. She did well. Athena's sideways glance at her is about as much praise as anyone will ever get from the frosty Olympian.

A moment later a sudden lurch indicates that the _Argos_ has been caught by the _Black Raptor's_ tractor beam. The powerful engines of the _Argos_ automatically shut off. Caught in the _Black Raptor's_ hold like a fly in a web, we are inexorably drawn towards the vastly larger craft.

If this spider had any idea what it's devouring, it would quickly spit it out.

Moments later, it is too late to do even that.
* * *

For Jill, it all happens in a blur. She remains in the cabin of the _Argos_ when the hatch finally opens and the Olympians pour through it. The screams, shrieks, and weapon's fire seem impossibly distant. At one point she peeks out from the open hatch and the vast hold of the warship's docking station is so eerily quiet and reeking of death that she ducks back inside.

Much later Apollo comes to check on her. A strange fluid runs down his forehead not quite the color of blood. His eyes are cobalt flames. An aura surpassing anything Jill has previously witnessed from these Olympians surrounds him, as he's clearly fired up by the action. He says not a word, but departs as quickly as he arrived.

Jill slumps in a seat. She is terrified, and not only by fear of failure. _Is she doing the right thing? What has she let loose? Will the world ever be the same again? Is there now a chance for justice to be found?_

Later, she is again drawn out again by sounds of activity. She sticks her head out of the hatch long enough to see Athena directing the departure of armed fighters ships from the _Black Raptor's_ once again busy hold. The scene she is witnessing is enough to tell Jill that she had been right in her assessment. Constructs are willing to follow the Olympians over natural-born humans. It is their natural response. The ship has effectually been taken over.
* * *

Only the cool breath of glass separates my cheek from the empty void of space. I stare at the unfamiliar pattern of stars scrolling before me, already filing away inside my head their map in unconscious response. It doesn't seem to matter that such learning is unnecessary. These starships of man do all the work. I'm beginning to find that I like this technology that we've discovered. It thinks like I think.

Of course I will have to get one of these ships for my very own. Eleven Olympians all sharing the same starship just isn't going to work.

I turn to regard the scene taking place behind me. A wry smile plays upon my lips as I eavesdrop on my siblings.

"You didn't win; you cheated!" Ares is accusing Eris from across the game-board that separates the two combative Olympians.

A blade flashes and then is held to Ares' throat.

"I. Don't. Cheat. " Eris' words drip with menace.

Ares makes a small movement and then his own blade to his sister's throat puts them at stalemate. "I say you did. Now, admit it."

"Stop that, you two!" Zeus voice thunders with authority. He leans forward from his couch threatening to rise. Hera wraps her hands around his thick arm to pull him back towards her.

"Let them be, Zeus. Maybe they will do us all a favor and do each other in."

The two arguing gods resheathe their weapons and turn to face the adversary they hold in common. Eris glowers at Hera. "The only favor I will offer is to rearrange that ugly face of yours into something more appropriate!"

I tune out their bickering and turn to regard Hestia, who sits quietly at a console and pores through page after page of information about the society that has been kept a secret from them. It has been a revelation to all of them, and each has reacted differently to the news. Hestia's response concerns me. She won't talk about her feelings. But I guess it's good that she has decided to immerse herself in study. Learning can be therapy.

Dionysus sits at another console and is doing his own research. It wasn't until all of us have been brought together under these circumstances that I have begun to see how much some have changed. Dionysus is now darker than I ever remember. His brooding presence is like a dark cloud and I am happy to see him occupied with something other than making things gloomy for the rest of us.

Hermes is lying on a couch and listens to music on a pair of headphones. He has discovered a treasure trove of music that he never knew existed and is trying to catch up on a lifetime of missed opportunity. I see his lips moving soundlessly to a tune. It will only be a matter of time before Hermes will be testing new lyrics and melodies on the rest of us.

Athena and Hephaestus are not here at the moment. They are still busy in their hastily erected lab on the ship. With their combined intellect and creative abilities, the two Olympians have already worked wonders with this starship's capabilities. Not only have we become virtually impossible to detect, but now if confronted by a similar class warship, Athena tells me that she can completely disable their weapons from a safe range. The two Olympians are also researching possible vessels to target for procurement, since it is understood that we will each need our own means of independence.

That leaves Artemis as the only Olympian unaccounted for. But I have a feeling that she is making her daily rounds among the vast construct crew left on this ship. A few natural-born humans did choose to switch their loyalties during the bloody skirmish for control of the ship–most notably the ship's chief petty officer, but most of the remaining crew are construct laborers trained only in their area of assignment. They have been adapting well to instruction, but years of abuse and mistreatment by their masters has left many with deep emotional scars.

Surprisingly, it is Artemis who seems to care the most. I've tried to tell her that she can't undo all by herself years of what exploitation has made these people into. She doesn't listen very well. As a result, Artemis seems to be in constant distress over their pain. It isn't good for her. She needs to get away from this sea of troubled emotion.

I bear my own burden of pain. Calypso is no more. Sometimes I think life isn't worth living. But then I think of her sacrifice. Calypso would want me to live. She would want me to try to make a difference in the world.

When I see the hope fill the faces of the people we freed from enslavement, I feel as though I've found a vehicle through which to express this power I have been given. I feel as though I've found a worthy purpose. If these freed ones would attribute these saving acts to the work of a god, what can I do to stop them? Some things are just not worth fighting over.

I return my attention to the view outside. My gaze takes in the expanse of the sky.

Out there is a brand new world to explore and save. Anticipation fills me as I tentatively stretch forth my fingers and touch the glass separating me from this vision. For as I step out of myself and embark on this new life that awaits, all that is comfortable and distinctly me will be forever in a state of change.

And the thought of change decidedly scares me.

