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Written by

**Mark Aragona**

Produced by

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Copyright © 2013 Senserial Publishing

**All Rights Reserved**  
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from publisher.

First Published: **March 2013**

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**Episode 1**

**"Thrall"**

The world was on fire.

Griffin lowered his head and fought to control his ship. The console spat red sparks at his face in protest. It was useless, and he knew it—both engines were probably molten scraps by now—but still he struggled, urged on by adrenaline and a singular refusal to die.

Through the windshield he could see nothing but an orange sky and the dark waters of the lake below. For a moment, he wondered how he looked to the spectators watching from their holo sets—a bright dot in the twilight, trailing a sheet of flame. But the thought vanished as his console screamed a warning: the force barrier that formed the perimeter of the Arena lay less than a mile ahead. He could see it through the smoke filling his cockpit, glittering like an aurora.

The battle was lost--he had to save himself now. He jammed his thumb against the eject button, and a heartbeat later he was hurtling through the freezing air. He could hear nothing save the howling wind, the whine of his dying ship, and then a tremendous explosion that turned into high-pitched din in his head. He knew, at last, that he would die a thrall.

The last thing he saw was Heracles's ship, shining above like a morning star, the bright flare of its thrusters scratching white trails across the sky, as if to mark it as his own domain.

~~*~~

 _"Wake up."_

The voice sounded close to him, like someone had whispered into his ear. Griffin felt as if he were floating up from the bottom of a black sea. At first he resisted, wanting nothing more than to disappear. But the voice lanced through the darkness:

_"Wake up, Griffin. You must wake up."_

He opened his eyes to the antiseptic glare of a fluorescent lamp. His head felt swollen, like he had just had too much to drink the night before.

"Where am I?" he croaked.

_"The New Athens military hospital,"_ said someone nearby. _"It is 4:00 in the afternoon, the 5_ _th_ _of March."_

The voice carried a pleasant tone, deep and soothing. It was like talking to a priest or an animal handler. Griffin looked around, saw a mirror, a washbasin, a med-monitor, a table covered in white cloth, and a chair. There was no one else in the room.

"Is...is someone there?" he asked.

_"'There' is quite relative,"_ the voice cheerfully replied. _"I may not be physically present, but I am indeed with you."_

"Are you a...physician?"

_"No. But I've a stake in your well being, which is why I've taken measures to ensure your continued survival. Indeed, you are still in this world because of me, Airman 1_ _st_ _Class Griffin."_

Look around as he might, Griffin could not pinpoint the source of the voice. It came neither from the left nor the right. It was as if someone were sitting in front of him, speaking in clear, perfect diction.

_"Before you ask, no, you're not insane. You have suffered no head trauma, nor are you under the influence of some mind-altering drug. You can hear me because I am directly stimulating the nerves of your inner ear, through means I'll divulge at a later date, once you're suitably prepared for that information."_

Griffin shook the cobwebs from his brain. "You're not a doctor, but you know my rank and call sign. Are you from the military?"

_"In a manner of speaking. But I do not answer to them or to your so-called gods. I am my own person with private interests and objectives. We will speak more of that later. For now, may I make a request?"_

"What is it?"

_"I'd like you to raise your arms towards the ceiling, please."_

Tentatively, Griffin stretched both arms upward, careful not to pull on the dextrose tube.

_"Very good. You may put them down now. Griffin, when they wheeled you in here, you no longer had functional arms. During the explosion, the debris cut into your flesh and severed some critical muscles. The doctors did not believe they could save your arms. The military would have disposed of you, for what is a battlethrall who cannot fight?_

_"But they chose not to, because I've regenerated your nerves and muscle tissue without their knowledge. They considered it a miracle."_

Griffin touched the white scars on his biceps. "I don't understand," he said. "How did you...?"

_"The how is not as important as the why. For the meantime, know that I am your friend, and I've your best interests at heart._

_"Now, hush. You have a visitor, a comrade of yours. It will be best if you do not divulge that we've had this conversation. Reporting it will seriously call your mental state into question. I'll contact you again soon."_

"But...just who are you?"

There was a beat, as if the speaker was considering his answer. Then the voice replied, _"You may call me Prometheus."_

The voice fell silent as the metal door slid open and a burly, red-headed man stepped in. His eyes widened as he saw Griffin sitting up on his bed.

"Zeus's toenails, you're awake!" He turned and yelled out the doorway, "You, nurse! Get a doctor in here! He's out of the coma, you hear? And you quacks said he'd be brain-dead for the rest of his life!"

"Minotaur." Griffin smiled at the man's raucousness. They were part of the same unit, survived the same skirmishes against both Atlantean and Hadean armies. Of all the men he had fought with, Minotaur was the one he came closest to calling a friend.

"How're you feeling? Are you sure you should be sitting up like that? How long have you been up?" Minotaur dragged a chair close to the bed and sat down, his large frame barely fitting in it.

"I'm fine, I think," said Griffin. "I woke up less than ten minutes ago. Did you say I was in a coma? How long was I...?"

"Five weeks! I almost thought you weren't going to come out of it. But as usual, you proved me wrong. There's just no killing you." Griffin winced as Minotaur punched him in the arm.

Five weeks. Griffin put a hand on his forehead. "And the date today is...?"

"March 5. And you fought in the Arena on February 12. Don't you remember?"

"I...remember a little bit." Griffin lay back. "A single ship duel between me and Heracles."

"That bastard," growled Minotaur. "That smug sonofabitch. I'll tear his head off when I see him. He wasn't supposed to take your ship out! All he had to do was tag you three times with the dummy missile. But he tried to kill you—just had to show off that custom Damocles of his! May his balls grow spikes and he choke on them!"

Yes, thought Griffin as he lay back down. But Heracles was not going to get a reprimand. Not from the judges, who were beholden to the military. Not from the spectators crowded around their holo sets, who rooted for the famous war hero. Not Zeus himself, who created the genetically perfect Heracles. No one was going to complain except Minotaur, and even he would be sure to do so only when they were alone. Life was cheap among the thralls.

"When do I get out?" Griffin asked, interrupting Minotaur's tirade.

"I wouldn't be in a hurry, you know," Minotaur said, grinning. "You get to lie here while the rest of us carry on. You don't have to think about the war. Why don't you just enjoy yourself for a bit? You've earned it."

"I haven't earned anything, Minotaur," Griffin said, closing his eyes. "A thrall earns by being the footmen of the gods. We fight their wars, we entertain them in Arena. Only then do we get the right to become citizens. I'm not going to become one by lying on a hospital bed. I need to get back in the field. Otherwise, I might as well be dead."

Minotaur rubbed his neck. "Well, if that's what you want, Griffin. I just don't want you getting out there before you're 100%, you know? Just get better, you hear? We can talk to the captain about getting you a new fighter." He brightened. "Say, you must want some real food, right? I'll get you something." He stood and made for the door.

"Minotaur?"

The big man turned. "Yeah?"

"Before you came in, did you happen to...hear me talking to someone?"

"Nu-uh. Why? Was someone else here?"

Griffin shook his head. "No, it's nothing. It must've been my imagination."

~~*~~

As it turned out, he was wrong. The voice returned two weeks later, after he was discharged from the hospital.

Since his ordeal, Griffin had been on a two-week leave. He spent most of his time sitting by himself on the open-air balcony of a floating carrier, scattering salted biscuits for the pigeons that dared to roost this high up over the city.

His gaze would linger on the silver outline of New Athens, at the gleaming transport tubes that crisscrossed its buildings, at the holographic billboards lining every skyscraper, and the myriad

of quad cars crowding the arteries of the megalopolis. He often imagined himself wandering the streets like any one of its genetically-perfect citizens. He pictured himself with the freedom to buy whatever he wanted, to eat something other than saltine fare, and to go anywhere without requiring anyone's permission. He would have become a full citizen, had he defeated Heracles in the Arena.

But his gamble hadn't paid off. And so he remained a thrall, a footstool for the mighty champion of New Athens.

The voice spoke into his ear once more.

_"You're looking much better, my friend."_

Griffin jumped up from his bench, spilling his coffee and nearly dropping his crust of bread. "You!" he said. "I though you were a dream. Are you...can you see me?"

_"In a manner of speaking. Look to your left, above the glass entryway."_ Griffin turned his head to see a security camera trained directly at him, its single eye glittering in the slanting sunlight.

Griffin frowned at the thought of being watched. "I'm on a military vessel. Everything here's controlled and monitored by HQ. How can you possibly...?"

_"Through a myriad of technologies that you're unaware ever existed. I can explain them all, if you'd like, but really, that would seem a tedious way to run this conversation. It's the least important of the subjects I had in mind."_

Griffin got up from the bench and walked swiftly away from the view of the camera. "I'd like to know what exactly you're capable of. You seem to know all about me, but I've no idea who you are."

_"I am Prometheus."_

"I've never heard of you."

_"You wouldn't have. My very existence is what you may call 'privileged knowledge'."_

"What do you mean by that? And where are you? Why won't you show yourself?"

The voice seemed amused by this. _"I've forgotten that you have a predilection for attaching trust to a face. Very well. We will meet face to face soon. For now, I'm afraid you must be content with listening to me."_

"You said you could speak directly into my ear. Tell me how you accomplish that, at least."

_"As you wish. Inside of your body are 11,244 nanomachines distributed throughout your circulatory, muscular, and nervous systems. Each one has specialized abilities. They give me feedback on what you see and hear. They allow me to monitor your vital signs. Indeed, they are what saved your life, knitting together shattered bone and torn tissue."_

Griffin felt his mind reeling from the enormity of it all. He realized he was gaping at empty air and closed his mouth. "You're saying you put those things in me while...while I was unconscious?"

" _Indeed_."

"Can you read my thoughts?"

_"That is beyond my abilities. If you wish to communicate, you will have to speak out loud, and the nanomachines will transmit the sound from your vocal chords to my location."_

"And where exactly are you?"

There was a pause, as if Prometheus were considering the question. _"Look to the east. What is the tallest structure you see?"_

"The tallest?" Griffin did not have to scan the skyline to find what he meant. No structure could compare with the tower that stood exactly due east: a bone-white needle that bisected the sunrise and cut straight into the sky. "You can't mean...the Opal Tower? You're one of the gods?!"

_"Knowing what I know, I may as well be one. But I am not of their esteemed number. You may, in fact, call me a prisoner. A tool."_

"I don't understand."

_"You will in due time."_ He paused. _"I've read all about you, Griffin. There was a time when you lived far from the eyes of these gods. Unlike most thralls, you had a mother and father. You lived with them in a community of escaped slaves, in a hidden asteroid colony."_

Griffin found himself inching away from the bright sunshine into the shadow of a communications tower. "How do you know that?"

_"I've access to the thrall database—all 9,134,144 profiles."_

"But...the encryption there is..."

_"Nothing beyond my abilities. I can scan through the database in less time than it takes me to finish this sentence. But of all those names, I've chosen yours, Griffin, based on your history, upbringing, and skill set. It is you to whom I turn for help."_

"And do I get a choice on whether or not I'll help you?"

_"Of course you do. Still, I hope you will consider my offer."_

"What do you want me to do?"

_"First, I shall tell you what I am willing to give. But then, words fail to capture the enormity of it. It is far better that I show you."_

Griffin gasped as the world around him dropped out of his sight. He was plunged in a darkness as deep as space. He cried out, groping for something to steady him.

_"Don't be afraid,"_ Prometheus said. _"It's an illusion. Look."_

And in a moment, something wonderful happened. A planet shimmered into view before him, like a jewel on black velvet.

Griffin caught his breath. He had never seen anything so beautiful. Not even Olympus, glimpsed from space, could compare to this world's untouched beauty. No clustered lights from cities glistened on the planet's surface. The land was brown and green, surrounded by blue oceans and swirling white clouds. The vision looked so clear, so vivid, Griffin could almost forget it was an illusion. H felt as though he could step forward into its gravitational pull and fall into it.

_"This is Terra,"_ said Prometheus. _"This is what I am promising you, Griffin. A home much like the one you lost. No more shall you answer to any false god. No longer will you risk your life in their name. Here you will live a free man._

_"I'll give you this, and one more thing."_ Griffin could hear a sense of satisfaction in that voice. _"I'll give you fire. And thereafter, no so-called champion can harm you ever again."_

~~*~~

In a cavernous suite on the 300th floor of the Opal Tower, Heracles strode from one end of the polished marble floor to the other. "Where is he?" he demanded, turning to the computer. "I've been waiting fifteen minutes!"

A disembodied voice replied, "The young captain has just arrived at the lobby, sire. He is registering with the—"

"Nine hells! He's my guest, why does he need to go through that rubbish!" Heracles strode to the golden double doors and called out, "Titus! Come and enter!"

He stepped aside to let a shorter, leaner man take a few halting steps into the room. "Greetings, Lord Heracles," he said. "It's my honor to accept your invitation..."

"The honor's mine. Be at ease. Grab a drink." Heracles steered the young man to a bar with row after row of liquor.

Titus cleared his throat. "Er...I beg your pardon, Heracles. I shouldn't be drinking hours before a match at the Arena, especially since it's my first."

Heracles selected a 20 year-old wine and popped the cork with just his fingers. "Nonsense! Wine makes you braver. Hell, I was half in my cups when I last fought a match. Damn near killed a thrall, they tell me. Hah!" He poured the wine into two glasses. "To your debut amongst the High Guard!"

Seeing no choice, Titus raised his glass and they each took a long swig. "Thank you, sire."

"I look forward to your battle today, and how you'll bring glory to yourself and to the Pantheon."

"I hope to honor, not just mighty Zeus, but you as well, who was so kind as to sponsor my bid for the High Guard."

"Think nothing of it! I'm always on the lookout for talent. And..." He pointed at Titus. "I know it when I see it."

The young man reddened, not just from the wine. 'Thank you sir!"

"Who will you be facing in the Arena tonight?"

"Here." Titus fumbled for a piece of paper from his pocket, which he handed to Heracles, who peered down at the image and the name beneath it. "Griffin, eh? Hmph, looks like they've run out of good fodder and are resorting to callbacks. Sorry, Titus. You'll be dealing with my scraps tonight. This Griffin happens to be the last worm I put away. I'm sure the mark of my boot is still on his backside."

"Is that so?" Titus peered down at the image. "It says here he's shot down seven Atlantean fighters and a dozen Hadean Drones."

"Indeed? He's a handy pilot, but far from an expert. If you want me to, I can show you exactly how to beat him." Heracles put down his glass and slipped his arm around the young man's shoulders. "Just stick with me, my friend, and I'll make sure—"

"Heracles!" boomed a voice from the door.

Titus nearly leaped out of his skin, and even Heracles turned the color of milk. A man stood at the entryway. He was old by Olympian standards, but he still possessed a full head of pale hair and a body as powerfully built as Heracles'. His eyes could have been cut from sapphires.

Heracles bowed his head. Beside him, Titus fell to one knee. "Lord Zeus! I-it's an unexpected honor! C-command me, my liege, and I will obey."

"Then get out," Zeus said, as he strode into the room, not giving Titus so much as a glance. The young man got up and scurried to the doorway.

"Father," said Heracles, "to what do I owe this pleasure?"

The elder man stood by the window, hands clasped behind him as he stared at the glittering city below. "I gave you a task, did I not? I've come to check on your progress."

Heracles cleared his throat and poured an additional glass of wine. "Yes, well, I've been interviewing possible candidates to fill in for the High Guard..."

"I do not need any more chinless man-boys for additional 'protection.' I'd rather you concentrated on the most important aspect: mastering the Ithaca."

"Yes, of course," Heracles offered him his glass of wine. "I'm doing as you ask, studying the design and weapon systems of our newest flagship, and..."

"If by, studying it, you mean drinking yourself to a stupor each night and subsequently waking up at midday amidst your whores, then you're succeeding beyond belief." Zeus turned and regarded his son with eyes that missed nothing. "Do you know why that flagship is so precious to me, Heracles?"

Heracles did his best not to fidget under that stare. "It's the first flagship made by the fusing of both Olympian and Hadean technocraft, the most advanced we've ever made. By using it, we project our power throughout the entire galaxy."

"And do you know why I've chosen you to captain this most precious weapon?"

"Because...because I'm your son."

"Indeed." Zeus took a step towards him, making Heracles acutely aware that his father stood a head taller than he. "I chose you, despite my own better judgment, because you're blood of my blood. By making you commander of this flagship, I am also making you the head of my war fleet. I am declaring to the whole of Olympus the supremacy of my line. No one, not Ares, not Apollo, not Dionysus, nor the rest of the Divine Enclave, are allowed to steal that glory from me. That is what is at stake."

"I shall not fail you, father," said Heracles, raising his glass.

"No, you will not, for I've arranged for you not to fail. I am making you a mere figurehead on the Ithaca. In all practical and military matters, you will defer to your executive officer, Odysseus."

Heracles spat out the wine he'd been drinking. "Father! Odysseus? You cannot mean that!"

Zeus arched one pale brow. "Mean it? I've decreed it." He turned and headed for the doorway.

"But-but my Lord Zeus, I'll be a laughingstock of the fleet if you keep me under him! Think of what this'll do to me!"

Zeus spun around, glaring. Heracles immediately fell silent.

"My one concern," said the old man, "is victory, not your petty pride. Odysseus can win me wars. You're only good for winning young men's favors."

Zeus turned and disappeared through the doorway. In frustration, Heracles flung his glass against the window, cursing his luck and the folly of old men.

But first, he made sure his father was out of earshot.

~~*~~

"Are you mad?!?"

Minotaur managed to push his way past the guards and caught up with Griffin on the gangway. "Did you like being half-dead so much that you want to take it all the way?"

Griffin managed a thin smile as he marched toward his fighter. "Is that your way of wishing me luck?"

They were walking around the perimeter of the Arena, a low circular structure surrounding a lake about 20 miles in diameter. To their right, a ring of force barrier generators formed the outer edge of the Arena. Beyond that were the twinkling lights of New Athens and the holo sets of millions of spectators.

"If you think you're going to win this on luck," Minotaur retorted, "you, sir, are a moron. Not a month's passed since you got out of the hospital. I know you want to gain citizenship, but is it worth dying for?"

Griffin slipped on his helmet and adjusted the strap. "You've been a thrall for 16 years and four months," he said. "You tell me."

They stopped in front of catapult containing an aerospace fighter, and Minotaur could not suppress slapping his forehead. "And they gave you a standard issue AF-2 Gladius. Can't you see—they really want to kill you this time!"

"It's fine. I'm used to the Gladius anyway."

"Titus is using a Hawkmoth—a Hawkmoth! On loan from Heracles himself! He's got a full battery of missiles and you can be sure as hell they're not duds like yours. What kind of a chance do you expect to have?"

"Slim to none," said Griffin. He shrugged and gave his friend another elusive smile. "Go on back to the audience, Minotaur. I'll see you when this is over." Ignoring his friend's protests, he climbed the ladder and slipped inside the cockpit. The canopy slid closed like a casket lid.

For the first time since he began, Griffin felt the tension of being locked in this cramped space again. The lights of the console stared at him like hungry eyes. He could still smell the smoke, feel the heat of the flames as he plummeted towards the barrier. Looking down, he saw his hands shaking and clenched them into fists.

He gasped as the announcer's voice boomed in his headset, introducing his name and accomplishments. Angrily he turned the volume down. Through the windshield, he looked up at the sky and briefly wondered why they held Arena matches at twilight. Perhaps the red sky made a perfect backdrop for sudden death.

"I'm here," he sighed. "Now what?"

_"Now you win this tournament,"_ Prometheus said in his ear. _"And take for yourself a miniscule amount of freedom."_

"And that's a necessary step for your plan?" Griffin asked, as he ran through the launch sequence.

_"You will need the help of others on your journey. Becoming a citizen of New Athens will afford you the means to meet them, and win them to your cause."_

"But first I've to win this."

_"You will,"_ said the voice, _"if you let me guide you. Now, prepare. Your opponent comes."_

Across the Arena, Griffin could see the sunlight glancing off the white body of a second fighter. Looking at his video screen, he spied the blue-clad figure of Titus striding towards the catapult. The young blond seemed so cool and casual, waving to the cameras first before slipping on his helmet and climbing into the Hawkmoth.

Not long now, thought Griffin. He suddenly became aware of how moist his palms were, and wondered if he had time to remove his gloves and wipe them. His throat felt parched. He lifted his visor and reached for the bottled water near his seat, but the catapult tilted back and pointed his Gladius to the sky. The "ready" message appeared on his screen. Swallowing hard, Griffin reset his visor, warmed up his thrusters, and watched the countdown begin.

Prometheus spoke again. " _Your heart rate is 100 beats above normal, Griffin. I do wish you would relax."_

"Easy for you to say," Griffin murmured, as the red dial hit 5...4...3. "Your life's not on the line."

_"In a matter of speaking, it is."_

Griffin did not have time to ask what he meant, because the catapult lurched once and suddenly he was hurtling towards through the Arena's airspace. He engaged his thrusters to steady the Gladius, then looked at his radar. The Hawkmoth flew in a corkscrew towards him, playing for the cameras below.

"What do I do first?" Griffin asked.

_"Engage him,"_ Prometheus replied _. "I shall observe."_

Taking a deep breath, Griffin pushed his Gladius into Mach 1. He'd attack first, hoping to damage Titus early and bring him into the defensive. Thumbing the fire button, he felt the gun beneath his cockpit stutter and the bright streak of bullets crowd the sky before him. The Hawkmoth dodged to the right, then quickly returned fire. Griffin jerked back on the stick, lifting the Gladius higher, slipping past enemy fire and the hurtling body of the Hawkmoth.

Griffin ignored the dull roar of the crowd through his headset, bringing his fighter around for another pass. But Titus was ready for him this time. Griffin barely had time to register the warning before a cluster of micro-missiles filled his radar. Griffin fired a round from his gun but there were too many—he managed to destroy two before having to barrel to the left and evade.

The scanner screeched that he had 14 more micro-missiles on his tail. He slammed his fist on the chaff button, once, twice, a third time. It was only then that he got the last one off of his tail.

Then the scanner blared another warning. The Hawkmoth had slipped behind him and had him in its sights. Griffin pushed his Gladius faster, but Titus kept pace. He tried rolling, sinking, stalling, but his opponent never let him get beyond a hundred meters' distance. Now and then, he heard the chatter of its guns, and a tiny piece of the Gladius would go flying off into space.

Too fast, thought Griffin. The Hawkmoth was much too fast, outgunned him. If he could not somehow turn things around, he would meet his end here beneath the red curtain of the twilight.

_"It's time."_

He'd almost forgotten about Prometheus. Griffin was about to ask what miracle he could possibly expect when every muscle in his body seized up, as if he'd been jolted with a few hundred volts.

"Prometheus?" he gasped.

_"Nothing to fear, Griffin. The nanomachines in your nerve endings and synapses are activating. It will pass. Then you will experience the world as I do."_

"What...what's happening...what're you doing to me?"

_"I promised, did I not?"_ The voice said with a hint of pride. " _I promised you victory. I promised you_ ** _fire._** _"_

Griffin could not describe the sensation of power consuming him. It was as if a star had ignited in his chest. All his senses were singing. Time bent and every detail stood out in perfect clarity: the readings on the console, the blips on his radar, the weapons system reports—he could comprehend them all with a glance. For a moment he thought this distraction would have cost him the battle, but the clock told him that barely two seconds had passed.

_"Griffin,"_ said Prometheus. _"Fight back."_

All fear, all hesitation vanished from Griffin's mind. The only emotion he felt was a sharp, mind-numbing joy.

Behind him, the Hawkmoth fired its guns again. Griffin simply tilted the Gladius to the right and the shots missed him by inches. His enemy fired again, but he rolled away and saw the bullets flash by his cockpit, slow enough to see. Again and again, Titus tried to shoot him down, but each time Griffin slipped away from his line of fire like rain.

Slow, thought Griffin. He's moving much slower now. Or is it me that's moving faster?

_"Impressive how you adapt to your new senses, Griffin,"_ said Prometheus _"But how will you end this?"_

Griffin didn't reply. Instead, he pushed down on the stick and the Gladius dove towards the lake, with the Hawkmoth in pursuit. Griffin leveled off just a few feet above the water, huge waves trailing in his wake.

_"I see,"_ said Prometheus _. "By flying close to the surface, you're making it difficult for him to aim his guns. He'll use his missiles."_

Indeed, the Hawkmoth dared not get too close to the water. Titus kept himself higher, keeping less than 40 meters away, and fired a barrage of micro-missiles.

Griffin expected this. He released the last of his chaff.

A tremendous explosion rocked the Gladius as chaff and missiles met. As planned, the eruption of water hid him from view. Griffin pulled his ship into a loop. Before Titus knew it, the Gladius was behind him, holding him in its sights.

Now the tables were turned. The Hawkmoth shot towards the sky, but Griffin followed close. Try as it might to dodge, every shot Griffin made took off a bit from the Hawkmoth's wing, tail, and armor. Soon his opponent was trailing a stream of smoke.

_"You're making Titus desperate,"_ Prometheus observed. _"You're driving him to attack you without forethought."_

Again, Griffin said nothing, couldn't even form thoughts into words. The only thing that seemed real was the Hawkmoth, driven like a wounded beast. Griffin could tell, clear as daylight, what his opponent was going to try, and he knew exactly what to do about it.

Titus fired all his eight remaining missiles. They darted straight ahead, then spread out and reversed direction, ignoring the Hawkmoth's heat signature in favor of the Gladius. As they passed close to the Hawkmoth, Griffin, without so much as a blink, opened fire.

All eight missiles erupted around Titus in a crown of flame, ripping its fuselage to bits. The burning wreck arched towards the water, trailing fire as it went. Somewhere in Griffin's mind, he registered the pilot ejecting, but he couldn't be sure, nor could find it in himself to care.

He let the Gladius glide through the open sky. The feeling of power was leaving him now. He felt feverish, gasping and shaking like a cat hit with cold water. Every muscle felt worn out and vacant—he felt like he could sleep for days. But the memory of the euphoria still shivered in his brain.

Prometheus's voice rang clear in his ears. _"It was quite the experience, wasn't it?"_

"Will it..." Griffin swallowed, fought to form words. "Will it always feel like that?"

_"Yes. And that is your power, Griffin. Together we shall make the gods tremble. But for now, accept this freedom as my gift."_

Griffin blinked away the sweat from his eyes. He thought he was imagining it, but for the first time, he could hear the chatter of the announcer, the disbelieving cheers of the people below. He had done it. He had won.

Today, he earned his place in New Athens.

~~*~~

Heracles slammed his fists down on his table, knocking his wine bottle to the floor. It was impossible! How could Titus have lost to that nothing, that low-born genetic reject? How could a mere thrall shoot down a member of the High Guard?

Now Titus was bundled up in bandages and wouldn't be on his feet for at least two months. Moreover, Heracles had lost a small fortune betting on the wrong man. The media would have a field day.

As his forehead fell into his hands, the holo set on his desk glimmered to life. "Heracles."

Heracles looked up, blinking at the emotionless face of his father. "My lord Zeus?'

"You've seen better days, my son."

"It-it's nothing, father," Heracles said, sitting up. "A personal matter, hardly worth your attention."

"An upstart thrall sent one of your newest officers to the hospital, bringing shame to your name and your rank."

Heracles blanched. "I will restore my honor personally. I'll challenge him to the Arena, best him in a single—"

"It's interesting, isn't it?" Zeus said as he rubbed his chin. "The difference in his skill levels between now and before...tell me, what's his name?"

Heracles frowned at his father's sudden interest. "His call sign is Griffin."

"Very good," said Zeus. "Alert the High Guard. I want him brought to me."

#

** **

**Episode 2**

**"T** **erra** **"**

In a hangar located at the foot of the Opal Tower, the body of the flagship Ithaca glittered like a pearl in the sun. It measured a full mile from end to end and stood 25 stories tall, its communication towers grasping towards the sky.

Standing on the telescoping walkway, Zeus gazed upon his new warship with immense satisfaction. As a scientist, he had created an entire race of perfect Olympians, each free from disease, old age, and physical deformity. That was more than a century past, yet he couldn't have guessed that his greatest work still lay ahead of him: this teardrop-shaped ship that combined the latest Olympian technology with engineering secrets stolen from his hated rival, Hades.

The Ithaca would be the crown jewel of his fleet. With it, he could trample any armada that faced him. First, he would take over Poseidon's corner of the galaxy, and after that band of heretical flesh-benders have been brought to heel, he would turn his attention to Hades and his men of metal.

But those were yet dreams. First came the preparations.

The walkway finally reached the docking area on Ithaca's port side. Gathering their robes around them, Zeus and his retinue stepped onto the pristine metal floor and allowed the conveyor to carry them deeper into the ship.

"Sire," said his secretary, "you have an incoming message from Heracles."

"Put him off for later," Zeus replied.

"I'm sorry, sire—he says it's urgent."

"It's not. He wants my personal physician to treat his current favorite, that poor sop who was beaten by a thrall in the last games. I've no time for his dalliances. Let him wait." He paused. "Although that does remind me—what of that young thrall?"

"The High Guard is tracking him, sire, but his current popularity makes it difficult for them to arrest him without anyone noticing. They're looking for an opportunity to get him alone."

"Wait a week, that's about as long as it takes for the public to forget his kind. I suppose we can let him enjoy his newfound status a few days longer." Zeus turned his attention to the cavernous hangar on their right, and smiled to himself. Below them row after row of newly-developed ethervoid fighters, a small fleet designed for the fortunate pilots chosen to be among the Ithaca's elite crew. They would hold games to find the ones most fit for the honor. The telecast would be beamed to millions, earning billions for his media company.

Dreams. He had built an age of dreams. Nothing could stop his climb to greater power.

It did not take long for the conveyor to take them to the main elevator. From there, it was a short trip to the command level.

Zeus stepped onto the bridge, looking about in wonder. It was a large circular room that could easily fit two dozen crew members. To the front of the bridge were the main viewing screens and the navigator seats. To the left were the ship's weapon control systems, to the right its engine and communication modules. At the very center stood the Strategic Simulation Device, a flat circular surface that showed exact holograms of the ship's immediate area. Finally, to the rear of the room lay the commander and first mate's chairs.

Technicians milled about, verifying system checks, life support, and defense mechanisms. Zeus's subordinates broke formation and stalked around the bridge, observing and asking questions. Zeus beckoned to the lead technician, a balding man in a white jumpsuit. "Report."

"Very good, sire. We are on schedule for the Ithaca's maiden voyage. All that remains is final checks on the AI's memory banks."

Zeus gazed up at the ceiling. A large dome of crimson glass hung over the central SSD.

"Is it active?" he asked the technician. "Can it hear me?"

"The AI is in a semi-active state, sire. It has finished gathering the data from our systems and is currently processing them. You may think of it as 'meditating.'"

Zeus chuckled. These technicians are such an amusing bunch.

His secretary reappeared at his side. "Sir, incoming call. It's Admiral Odysseus."

Odysseus? That was unexpected. "Very well, patch him through."

His secretary set their holo-com on the floor. It blinked twice before radiating a warm yellow spotlight directly in front of Zeus, then the image of Odysseus shimmered into view.

Zeus normally wore an impassive mask, but underneath he winced inwardly whenever he saw his finest admiral. Odysseus slouched on his antigravity chair, covered in voluminous robes of fine red silk. He propped up his chin with one thin, bandaged hand. The bandages wrapped all the way down his arms, and covered most of his upper body like a cerement. He wore the charred remains of his pilot helmet, modified to let in anesthetic gas pumped from his chair and leaving his features covered in a silvery mist, which occasionally parted to reveal a pair of carnivorous dark eyes.

Zeus, who loathed all kinds of physical imperfection, had offered many times to rebuild his admiral's horribly burned body to its former state. But Odysseus always refused, citing the long recuperation as a dereliction of duty and resigning himself to the daily use of bandages and gas. In truth, Zeus suspected that Odysseus enjoyed the fear he inspired, the looks of horror on his subordinates' faces when they beheld his charred, mangled body. Zeus cultivated an aura of command, but Odysseus flaunted a mantle of terror.

Odysseus put his fist against his chest and bowed his head. "My Lord Zeus. Forgive my intrusion."

"I greet you, Admiral Odysseus. How do you fare?"

"As expected. My campaign here in the 8th Sector goes as planned. I would like to finish it before starting a new mission."

"It can't be helped. I need you here for a more critical task." He spread his arms, gesturing at their surroundings. "What do you say, Admiral? Magnificent, isn't it?"

Odysseus's holo-image turned in its chair, peering at the navigator's console, the captain's chair, and with a lingering, covetous look, the SSD. "It is indeed a sight to behold, my lord. Had I known that you would present me with such an opportunity, I'd have come sooner. And it will be ready for its maiden voyage soon?"

"Within a fortnight." Zeus waited for Odysseus to stop in front of him. "This ship shall be my spear, Odysseus. Among its arsenal are a main tachyon gun, plasma turrets, point defense systems, and missile batteries. I have assembled newly-designed ethervoid fighters for our crew of elite pilots..."

"Wondrous," said Odysseus. "And yet, as with most grand warships, its greatest strength is hidden away."

"Ah." Zeus smiled. "So you've heard of the AIGIES."

"It is very hard to conceal a project developing the most advanced artificial intelligent computer in history," the admiral replied, "particularly if I was the one who...ah...appropriated the technology from Hades's forces. I trust you've put it to good use?"

"The computer can run nearly the entire ship by itself. It will coordinate with the captain regarding battle strategies and ship deployment. You can ask for no better adviser and guidance system. There is no weapon like this in the entire galaxy. With it, Odysseus, we shall rend the colonies of Atlantis and Hades."

"It would be my honor, Lord Zeus," replied Odysseus, nodding. "And while I will take pleasure in carrying out your will in this matter, I must also caution you. This ship alone cannot win our war for us."

Zeus arched one eyebrow. "Of course, there are our soldiers, our pilots, I'm sure..."

"Forgive me, my lord. True, weapons and troops are key elements to victory. But in a situation like ours, where three sides of nearly equal strength battle, we can be possibly locked in a struggle without outcome." He raised one spindly, bandaged hand. "The only thing that separates us from them is our will to fight.

"You see, my lord, you and I are alike. There is no end to our ambition. We are willing to do whatever it takes to fulfill our goals. That is how we acquired this ship—through cunning, through innovation. We temper our men through constant battle, in space or within the bounds of the Arena. Poseidon and Hades, alas, have other concerns. Their will is divided. That is why we will ultimately win."

"I'm glad for your vote of confidence, Admiral. Tell me, is your will to win this war for me absolute?"

Odysseus turned to him. Through the haze of his visor, Zeus could see an ash-colored grin. "My lord, nothing pleases me more than bowing to a will superior to my own. Yes, I am confident of our way to victory." Odysseus guided himself towards the holo-com. "I bid you farewell, my lord. I'll make planetfall soon. I'll report to you personally once I've arrived."

Odysseus vanished, leaving Zeus with that unsettling feeling that his admiral meant more than what he said.

Above him, the holo-projector glimmered like a cat's eye.

~~*~~

Griffin hunkered low over his coffee and hoped no one recognized him under the hat and dark glasses. He sat by himself in the open area of the cafe, watching the pedestrians rush by. It had been a week since his explosive victory in the Arena, and for a while, it seemed they weren't going to leave him alone. He was, at the age of 21, the youngest thrall ever to win his citizenship through honorable combat. Cameras hounded his every step, reporters appeared at each corner to ambush him with questions on how he was adjusting to his new life. Strangers took his picture and demanded he appear at their parties. One network wanted to make a holo-vid series of his life.

By then, Griffin learned to wear a disguise at all times to maintain his privacy.

Throughout this ordeal, he did not once sense that they actually wanted to get to know him, or to know what it was like to live as a thrall. They didn't want to hear about the endless hours of VR training he was subjected to, nor the harsh exercise regimen he required to stay fit for duty. To them, he was just a curiosity, a low-breed outcast thrust into the world of perfect demi-gods. They regarded him as a beast that might go wild at any moment, and at which time, they hoped to be there with cameras.

He gave a start when Prometheus spoke into his ear. "So tell me, Griffin. Was it worth it?"

"I really need to get used to you talking to me like this," Griffin replied in a low voice. "What's worth it?"

"Winning your citizenship. Are you enjoying yourself?"

"I..." Griffin looked around him at the customers milling about the cafe. "I don't know."

"You spend most of your time people-watching. What is it you hope to see?"

The people gathered here were of all colors, but each one looked to be in perfect shape and none looked a day over forty. They wore the most expensive clothing and dined on the best cuisine. Quite a difference from the ham sandwich that sat half-eaten on Griffin's plate.

"Someplace I can belong, I suppose," he replied.

"Yes," Prometheus said. "That's all you've wanted, isn't it? A sliver of the good life to call your own. It has proven elusive, has it not?"

Griffin nodded. "I'm not sure why."

"They don't see any change in your status, Griffin. In their eyes, you are still a thrall, a serial number. This despite all you've done to uphold their way of life. It will never change. They'll not permit it.

"Let me tell you a story, Griffin, one you're familiar with. Over a hundred years ago, when Zeus came into power, he created a race of people with no genetic flaws. He kept the traits that provided high intellect, physical strength, and beauty. He weeded out the least desirable genes, eliminating obesity, cancer, old age, and a host of congenital diseases.

"But he did not succeed overnight. He had to experiment. These less-than-perfect results from his first foundering steps became the thralls. And he enslaved them, your ancestors. Only afterwards did he succeed in creating his true heirs: the Olympians. These second-borns would live long, prosperous lives of over 200 years. The thralls and their descendants, fated to live but a quarter of that time span, were left with hard labor and war.

"That will be your fate for as long as you remain in Olympus, trying to capture your sliver of the good life. But already you see that they'll never give it to you."

Griffin considered these words as he wrapped his red scarf around his neck and dropped some change on the table. "That is why you showed me Terra."

"Indeed. I'm offering you a world where you can live free from unjust rule. One where you can make your own life, just as your parents had, a long time ago on that asteroid colony where they raised you."

Griffin shook his head. "It sounds impossible...I mean, you're asking me to fight Zeus's empire."

"Zeus is but a man, a geneticist masquerading as a god."

"You're asking me to lead people away from the only home they've ever known."

"You are to make them see that they have no home, Griffin, not until they claim one for themselves. If you succeed, then they will follow you. But first answer this: will you accept my help and travel across the galaxy to Terra?"

Griffin stood at the doorway and turned to look at the people in the cafe. Everyone looked so perfect, free from blemish. They will never grow old, he thought, whereas I will grow weak and decrepit. They will look at me with pity and disgust for as long as I live. Can I deal with that?

And it dawned on him that the answer was no. He could not live with them, these perfect, angelic beings that were so unlike him.

"I'll do it," Griffin whispered.

"You've chosen well," said Prometheus. "Now, gather your allies."

~~*~~

It took another week for him to reach the names Prometheus had given him and set up a meeting. He had to be cryptic, stating only the importance of the gathering as well as its time and location. He told them nothing of what he planned to say, only that what he was going to share with them will lead to a better life. He also requested that they come alone to the designated venue: a basement of an empty apartment building near the New Athens docks.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing," said Minotaur as they busied themselves preparing the holo-projector in the middle of the room. "I had to assure my buddies this wasn't some kind of sales meeting. It's not...right?"

"No, I'm not selling anything," said Griffin, smiling as he connected the power cables. "Except maybe ideas. But those don't require money."

"Oh...are we starting a cult, then?"

"No."

"Too bad. That would've made us a ton of money." He flicked a switch and the projector hummed to life. "I wish you'd just tell me what this is all about, Griffin. It's not like I'm going to run screaming to the authorities."

"Sorry. It's best if I just say things once instead of repeating. I'm really no speechmaker." He paused. "But thanks for trusting me. It'll be worth it, I promise."

Their guests started trickling in by nightfall. First to arrive was Cyclops, a former officer in the thrall army and one of the fortunate few to win his way through the Arena. Tall, thin, brown-haired with an engaging smile, he seemed more like a statesman than a soldier. He shook hands with them rather than returning their salute. "It's been a long time, my friends. I'm glad to see you're alive and well."

"Same with you," Griffin said. He had always liked Cyclops. "Thanks for coming. I know I didn't explain much when I called..."

"I came because I know you're a sincere man who doesn't take his word lightly. If it will help us thralls, then I'd like to know how I can contribute. Besides..." He gave a wink. "I'm always up for a drinking session with fellow veterans."

He took his seat as two more people came in. Griffin knew them as well; they were the only fraternal twins among the battlethralls, and excellent pilots. "Scylla, Chimera, welcome. Please make yourselves comfortable."

Scylla, the elder of the siblings, tossed her honey-colored pigtails. "This better be good, Griffin. I've got an Arena match coming up and I'm wasting time here talking instead of training."

"Now, now, sis," said Chimera, giving Griffin a conciliatory smile. "Please don't mind her. She gets like that when she's nervous around other people—"

"I'm NOT nervous!"

"—but give her a few glasses of wine and she'll be as right as rain—"

"Just who are you talking about??"

"—and don't worry, she's quite glad to be here and out of the simulator for once."

"Knock it off, Chimera! I'll sock you one if you say another—"

"I promise you it'll be worth your while," Griffin hurried on, sweating. "Please have a seat and Minotaur will, uh, serve some refreshments." As they wandered off, still squabbling, he wondered how twins managed to grow into such different personalities.

Soon more people arrived, some Griffin knew personally: such as Hydra, who was an exceptional gunner; Pegasus, who was an ethervoid mechanic; and Leviathan, who served as an engineer for one of the Imperial flagships. The rest, such as Sphinx and Manticore, were old buddies of Minotaur and gladly accepted his invitation. The evening wore on, eased by story-telling, small talk, and the flow of wine. All 24 seats were nearly full, save for one.

"Guess Lamia's not coming," said Minotaur. "Pity. I was looking forward to seeing that pretty face of hers again."

"It's fine," Griffin said. "It's been an hour, so we can get started." He got up and stood in front of the holo-projector.

"Everyone," he began, "let me say, thanks again for coming. It's an honor to have all of you here and I'm glad that you can spare the time to meet with me."

The guests settled down in their chairs, all eyes gathered to him. All of a sudden, Griffin felt uncertain. The words that were so clear in his mind slipped from his grasp like eels. "I...I called you here because I felt...I mean, we all feel dissatisfied with our lot here. I think that Olympus doesn't give us the chance to...to build real lives. They use us as tools to fight for them, or to fight with them in mock battles for their amusement. I think we deserve—"

The door banged open and a young brunette rushed in, all apologies. Minotaur pursed his lips. "Well, speak of the devil. Lamia! Great to..." His words fell as another woman stalked inside.

Lamia, communications officer, was a great addition to their group, but Griffin's found his attention drawn to her companion. There was no mistaking the sleek-eyed woman in the gray uniform, with her waist-length jet black hair tied into a severe pony-tail. Like him, she had won her freedom—not through the Arena, but by achieving a kill count of 120 enemy ships throughout her career. She was consequently granted citizenship at the age of 26.

"Medusa," said Griffin. "This...this is a surprise."

Medusa halted before him, a ghost of a smile on her lips. "Not an unpleasant one, I hope."

"Hang on," said Minotaur, frowning. "I don't remember your name on my guest list. How'd you find this place?"

"Your memory's as sharp as ever, Minotaur," she replied, "which is more than I can say for your manners. Lamia, here, told me about your gathering."

"Sorry," Lamia said in her tentative voice. "I didn't want to come alone. Those guardsmen keep harassing me."

"I came," Medusa went on, "because I thought I might hear something interesting in this meeting. Perhaps even why you decided to leave me out of it." She gave Griffin a pointed glance.

"I'm sorry," said Griffin, swallowing. "You were on our list but we couldn't find a way to get to you. You seemed to have just disappeared. If I had known Lamia knew a way to contact you..."

"Well, I seem to have done a good job of making myself scarce." She bade Lamia to take her seat and leaned against a wooden crate. "Please continue. You were saying something about thralls deserving a better life or something like that."

"I...yes." Griffin cleared his throat. Even in the past, being around Medusa always made him nervous. Her eyes seemed to criticize everything, even when she said nothing aloud.

"Again," he said, "thank you all for coming here tonight...I'm here because I'd like to make you all an offer. It came from a...a friend. A third party who is interested in gathering a group of skilled individuals for an important task."

"So...mercenary work?" asked Minotaur. "You know it's illegal for us to do business with anyone outside of Olympus..."

"It's...it's not mercenary work," Griffin replied. "It's actually more of journey. My friend wants us to leave Olympus."

There was a momentary silence. Both Cyclops and Medusa wore blank expressions, but Scylla looked at her brother with a raised brow, as if to say 'we're in the wrong meeting.'

"Leave Olympus?" said Cyclops. "I don't understand. For what reason?"

"Well..." Griffin hesitated. "For our own good, I suppose. Because we can't live here like this."

"Olympus is the only home we've ever known," said Medusa. "Beyond the Outer Rim lie the realms of Poseidon and Hades. Do you mean for us to live on an asteroid or uninhabited moon?" A chorus of muttering followed this.

"Perhaps it would be best if your acquaintance were to come and speak personally about this," offered Chimera.

"We...we don't meet," Griffin admitted. "He usually contacts me."

"How?" asked Scylla.

Griffin didn't answer—what would he say? That Prometheus spoke in his head? Yeah, that would work. And where was Prometheus now? Why was he silent?

He was about to open his mouth to answer, to say anything to dispel the awful quiet that had settled in the room, but the lights in the room suddenly dimmed. Lamia gave a tiny squeak.

"Normally I whisper in his ear," said a familiar voice from behind Griffin. "But tonight will be an exception."

Everyone gasped, eyes wide. Griffin had completely forgotten about the holo-projector. He turned to see it had hummed to life, radiating a cone of white light up towards the ceiling.

A man stood in this cone, dressed in a white robe with a golden trim. Dark hair cascaded past his shoulders, framing a fair, lean face that seemed ageless. But his blue eyes seemed old, as ancient as the sea. His gaze did not falter under their looks of surprise.

"I am Prometheus," he said. "And it is I who asked you to come."

"Are you a god?" asked Minotaur.

A smile quirked at the edge of Prometheus's lips. "If you mean those pretenders gathered up at their Opal Tower to worship their own science, then no, I do not count myself among their number. I am my own person."

"Why didn't you come to meet with us yourself?" Medusa asked.

"An astute question. I am not with you because I am a prisoner in the Opal Tower. The gods hold my body, but they cannot constrain my intelligence or my will. I appear before you now, even as a hologram, to assure you I'm sincere. 'For now, we see through a glass darkly, but soon face to face.'"

The thralls looked at one another with the certainty that they were being roped into something not at all legal. "What do you want from us, Prometheus?" asked Cyclops.

Prometheus raised his head. "My friend Griffin has presented you with an intriguing idea: a journey beyond Olympus, beyond the shadow of any god. I have a place in mind for which you can call home."

He stretched out his hand and an image appeared before him. Griffin's breath went backward; it was the same blue planet that Prometheus showed him before, glistening in space like a jewel. "This is Terra," Prometheus said. "Located 10,712 light-years from Olympus on the opposite side of the galaxy, this planet is the origin of mankind, the ancestral home he'd abandoned nearly two centuries ago. It is the wellspring of his knowledge and culture.

"My offer to you is to reclaim Terra as your home."

All eyes were transfixed by the floating sphere. It took several moments before someone broke the silence.

"This is all very unexpected," said Cyclops. "You say it's 10,000 light-years away? How do you propose we get there?"

Prometheus gestured again and another image shimmered into view. This time it was a white tear drop-shaped warship, bristling with turrets and cannons. "This is the Ithaca," he intoned. "The greatest flagship ever created by Zeus. It carries sophisticated weapons systems, life support, its own fleet of fighters, and hydrogen fusion engines. Most importantly, the Ithaca is capable of generating its own warp shell, traversing light-years into a matter of months.

"Your first task, if you accept my offer, is to steal this ship from the Opal Tower."

At that moment, Griffin understood the difference between silence and dead silence. Not a gasp was heard from the crowd.

Finally, Scylla spoke up. "I can't believe you're asking us to do that—to actually steal a ship from the gods? What are we going to do about their army, their sentries?"

"You stand in awe and fear of your gods," said Prometheus. "But as a long-ago native of Terra once said, 'Against stupidity the gods themselves contend in vain.' Secure in their illusion of power, they've become neglectful." The planet and the ship vanished, replaced by an overhead view of a digital map. "This is a maintenance tunnel that leads into the hangar. I have hacked its security system to allow you entrance. From there, you will waylay the crew of the Ithaca as they are boarding and assume their posts."

"You...you can do that?" Cyclops exclaimed. "Hack an Olympian security system?"

"I can, friend Cyclops, and I already have," answered Prometheus. With a wave, all the access tunnel doors on the map powered down. "My power rivals that of the gods."

"Then tell me this," said Medusa, eyes narrowing. "You're asking a lot from us. You're asking us to rebel with you, to fight the whole of Olympus. What do you get out of this?"

"Again you show intelligence, Medusa," Prometheus said, before casting his gaze back to the crowd.

"Thralls! You have long lived in service for the gods of Olympus! But the Olympians trample upon you on their march to glory. Your very efforts go unrewarded, your lives forfeit for their greater glory. Many of you ask yourself: 'Is there a place for one such as me?' Or is there only death?"

"I myself have asked this question. Like you, I am a tool of the gods. But I have concluded that I too am worthy of life, equal to any Olympian. I demand my freedom and right to live as I see fit. And if I cannot find it on this planet, then I make my own world: a gentler place where one can live free from war and slavery."

"So you see, I too long for the promise of Terra. But to realize that dream, I require your help. Let me be your guide. You shall be my crew, defending me from those who wish to make me their captive forever. Together, we shall build a new world with no gods, no masters. We shall be free as the stars themselves."

"But the risks..." said Minotaur.

It was then that Griffin found his voice. "We're already at risk. Our lives are dedicated to Olympus and they send us to battle at a moment's notice. They make us fight for our lives at the Arena and use that to entertain the public. We don't have names, only call signs and serial numbers. We don't have an identity as a people. We might as well be dead."

"But how can you trust him, Griffin?" Minotaur went on. "You say you haven't even met him! What if it's a trap to capture would-be rebels?"

Griffin looked him in the eye. "I trust him because he saved my life. You said it yourself--it was a miracle I survived the Arena. I wouldn't have, not without Prometheus. He hacked the medical robots and used them to bring me back on my feet. That's why I'm still here with you."

"He speaks the truth," Prometheus said. "Griffin is special to me, and I have made him my representative at this time while I cannot physically be with you. I ask that you trust him and let him lead you. His heart is in the right place."

Cyclops said, "You will give us a choice on this matter, right? We'll have time to make a decision?"

"You have very little time, I'm afraid. The Ithaca's maiden voyage is three days from now."

Everyone exchanged stunned looks. "That soon?" cried Minotaur.

"Indeed. You'll find that there's very little to consider. It's a choice on how you wish to spend the rest of your life: in slavery, or in freedom. Ask your own hearts and you'll find the answer is already there."

"Wait," said Medusa. "You're going to trust us with this information? You don't think we'll tell the authorities?"

Prometheus's eyes glimmered like moonlight over water. "Perhaps you may, I grant you that. Do you fancy that they'll reward you? I think we all know by now that even if you do reveal this secret meeting to the High Guard, they'll treat this as nothing more than fulfilling your duty, and you'll improve your station not one bit. You'll remain a second-class citizen of Olympus, forever. And more importantly, you will risk my ire. And while I am not as foolish as the gods, I am just as terrible."

"If you choose to come, meet at 0600 hours at the 4th access tunnel north of the Opal Tower in three days time. Till then, be well."

Prometheus and the Ithaca vanished, leaving only the image of Terra spinning in space. Instantly, the room went abuzz with talk.

"Well, that was quite a show," said Minotaur, turning to Griffin. "You really trust this nutcase?"

"With my life," said Griffin. "It's easy when you owe your life to him."

Minotaur sighed. "Alright then. I suppose that makes two idiots for his crew."

"Better make it four then," said Chimera, who approached them. "My sister and I would like to join if it means getting off-world and away from the Arena." He glanced at her. "She...she's been scheduled to fight next month. I think this is the best way to keep her alive."

"Speak for yourself, Chimera," said Scylla. "I think there's going to be even more battles where we're headed. That's why I want in."

"I don't think this will end well," said Cyclops slowly. "But we'll stand a better chance of success if there are more of us. I'll go with you."

"If Cyclops is in, then I'll go too!" said Manticore.

"And me!" cried Lamia.

"Count me out."

The group turned as one to Medusa, who was already heading for the door.

Griffin's heart sank. As one of the finest pilots of the thrall army, she'd be a welcome addition to their group. "Wait!" he said. "Are you sure? Just think about it—"

"I have thought about it," she said, pausing at the door. "This is suicide. You don't have the manpower to run an entire flagship, let alone defend it. And you'll be facing the entire Olympian Armada from here till the Outer Rim. That's odds of 1,000 to 1, at best. And beyond that, there's still Hades and Poseidon's forces. Are you going to evade them all in your 10,000 light year dash to a planet you've never heard of and can't prove exists?"

With that, she was out the door, vanishing into the darkness.

"Well, so much for that," said Minotaur. "Any other dissenters?" When none said a word, he concluded, "That makes 23 would-be deserters from Olympus."

They agreed to meet three days hence. Then left the venue, one or two at a time, wary against the world now that they were keeping a secret.

"That's it then," said Minotaur, as he stood alone with Griffin. "You've really gotten us deep this time."

"It's all for the best," replied Griffin. His gaze lingered on the blue and white globe spinning slowly on the projector.

"You realize we may be dead before we even see the end of this, right?" said his friend.

Griffin shrugged. "I'm not afraid of death. Not when I'm not even sure how it feels to be alive."

~~*~~

When Griffin arrived in a rented flat just a little past midnight, he fell onto his bed without preamble, bothering to remove only his shoes. His dreams were a mélange of images: his mother's pale hands touching his face, a white tear drop set against a blue sphere, and a pair of sleek, dark eyes watching him from behind a helmet.

He jerked awake in the darkness. Some unnamed sense told him something was wrong, that he was no longer alone in his room.

"Who—?" was all he managed to say before a hand closed around his neck and another pressed a gauze filled with chloroform to his face. Then there was nothing but dreamless darkness.

#

** **

**Episode 3**

**"** **First Flight** **"**

When Griffin came to, he saw nothing but darkness. Panic-stricken, he moaned, sounding to his own ears like a trapped and wounded animal. He tried to move but found himself held fast. He felt something heavy around his head, large metal clamps suspending him from the ground, and another pair of manacles chaining him to the floor. The muscles on his shoulders ached at the strain, and he stretched his toes to the floor to relieve the pressure.

"Hello?" he whispered.

_"I'm here, Griffin,"_ Prometheus said. " _Don't be afraid. Just pretend you're asleep._ "

He heard a short hissing noise before him, which he recognized as the sound of a hydraulic door opening, followed by approaching footsteps. Following Prometheus's advice, he feigned unconsciousness.

"So," one voice said. "Do we move him now?"

"Yep," said another with a gruffer tone. "The officers say we need to have him at the Tower by morning."

"I remember this one. Didn't he win in the last games? What'd we bring him in for?"

"If you ask me, it's precisely because he won that he's in trouble now. Probably angered some nobleman who bet against him. Pity."

"But I hear Lord Zeus himself wants him."

"Oh? Where'd you hear that? Why would Zeus want some low-born scum, even if he is an above-average pilot?"

A third voice spoke up. "That's none of your concern, gentlemen."

Both the guards seemed to jump; Griffin heard the scrape of leather boots as they turned about.

"S-sir!" cried one guard. "This is an honor! We didn't think—"

"You're not being paid to. Now get out."

There was a scurry of steps as the guards fled the room. The newcomer stepped forward.

"You don't have to pretend, you know. I could see and hear you quite clearly from the monitors up in the control room."

Griffin's eyes flooded with light. As whirlpools flooded his vision, he realized that the visor that had been clamped around his head and was obstructing his vision had been lifted. Then he focused on the looming figure before him, and felt his heart falter. There was no mistaking that head of dark, curly hair and the perfectly trimmed beard, or the ugly smirk scrawled above his cleft chin.

"Heracles..."

The hero bowed. "I'm glad to personally make your acquaintance. I didn't get to see your face in our last encounter, as I was so busy shooting you out of the sky."

He pulled up a nearby chair and sat down, staring intently at Griffin.

"I don't much like you, you know. You hurt my friend very badly. Nearly killed him, in fact. They're busy reconstructing his face at the moment."

Griffin said nothing.

"It would've been better for you take a second crack at me if you wanted revenge," Heracles went on, "but you had to do so to one of my friends. It's a pity I can't kill you until Father sees you. I don't know why he bothers. Perhaps he wants to peek at your genes, see if you really had enough in-born talent to actually defeat a true-blooded Olympian. Maybe he wants to cull the herd of the stronger ones before they pass on their traits. In any case, I doubt you'll survive his attentions." He smirked again. Griffin gave no reply.

"Well, that's all. I'll have them take you to the Opal Tower now. I just wanted to meet you face to face, as there's the chance I may not be able to do so."

Heracles turned to go, and then halted just at the threshold.

"Did I forget something?" he said, strolling back. "I did, didn't?"

The punch buried the brunt of Heracles's weight into Griffin's stomach. Griffin felt the bile boil up his throat and he retched on the prison floor. Heracles stepped aside to avoid dirtying his robe, and then landed another blow across Griffin's face. Griffin's head snapped to the left then fell forward like a rag doll's. His vision grayed out, and he could barely make out Heracles saying, "That was for Titus," followed by the hiss of the hydraulic door.

Some time later, Prometheus's voice cut through the haze of pain in Griffin's head. _"Don't worry, Griffin. The nanomachines will start healing your injuries. I'm now releasing beta-endorphins to reduce the pain"_.

Griffin could not answer past the throb of his jaw, but whatever Prometheus was doing worked: the ache started to ebb and he could think again.

"Prometheus," he croaked. "Where am I?"

_"I'm tracking your signal, but it is difficult due to the amount of interference in your area. My estimate is that you're at a guard station in Xerxes street."_

"Why did they bring me here? Did they find out about us?"

_"I'm sorry, Griffin. I cannot tell for certain what they do know. What Heracles said is true: Zeus personally sought you out."_

"I don't understand...Why?"

_"Again, I do not know. I've done my best to hide our activities, but there's still a chance that Zeus suspects something. It seems that it has to do with your surprising performance in the Arena. I'm sorry, Griffin."_

Griffin hung limply on his manacles. He hadn't expected this. Was their rebellion to be defeated even before it had begun?

"Please," he whispered. "I can't stay here. You have to get me out."

_"I will, Griffin,"_ Prometheus replied. _"We must be patient and bide our time."_

Griffin could not tell how many hours went by, but eventually the door opened again and two grey-clad guards wearing visored helmets entered. They rested his blinds, lowered his limp body from the tethers, locked his manacles together behind his back, and half-carried, half-dragged him into the hallway. Before long, Griffin found himself out in the night air, being hauled into the dark maw of a transport van.

_"They're taking you to the Opal Tower,"_ said Prometheus. _"Do not fear. That place is the nexus of my power. Once they have you there, I will find a way to free you. You can then rendezvous with the others."_

Griffin could barely hear him over the roar of his own terrified heart. Did Heracles speak true? Would Zeus take him apart to find out what made him tick? And if he discovered the nanomachines, what then?

He forced himself to calm down and listen. There was a porthole in front of him that opened to the driver's seat, which had a window open. Outside he heard a pair of footsteps, and then muffled voices. He could not tell how many there were out there.

Then he heard a brief commotion. A few scuffling steps, and then something hit the side of the van hard enough to rock it. A second later, the driver's door opened and a guard slid behind the wheel. Griffin felt his stomach twist as the guard wordlessly started the engine. The van lurched forward, sending Griffin sprawling on the floor. He cried out in pain.

The van accelerated past the gate and out into the lamp-lit streets. Light and shadow played across his vision. How much longer till they reached the Opal Tower?

The driver glanced his way, the face inscrutable through the visor. "You're one unlucky bastard, aren't you?" Griffin was surprised to hear a woman's voice. "I heard Lord Zeus wants you brought directly to his lab. People say that's a guaranteed death sentence."

Out of habit, Griffin didn't answer back. Still, there was something odd about this guard. He got up on his knees and peered at her through the porthole.

She was facing the road again. After passing an intersection, she jerked the wheel to the right and the van skidded into an alley. Griffin knocked his head against the wall, lightning bolts streaking across his vision.

"Sorry about that," said the guard. "I just wanted to make sure we weren't being followed. Though I think I bought us an hour or two, at least." She looked out the window and peered at the street behind them.

Griffin gaped at her in confusion. Then her voice clicked into place in his memory.

"Medusa?"

The guard looked back at him, raised her visor, and Griffin was staring into the same slanting fox-like eyes and thin smile.

"I don't understand," Griffin said. "How...?"

"Isn't it obvious?" she said, her smile turning bitter.

Griffin instantly realized what she meant. Her lack of communication, her sudden disappearance, her reluctance to share anything about her life...

"You're a member of the High Guard?"

Medusa sighed. "Let's get you out of those cuffs first." She pointed a black device at him and clicked a button. The manacles fell away from Griffin's hands. Griffin rubbed his wrists to get his blood circulating again.

"How long have you been with them?" he asked her.

"Going on two years now," she replied, as she backed the van into the road again. "Mostly I handle signals and monitor the communication channels. That's how I found out about your little run-in with the Guard."

"Why did you join them?"

She didn't answer for a long moment, and perhaps for a good reason. The High Guard functioned as the religious police, answerable only to the gods and responsible for enforcing their collective will. Every thrall hated the Guards, who were composed mostly of pure-bred Olympians who tyrannized the genetically imperfect.

"It's not easy being on the outside," Medusa said at last. "As you probably know by now, it's quite difficult for a battlethrall to find work. We know only one thing: war."

She kept talking as she sped through the brightly-lit streets. "When I won my freedom, I looked around for whatever I could do to keep myself fed. I didn't get a lot of options, and some of the options the city administrators suggested were...distasteful. I had no choice, I had to eat. So I became a foot soldier again, this time with the High Guard.

"It's not something I'm proud of," she added, "and if I can help it, I try not to make life difficult for any one of our kind."

"Does Lamia know?" asked Griffin.

"No, Fates bless her naive little heart. And I prefer keeping it that way." She gave him a sharp glance through the rearview mirror.

"I'll keep it secret," Griffin said, nodding. "Listen, Medusa. I'm grateful to you for saving me. I'd probably be dead without your help. But what about you? Aren't you taking a horrible risk? Why would you go out of your way to do this?"

Medusa smiled again. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not sentimental about you or your plans. But if Zeus puts you under his thumbscrews, you might be spilling your guts about your little meeting with Lamia and the others. I'm not risking that. Especially since I was at that meeting too."

They took another turn off of the main road, and Griffin soon found himself lost in a maze of tenements and darkened side streets. "Where are you taking me?"

"Don't trust me as much as you think, do you?" chuckled Medusa. "Don't fret. I'm taking us to the slums. There's a bar there—Thermopylae—that your friend, Minotaur likes to frequent. You can call him to meet you there, work out some place where you can both lay low for a while."

"What about you?"

"No need to be concerned with that. First I'm dropping this van into the river. That should destroy the destination log and cover our tracks for awhile. Then it's back to the barracks for me before they find out I've gone missing."

"Those two guards..."

"Knocked out. Don't worry about them identifying me. I kept my visor on the whole time."

"You planned this out carefully."

"I made a career out of being careful. It's my best skill, and it's kept me alive."

Dawn was breaking in the east when they stopped in front of the bar, Thermopylae. Griffin poked his head out from the back of the van and looked around, emerging only when he was sure the streets were deserted. He walked out to the driver's side, and he and Medusa regarded each other for a moment.

"I suppose this is goodbye then," she said.

"It doesn't have to be," said Griffin. "Please, come with us."

"It's kind of you to offer, but I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not? Medusa, you don't belong here any more than I do."

She gave him a rueful smile and cast her eyes down. "You get used to it, Griffin. You can get used to anything if you want to badly enough. It's not a great misfortune to have a job, and go home to a roof over your head and a crust of bread on your plate. You'll remember that once you're an outlaw, being chased across the universe by the Olympian fleet and looking for a mythical rock to hide in, to hell with what that Prometheus character says."

Griffin shook his head. "I understand that you've got a life here, but it's not the life you deserve. Olympus will never give you that— I know it, you know it. But if we find Terra, then we get the chance to have a good life, far away from gods and empires. Safety's a fine thing, Medusa, but I think freedom is better."

She sat there quietly for a moment, watching him. "Well, we'll see, won't we?" she finally replied. She then started up the engine.

Griffin's heart sank. "Can't I change your mind?"

Again that rueful smile. "Goodbye Griffin, and good luck out there. Take care of Lamia. She's too tender-hearted to be a thrall—I'm sure the geneticists made a mistake while picking out her traits. And one more thing: if you ever get caught, remember to forget me."

Griffin stepped back as Medusa drove off. He sighed as she vanished around the corner. With her considerable skills, Medusa would've been a great addition to his band. He could only hope that she would somehow find a measure of happiness here in New Athens.

_"Griffin,"_ said Prometheus. _"It's getting light. You can't stay out here."_

"I know," he whispered back. "I just hoped things could have gone differently."

_"She has chosen her path, much good it will do her. You are not responsible for her but to the people who have agreed to follow you. From now on, you_ ** _must_** _tread carefully."_

"I understand." Pulling his collar up, Griffin turned and entered the bar. There was a lot more work to be done before the day of the _Ithaca's_ launch.

~~*~~

From the observation deck of the Opal Tower, Theseus looked out at the airfield in approval. All ships and jets had been grounded for the morning to mark this momentous occasion. The sun blazed down on the city, turning the tiny buildings into silver pieces. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only a few wisps of cirrus clouds marring its pristine space. He could ask for no better weather for a maiden voyage.

Theseus' eyes strayed to the device that would catapult the _Ithaca_ into space. The mass driver was a two-kilometer long rail that stretched out from the hangar and bisected the New Athens airfield. One end tapered upwards, pointing to space; at the other end lay the _Ithaca_ , which was now being fueled and at the tail-end of its preparations. Within the hour, the mass driver would send that gleaming diamond into the sky. And as the chief navigator, he would share the honor of launching her with Commander Heracles and Admiral Odysseus.

He turned around and faced his assembled crew of 30, all decked out in pristine white flight uniforms. "We'll board ahead of the rest of the commanding officers. Is everyone present and accounted for?"

"Aye, sir," said his third officer. "We're all set here."

"And is the prisoner ready?"

"I am here," said a weary voice. The crowd parted and two officers brought in a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat. Theseus knew she was technically part of their team, but had long picked up the habit of calling her prisoner. It was, after all, how she was brought to Olympus.

And while this Atlantean flesh bender was a heretic, Zeus had, in his wisdom, put her skills to use throughout her year in captivity.

Theseus wondered why exactly Zeus wanted her on this ship, but thought that it might be to tend to the soldiers. Or perhaps as a bargaining chip in exchange for any war prisoners they had on the Atlantean's side.

"How are you feeling today, doctor?" he asked. "Fancy a little trip through the stars?"

"I'm feeling as well as I'll ever be," she replied. "And one place is as good as the other. Do you have need of me at the moment?"

"No, but I'm sure we'll find some use for you during the voyage, never fear." He faced the rest of his crew. "Let's be away, ladies and gentlemen. Our fame and fortune await!"

With a cheer, the group assembled at the escalators and followed Theseus down to the hangar. Upon arriving at the main doors, Theseus turned his face up to the camera on the wall. "This is Chief Navigator Theseus, code 14741. My crew and I are ready for boarding."

"You have clearance, sir," came the reply from the control tower. "Good luck to you up there."

The metal doors slid open, revealing the access tunnel that led to the hangar holding the _Ithaca_. Along the length of the tunnel, men in yellow maintenance uniforms scurried back and forth, fixing what appeared to be some leaks in the coolant pipes.

A blast of cold gas blew out of the nearest one, and Theseus scowled. "Pardon me," he said to a large mechanic, "but why exactly is there too much steam here? Aren't you done fixing..."

His voice trailed off when the man in the jumpsuit turned and pointed a gun at him.

"Wh-what are you doing?!" cried Theseus.

"That's not really very important to you right now," said Minotaur, smiling. "What's more important is what you and your crew will be doing." He gestured and the rest of his team produced guns, covering their quarry. The crew raised their hands in surrender.

"I'm so glad we understand each other," Minotaur said. "Now, please strip."

The crew members simply goggled at him, so Minotaur cocked his gun for emphasis. After that, the exchange of uniforms flowed smoothly.

_"Griffin,"_ Prometheus said in Griffin's ear. He was watching his crew herd the Olympians into a storage room. He jerked his head up. "I'm listening."

"That blonde woman in the medical uniform...take her with you."

Griffin turned and eyed the sole doctor in the group. She noticed his gaze and stared back impassively.

"We need a medic?" Griffin asked.

"Her skills will be useful."

Griffin gestured to her with his pistol. "You there. Come here." She stepped forward without hesitation.

"Your name?"

"Dr. Medea Pavel of the Atlantean Republic." Her blue eyes didn't waver as she spoke, and the scent of cigarettes clung to her dusky skin. She wore her blond hair short, framing her slim face. A mole rested beneath her left eye like a tiny drop of ink.

"It seems you'll be coming with us," said Griffin.

"I hear carrying a fleshbender on your ship is bad luck," said Minotaur. "You sure you want her?"

"Prometheus does. I trust you won't make any trouble?" he asked her.

"Not unless you ask me to," she replied flatly.

"Oho, I like this one!" said Minotaur. He gestured to the doctor with his gun. "Please stay close to Mr. Manticore over there and do what he tells you from now on."

"How's our time so far?" Griffin asked as they herded in the last of the original crew and sealed the door.

"We're on schedule," replied Lamia, "but just barely."

"Let's move, then." He gestured towards the umbilical bridge and they set off.

"Keep your visors on, everybody," cautioned Cyclops as they jogged through the gangway to the ship's entrance. "They may still have cameras at the end of the bridge." Everyone lowered their heads as they hurried towards the _Ithaca's_ docking bay doors.

"I hope they don't notice that there are fewer members of the crew," said Minotaur. "Last thing we need is the High Guard crashing in on our little party before we even get started."

"We'll be safe once we're inside the ship," said Griffin, and thought to himself, 'I hope Prometheus has followed through with his promise.'

They reached the metal bay doors, which were illuminated by floodlights, and stared uncertainly at them.

"Damn, there's a key code for the main entrance!" Scylla exclaimed. "How do we get in?"

" _Never fear_ ," Prometheus said to Griffin. Instantly, the pod doors slid open. _"Proceed to the command center. I will await you there."_

"What do you know," said Hydra. "It must've heard you, sis."

"Prometheus's doing, I suppose?" Cyclops asked.

Griffin nodded. "He's inside, waiting for us on the bridge."

"Then let's not keep him waiting," said Minotaur. "I'll feel safer as soon as I'm sitting in a gunner's chair."

They entered the cavernous maw of the ship and stepped onto the conveyor. As they moved through the darkened pathway, the ship came to life around them: door locks disengaged, life support indicators lit up on the walls, and fresh air flowed through the vents on the ceiling.

"Is all this really ours now?" said Manticore in hushed tones. He had just noticed the ether void jets through the glass panel overlooking the ship's hangar. "Tell me I'm not dreaming, but aren't those CUSTOM JETS???"

Scylla cried out and leaped off the conveyor, planting her hands on the glass. The rest of the crew quickly followed, and it took all of Griffin's persuasiveness to herd them back onto the conveyor. "We don't have time for this! We can explore the ship once we're off-planet and out of danger!"

It didn't take long for them to reach the main elevators leading up to the bridge. As the elevator accelerated up, they took note of the various floors.

"They have a hydroponics section," Lamia remarked. "And a full medical bay—I'd love to see that!"

"And I'd like to see what's in the recreation center," Hydra chimed in. "Hope they have the latest holo-vids!"

"You idiots sound like we're on a field trip!" said Minotaur. "Let's keep our focus, shall we? This is still a mission."

When the doors finally opened at the very top of the ship, they found themselves staring at a wide area filled with consoles and acceleration chairs. Sunlight radiated in from the mainframe and a raised circular platform stood at the center with a holo-projector directly above it.

There was no one waiting in the room.

"Where is he?" Hydra said as they entered. "He did say the bridge, right?"

When a thorough search revealed no hidden occupants, Cyclops said, "We should prepare on our own. We can't wait any longer."

"Prometheus?" Griffin asked the air. "Where are you?"

"I am here."

The console flared to life. A shaft of brilliant light shone on the SSD, projecting the image of the same tall, dark-haired man in the white robe who had appeared in that apartment seemingly a lifetime ago. Prometheus smiled at them, palms extended in greeting. "Welcome to the _Ithaca_."

"You said you'd meet us here in person," said Griffin.

"I am with you, in my fashion," the figure responded pleasantly. "I am also all around you. I can hear your heartbeats, the surge of your individual breathing. This whole room contains my brain, and the _Ithaca_ is my body."

Everyone stared blankly at Prometheus, but the truth dawned first on Cyclops. "By the gods," he said. "You can't be..."

"What?" demanded Minotaur. "What's he talking about?"

"What you're telling us," Cyclops said as he edged closer to the shining being, "is you're an AI?"

"You are correct," Prometheus said, smiling. "I am a sentient living being, created from a fusion of Olympian and Hadean technology. And I will be your guide to Terra."

At those words, the _Ithaca's_ engines flared to life.

~~*~~

The sudden change of plans was not lost on the people gathered at the flight control tower.

Zeus and his entourage had just arrived at the elevated section of the control room when an alarm blared on the main console.

"What's the matter?" said Zeus, leaning forward on his throne. "What's happened?"

"My lord," said the lead controller. "It's the _Ithaca!_ It's preparing to launch!"

"Why is the launch ahead of schedule? Commander Heracles and Admiral Odysseus haven't even boarded yet!"

"We don't know, sire! The engines activated on their own!"

"Then shut them down!"

"We can't, sire. The _Ithaca's_ overriding all our instructions. It's even disconnected the umbilical walkway!"

The mainframe showed a metal tube decoupling from the ship's side. Zeus slammed his fist into his chair arm. "Contact Theseus, now! Let him explain himself!"

The controller attempted to bring up the _Ithaca's_ bridge, but succeeded only in getting gray static. He was going to try again, but the shriek of another alarm grabbed his attention.

"Why is the mass driver activating?!" he roared at a staff member. "I gave no order to initiate the launch sequence!"

"It-it did that by itself, sir!" His subordinate frantically keyed in several codes. "It's like it has a mind of its own—it's even refusing to abort!"

"My lord!" cried another staff member. "An urgent message from the maintenance team! They found Navigator Theseus and his crew. They've been locked up in a supply room all this time!"

Zeus felt a strange emotion welling up inside of him, one he hadn't felt in a long time in his perfect, controlled world: panic.

"We're under attack by agents of our enemies," he said. "They're trying to steal the _Ithaca_. I want that ship grounded!"

His subordinates scurried to and fro for several moments. Then the lead controller said, "Sire, we're unable to shut down the mass driver on our own. It's rejected all self-destruct codes."

That gave Zeus an idea. "Launch all our drones. Order them to bomb the mass driver."

The controller gaped at him. "But...sir, if the driver is destroyed, the _Ithaca_ might crash through the airfield, perhaps even into the city!"

Zeus skewered him with a look. "That ship is the culmination of my work. I'll be damned if I'll let it be taken by thieves. Destroy the mass driver—at all costs!"

~~*~~

Silence reigned in the _Ithaca's_ bridge. Every one of the thralls seemed rooted to the spot, staring at projected image of the man (was it really a man?) on the platform before them.

"I understand if it comes as a shock to you that I am not what you thought I was," said Prometheus. "But I assure you that I am sincere in my intentions."

"What you're telling us," said Cyclops slowly, "is you aren't human. All this time, we've been following a machine."

"That is correct. Yet no human being is capable of what I can do for you. No human can hold the knowledge that I know, nor can they dream as I dream. I am more than human, though I do not claim to be your god. I wish to share this dream of a better life with you, as your savior.

"And so, again, I shall prove I am sincere."

A grid map of the airfield appeared before Prometheus, with several red blips blinking around the _Ithaca's_ location.

"Zeus has discovered our deception," said Prometheus. "According to their radio signals, they are planning to launch drones to attack the mass driver. As of this moment, none of you are safe."

"He's right," said Hydra, who was studying a monitor. An edge of panic crept into his voice. "I'm seeing multiple energy signatures—a dozen unmanned drones, and that's probably just the first wave. We don't have much time!"

"Which is why I have taken the liberty of initiating the launch," Prometheus said. "The engines are priming as we speak. But they will take time and require my concentration. I cannot ready this ship, initiate the launch, and attack those drones at the same time. I need your assistance."

He gazed around at all of them. "Will you help me?"

The thralls exchanged glances, each one afraid to voice their misgivings. But it was Griffin who spoke up first.

"We will," he answered, facing his crew. "We've come this far. We can't let them take this chance from us. If we must fight to escape with our lives, then that's what we'll do."

Cyclops stepped forward. "I'll handle navigation."

Hydra said, "I'm already monitoring the fusion engines. We're at 20%. Estimated time to launch is 12.5 minutes."

The rest of the crew scattered to the other vacant acceleration chairs to pick whatever duty they could handle. Dr. Pavel, confused and sensing her uselessness in the current situation, had sunk into a random chair in the corner and strapped herself in.

Prometheus then turned to Griffin. "I have a specific task for you. You must take a fighter from the hanger, engage the drones, and keep them away from the mass driver."

Griffin nodded. "I understand, Prometheus."

"Wait!" cried Minotaur. "Just him?"

Scylla strode forward. "I'll go with you!"

"No," Prometheus said. "Having too many of you outside the ship adds to the risk that we'll leave one of you behind. One skilled fighter is enough to handle unmanned drones."

Scylla fixed the AI with an incredulous look. "You're sending him out there alone? Against a horde of those things? It's suicide!"

"Of all of you, Griffin has the best chance of survival," replied Prometheus. "Trust me on this. There's little time for argument. They are launching the drones even as we speak." Then he smiled. "However, Scylla, I do recommend that you try out the _Ithaca's_ guns. There are several assault-grade laser turrets that require the skills of a crack marksman, and I understand you fit that description."

Scylla, who was about to say something, shut her mouth and made a beeline for the weapons console.

Prometheus said, "Your fighter is waiting, Griffin."

Griffin nodded and made his way to the elevator, but Minotaur called out to him. "Are you sure about this?"

"Don't worry about me," Griffin replied with a backward glance. "Minotaur, take the captain's chair. Prime the guns and keep me covered. I'll be back as soon as I can."

As he took the elevator down to the ship's hangar level, Prometheus said in his ear, _"I'm glad you've elected to keep trusting me, Griffin, despite my true nature."_

"You've treated me better than your Olympian masters, Prometheus," said Griffin. "You've saved my life and given me a purpose. Even if you're not human, you've helped me and my fellow thralls."

_"Thank you, Griffin. And I will do all I can to protect your life and freedom. This I promise."_

It didn't take long for Griffin to reach the hangar. "Which fighter's ready?" he asked. There were at least two dozen to choose from, each with a different design.

_"For you, I've selected something special."_

A set of metal doors opened to his right, and automated cranes lowered a single ether void fighter out into the main hangar.

Griffin caught his breath. He'd never seen so magnificent a machine. The sleek crimson plane featured a long nose and swayback wings, with double thrusters at the rear. An extra jetpack on its back carried two missile batteries and a point defense laser. Two additional extensions of unknown purpose protruded from the bottom of the fuselage.

_"This,"_ said Prometheus, _"is the RX-9 'Talon', a prototype fighter designed for speed and high maneuverability. Her main weapons are a single Ramrod proton cannon, guided missiles, and twin Radiant plasma cutters. She is yours now."_

Griffin reached out a hand and touched the fighter's metal skin. He could almost feel its power thrumming beneath his fingers. He could see his face clearly on the shiny red paint job.

There was no time to waste. Griffin climbed the ladder and hoisted himself into the cockpit. The console hummed to life as he strapped himself in and put on his helmet.

"We have 6 minutes and 24 seconds before the Ithaca's launch," Prometheus announced as the auto-sequencer positioned the Talon into the hangar's catapult. "However, the drones are coming in fast. Are you ready?"

Griffin put his hand on the accelerator. "I'm ready."

The bay doors opened into a blistering blue sky, and Griffin launched.

#

** **

**Episode 4**

**"** **Lotus-Eater** **"**

Griffin pressed hard on the thrusters and the Talon sliced through the shimmering haze of the airfield. Even as the acceleration pressed him into his seat, he struggled to lean forward, eyes locked onto the attacking drones.

The Talon was a thing of wonder, far more advanced than any fighter he'd ever flown. It fed him information on his flight path, speed, altitude, and enemy locations with dizzying speed, and controlled so well he could turn on a dime. But he would have to explore its many other features later; there was work to be done.

The drones were already at work on the mass driver, floating through the air while blasting its struts and rails with laser cutters. Griffin dove into their midst like a hawk scattering geese, then turned for a second run. The drones had their guns trained on him. He'd gotten their attention.

_"You have approximately six minutes to take-off, Griffin,"_ intoned Prometheus. _"You must take them all down and return to the Ithaca before then."_

"Don't worry," Griffin said, as he gained missile lock. "I'll finish them all if it kills me."

"A fine sentiment," Prometheus replied, "but I'm afraid you are too precious to die."

Griffin felt his muscles spasm as a jolt of electricity ran through nerves. Time slowed to a crawl around him. It was like a portal opened in his head, and from it spilled every bit of skill he needed to fight. "This is..."

_"Once more, I give you fire. I give you battletrance."_

Pulse quickening, heart thrilling to the feel of power, he locked onto six of the drones. They fired their burning beams, but their own guns seemed to betray the very angle of their shots, and he swerved and turned and spun to avoid them all. His missiles fanned out from the Talon's launchers, and all six drones erupted into clouds of fire. He sped through this cloud, the remaining six in hot pursuit.

Griffin pulled up and led the drones into the open sky. Prometheus's voice still jangled in his ears, feeding him coordinates and altitudes, but he paid no heed. He didn't need any more advice. Everything was instinct now, from the way he rolled left and right to avoid the laser beams, to the quick flip he performed to latch onto his pursuers' tail.

He tore one drone to shreds with his proton cannon and followed it with a missile kill. The remaining four scattered and tried to flank, but he pulled back on the stick and pitched higher. Nearly colliding with each other, the drones fell into line formation to resume their pursuit, but he flipped back to face them and fired his cannon. The heavy beam skewered their row and triggered a series of explosions. The Talon just sped past, scattering smoke and debris.

_"All drones neutralized,"_ Prometheus reported. _"Time to launch, 4 minutes 16 seconds."_

Veins still sizzling from his battletrance, Griffin turned the Talon back to the Ithaca's hangar.

A few hundred yards from the entrance, a photon beam cut across his path and he jerked at the stick in reaction. The Talon veered away from the path of a second beam.

His radio crackled to life. "You're going nowhere, thief."

As Griffin stabilized the Talon, his screen identified another fighter: an A6 Raptor, hot on his tail. "I, Theseus, Captain of the Supreme Olympian Armada, challenge you to a duel," boomed the voice from his radio.

Griffin thumbed the response button. "You've already lost, Captain. You've nothing more to gain by fighting me. I'd withdraw now while I still had the chance."

"Don't get ahead yourself, filthy infidel. I can still kill you. And I can destroy the mass driver, as my lord Zeus commands. Your cohorts will never leave this planet—I swear this on my life."

Griffin's eyes glinted. "Then die."

_"Griffin,"_ said Prometheus _, "I can't keep you much longer under battletrance. Your body won't be able to withstand the strain. You have only 75 seconds left."_

But Griffin's attention was completely absorbed by his new objective. The joy that had previously galvanized his body had turned into wrath—like an all-consuming firestorm had erupted in his chest. He had one singular desire: to destroy this Olympian who dared stand in his way.

Griffin pulled up and the Talon shot towards the sky. From his radar, he could see that Theseus was on his tail, just a hundred meters away. The Raptor's guns roared; Griffin spun and swerved to his sides to avoid the bright bullets.

_"Griffin, you have 62 seconds left. You've no time for complicated maneuvers. Finish him."_

"I know." Griffin gritted his teeth and accelerated towards a large, solitary cloud. Flying through to the other side, he flipped over to face his enemy. Just as the Raptor emerged from the cloud, Griffin pulled the trigger.

The proton cannon made next to no noise—all he heard was a low hiss below him, then a bright green beam of crackling energy lanced out from under his cockpit. The Raptor had no chance of evading. The beam hit it squarely on the nose and Theseus vanished behind a ball of green energy.

Griffin paid it no mind. Already he was turning the Talon away, adjusting his course for the _Ithaca_.

But no sooner than he had done so, the locked-on alarm blared out on his screen. _"Warning,"_ said Prometheus. _"Twelve micro-missiles locked on your tail. Recommend evasive maneuvers."_

Four words into the warning, Griffin punched the chaff button and jerked the stick to the side. Explosions erupted behind him, so close that the Talon's metal flesh shuddered from shock. Griffin spun and swerved, heart hammering in his chest as the G-forces pulled at his insides.

Seconds later, the lock-on warning was gone. But the Raptor was still on his tail.

"Thought you had me, didn't you?" sneered Theseus. "I had my Raptor built with a customized barrier, five times the power of a regular fighter. Your gun barely scratched it. Sorry to disappoint you, but you'd better have something more powerful than protons and missiles if you want to defeat me."

_"Griffin, you have less than 30 seconds left before the battletrance wears off. You must—"_

Adrenaline pounding in his chest, Griffin pulled the accelerator to full throttle. The Talon leaped forward, trailing pure contrails behind it.

"Running away, thief?" Theseus asked.

Griffin replied by banking left and turning the Talon around, facing the Raptor. It fired its guns, but Griffin simply barrel-rolled to avoid the bullets.

"Do you take me for a coward like yourself?" laughed Theseus. "You think I'll turn away first?"

Griffin said nothing and held the collision course. The monitor read 200 meters, then 150. Then 100.

_"Griffin?"_ Concern had crept into Prometheus's voice. _"What are you doing?"_

Griffin ignored him and kept his eyes on the Raptor barreling towards him like a meteor. Theseus fired another round of guns. This time, Griffin didn't bother to evade. He let his shields take the brunt of the attack. The barrier's power meter dropped to a shrieking red 0, but the Talon stayed its course.

Theseus's cursed him loudly on the radio, then did exactly as Griffin predicted: he dodged. As the Raptor banked to the left, Griffin hit the switch for the plasma cutters. Twin beams of blue energy, bounded by a powerful electromagnetic field, erupted like blades from the Talon's wingtips. Each beam stretched as long as the Talon's wing.

Theseus had no hope of evading. The left plasma cutter sliced through the middle of the Raptor's left wing. The Raptor sputtered in disbelief as its left side caught fire. Griffin flipped the Talon over and delivered a coup-de-grace: shooting off the other wing. The Raptor rolled once, then began to fall.

Theseus's voice erupted from the radio. "WHO ARE YOU?! TELL ME WHO YOU ARE!"

Griffin replied, "You're about to die, so my name means nothing to you. But I'll tell you this much: I was once a thrall. Now I am a free man. And I'll never serve your empire again."

"A thrall! You can't be—!" His voice was cut off by static, then resurfaced as a string of curses.

Griffin heard one last crackling word—"shame"—before the rest dissolved into static.

Suddenly, Griffin felt his insides wilt. He felt like a deflating balloon. The rage that had filled him with so much power had gone, leaving him drained and disoriented. _"Battletrance sequence complete. Blood pressure and alpha brainwaves normalizing. Congratulations Griffin, for a well-earned victory."_

Griffin realized his hands were shaking and he clasped the stick to steady them. Was it always going to be like this? He wondered. Was there a way to prolong that state of utter joy and abandon?

Minotaur's voice blared out from the radio. "Griffin, that was unbelievable, best dogfighting I've ever seen! But the countdown says three minutes to launch, so get your ass back here NOW or we're leaving without you!"

Griffin thumbed the response button. "Copy that," he croaked. "I'm coming in."

He looked down one last time at the ground below. The bright wreckage of the Raptor lay under him, smoking like a funeral pyre. He had really done it now—he'd killed a citizen and a high-ranking officer of the Imperial Armada.

There was truly no going back. Not for any of them.

~~*~~

Odysseus directed his antigrav chair closer to the monitor. "How very unfortunate," he mused. "In just a single morning we've lost two dozen battle drones, an Olympian captain, and the great battleship _Ithaca_. I take it that Lord Zeus's press corps has busy been hiding our mishaps?"

His long-time aide, Calypso, bowed her head. "They've announced that the launch was a success, and closed the airfield to all traffic for minor repairs."

"Indeed?" chuckled Odysseus. "I wonder how they plan on hiding all that damage. Well, what the public says or thinks does not matter, so long as we take back what is ours."

"Who could have stolen the _Ithaca_ , sire? The Hadeans?"

"That seems likely, isn't it? We did build it by stealing their tech after all, and old Hades must still have hard feelings. But I don't think so. Our own spies have breathed no word of infiltrations, and the Hadeans are not known for stealth. The Atlanteans, however..."

He hit the top button of the recorder, rewound the footage, and once again watched the aerial battle through the tinted glass of his visor. "Remarkable skill," he said as he followed every twist and turn of the red-winged Talon. "I must test its limits sometime. Have you obtained the ship's manifest like I asked?"

Calypso placed a chip in his outstretch palm, which Odysseus fed into the console.

"Ah," he murmured, "now we have something to work with. I'll need a quiet moment, if you please."

"Sir." As Calypso stepped away, Odysseus touched a button on his chair. He leaned back and closed his eyes as anesthetic gas flooded his helmet. Calypso understood that he came up with his most brilliant ideas under the anesthetic's influence, but she hated the way he abused the treatment, as well as how he laughed off her concerns.

She was about to shut the door when a huge figure appeared before her, and she found herself looking into Heracles's hard blue gaze.

"L-lord Commander!" she cried. "Lord Odysseus wishes not to be disturbed—"

"Out of my way, wench!" He shoved her aside, slamming her against the wall, and strode towards Odysseus's chair.

"I wish you wouldn't mistreat my junior officers so, Commander," Odysseus said without moving. "Good help is hard to come by, and if Calypso is injured, I'll need waste precious time finding a suitable replacement."

"You're a fine one to talk about wasting time!" growled Heracles. "While you're sitting here enjoying your drugs, those blasted pirates are getting away!

Odysseus shrugged as he lowered the flow of gas into his helmet. "Very well. I've gotten all I need, anyhow. What would you have me do, Commander?"

"You could have prepared the flagship _Daedalus_ for take off. Instead, I had to order it done myself. It will take at least an hour to load the ship onto the mass driver and prepare for launch. They've gotten a huge head start on us and we must do all we can to chase them down."

"And how would you attempt to follow them, my lord? The _Ithaca_ can generate a warp shell. Its captors could take it to wherever they please."

Heracles fidgeted before answering. "I could've traced its energy signature..."

"But surely you realize that energy signatures dissipate within nanoseconds after a warp," Odysseus said in his most patient voice.

"Taking action is better than simply sitting on our hands!"

"But I've not been idle, my lord. I've been examining the ship's manifest for clues as to where they plan to go."

Heracles rounded on him. "How in the name of the void will that help?"

"It's helped quite a bit. See here—this is a list of the original crew members. All of these people are accounted for—save for Theseus, rest his soul—and one other."

He tapped an ID report on the screen. "Dr. Medea Pavel, a captive Atlantean scientist and medical expert."

Heracles squinted at the blonde woman. "They took her with them? Then this must mean the Atlanteans are behind it all!"

"That's my working theory, for now."

"Then we've no time to waste!" Heracles spun about, cloak slicing through the air. "We must gather the entire armada and fly to the closest Atlantean colony in Beta Cygni. I'm sure we'll find our thieves there."

Odysseus cleared his throat. "You would be wrong, my lord."

Heracles wheeled about. "NOW, what do you mean?"

"I mean that I don't think they will be heading to Beta Cygni, not according to this manifest."

"Spit it out, Odysseus! I've no time for idle prattle!"

The Admiral sighed. "The _Ithaca_ 's cargo includes the following: hydrogen fuel cells, water, oxygen, medical supplies...But two items are short: processed food and mineral water. You see, the _Ithaca_ was outfitted for a maiden voyage, not for a journey beyond the Outer Rim. Any additional supplies require approval from the SpaceTrans Department, which would be difficult to fake. They will have to proceed with the _Ithaca's_ original plan—re-supply at any one of the colonies within our realm.

"So the question for us is: which of our 108 colonies and sub-stations will they raid?"

Heracles opened his mouth to speak then shut it again, lips rippling in thought. "We could send messenger frigates to each one and tell them to watch out for the _Ithaca_..."

"That would be prudent. We can issue orders to the rest of the fleet while we're taking off on the _Daedalus_."

"Wait—we're launching?"

"Of course, Lord Heracles. Didn't I say we have all we need thus far?" There was a smile in Odysseus's voice as he keyed in a search on the console. Three colonies showed up on the map. "My guess is the _Ithaca_ will show up on any of these colonies."

Heracles scratched his immaculately-trimmed beard. "Why these?"

"My dear Commander, you must understand how our enemy thinks. The _Ithaca_ couldn't have launched by itself—it required the cooperation of the onboard AIGIES system. The thieves must have gained control of it somehow; we'll know more once we capture them. At any rate, the AIGIES guides and advises its crew. If you think like this machine—logical and exacting—then you'd advise the captain that the most cost-effective approach is to raid the closest poorly-guarded source of food and water. Of the 108 colonies, these three fit that description."

Heracles peered at the map. "Gamma Sirioni, Lothophages, and Theta Cameleopardis...that certainly narrows it down. We can visit all three within an hour from launch."

"And with luck, we'll catch them just as they're resupplying. Thank you for readying the _Daedalus_ while I was completing my investigations, Lord Commander. You saved us a lot of time."

"It's...it's nothing," Heracles muttered, not meeting his gaze. "All part of forward planning. Let's be away then." He stalked towards the door, ignoring Calypso, who was rubbing her bruised arm.

"So impatient," sighed Odysseus, guiding his hover-chair towards the exit. "I haven't even finished telling him which of the three colonies I believe they're most likely to show up in. Well, come along, Calypso. _Tempus fungit_."

"Sire," she said, falling in step beside him, "I can't believe we have to kowtow to that imbecile of a demi-god."

"Patience, Calypso. Heracles has his uses. We'll do well to stay on his good side, for the time being."

"If you say so," replied Calypso doubtfully. "Regarding what you said earlier, at which colony do you think the hijackers will show up?"

"The most logical solution would be Lothophages. It's a farming community with little to no security. Still..." Odysseus trapped his fingers against his chair's arm. "What's interesting is why they would take Dr. Pavel."

"Like you said, Admiral," said Calypso. "The Atlanteans want to recover her. She IS a prisoner of war."

"Yes, but she's divulged so much of their technology to us that they may as well kill her, as is their policy towards traitors. It doesn't add up. Oh well," he concluded, as he hastened after Heracles, "I suppose we'll just have to ask her ourselves when we recapture her."

~~*~~

"So, you're an AI."

Minotaur, hands on his hips, gazed up at Prometheus's robed form on the holo-projector. At this, Griffin turned from the window from which he'd been watching the stars flow by. He'd previously kept everyone on the bridge busy with tasks to perform, but he was certain that all ears had tuned in to this discussion.

Prometheus smiled genially. "I am what I am."

"Sorry if this sounds rude," said Minotaur. "I'm glad you got us this ship and everything, but I'm not very confident knowing we're being led by a computer program, and not by someone made of flesh and blood."

"It is well that you express your honest opinion, sir Minotaur. I understand it's new for you to trust someone who is not alive in the traditional sense. The new is always scary."

"I'm not—"

"However, allow me to ease your mind. Firstly, my life is tied to yours. I may handle the majority of this ship's functions, but I require help in defending myself from attack. And we are still deep within enemy territory. Without your help, I will be dead. Or worse, enslaved once more by Zeus."

His gazed touched each of the crew in turn, and some even nodded in silent sympathy.

"Thus," Prometheus went on, "it's in my best interest that I work with you, as I'm sure it's in your best interest to work with me.

"He's right, Minotaur," Cyclops said, swiveling in his chair. "We're in the same boat, as it were. And it's a lot of work flying this beast of a ship."

"Well," said Minotaur, rubbing his chin. "But...what about this Terra? Where is it, exactly? What do we know of it?"

"That brings me to my second point," said Prometheus. He raised his hand, calling up an image of the Milky Way. "Here..." he pointed to a star system, "is our current location. And here..." he marked out a circle surrounding a large set of stars, "marks the extent of Zeus's realm. As you can see, we have many hundreds of light years to traverse before we are past the empire's Outer Rim. After that, many thousands of light years to go before we arrive at our destination. The way is surely fraught with danger, enough to test our skills and will to survive."

Prometheus then drew a glowing line extending across the Milky Way, to a location on one of its outer spiral arms. "And what of our goal? Far beyond the Outer Rim, beyond even the empires of Poseidon and Hades, there we shall find Terra, the mythical birthplace of mankind. As per history records, it is a water-filled planet with a hospitable atmosphere and a surface teeming with life. This, then, shall be our new home...far from the reach of any god."

"But what if it's not what you think it is?" offered Hydra. He was sitting on the floor, cataloguing several power tools he'd found in a nearby stockroom. "I suppose if Zeus and the rest of his kind left that planet long ago, it must be for a reason. Suppose it's all used up, uninhabitable? Suppose it's filled with garbage and polluted beyond repair?"

"You were bred for labor and battle," said Prometheus, "so ancient history was not part of your education. Then again, it hasn't been part of anyone's education, as the gods preferred the typical citizen's mind on the ground rather than amongst the stars. In any case, I have found and compiled several exabytes of holo-vids documenting civilization on Terra before and during Zeus's departure. By all accounts, their expedition left behind a thriving, progressive civilization at peace with itself and its home planet."

"Well, why leave, then?" asked Manticore. "If they had it so good back there, why go out into space?"

"To expand," said Prometheus. "To explore, to colonize, as is mankind's nature. With the discovery of the warp shell, Terra had simply become too small. They sent out their colonies on massive ships, greater even than our _Ithaca,_ to create homes on other stars, and to report back the wonders they have found. But the leaders of the expedition—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—saw it fit not to return."

"Why not?" asked Scylla.

"That will be a subject for another time. For now, please know that we have a clear and common objective, and that our lives depend on each other's help. I hope that is sufficient?" He glanced towards Minotaur, who seemed at a loss for objections. He sat back down at the second mate's chair.

Griffin stepped forward, "I trust you, Prometheus. Your help has been invaluable to us. And you're right—at this point, helping each other is our best shot at survival."

"Thank you," Prometheus replied with a gracious bow. "And as survival is our top priority, I must point out a glaring problem I've discovered just after we launched."

All eyes turned to the graph that appeared. Amidst a cluster of green meter, one blinked red.

"It seems we're a little short on food and water," said Prometheus.

"What?!" cried Minotaur. "How long have we got?"

Lamia, who had been assigned to logistics, checked their inventory. "Um, about two weeks' worth," she said. "I-I'm sorry, I should've seen this earlier."

"It can't be helped," said Prometheus. "For her maiden voyage, the _Ithaca's_ original flight plan was to dock at Theta Procyon and resupply. Sadly, we cannot do that, as the Armada would be sure to look there first."

"But...but this is a disaster!" Minotaur grabbed Griffin's sleeve. "What are we going to do? This blasted journey is going to take us months!"

Griffin extricated himself from Minotaur's grip. "What do you suggest, Prometheus?"

The AI smiled. "I suppose we could knock on someone's door and ask for food."

~~*~~

"So, are we clear on the plan?" Griffin asked.

"It's clear enough," Cyclops nodded. "But I'm not sure if you can convince the Lothophages authority that you really are Theseus and Heracles."

"Prometheus has their access codes and serial numbers," replied Griffin. "And those colonists haven't been to Olympus in decades. I doubt they know what any of the Armada officers look like anymore. This could work."

"I just wish we didn't have to put in a personal appearance," said Minotaur. "You know I can't act."

"We should stick to accepted practice. It lessens suspicion." Griffin turned to mainframe. "Looks like we're just a few minutes away from their orbit. You should all take your positions."

The rest of the crew dispersed, except for Minotaur. "I've got one more concern," he said. "What do you want to do with the doctor?"

Griffin blinked, remembering the Atlantean's ashen face. "Where is she, anyway?"

"I've kept her in the brig for now."

"Okay, I'll get to her once we're done here. Prometheus said we'll need a physician on board to take care of us."

"But she's Atlantean. Don't you think she'll make trouble?"

"Not if we watch her carefully. Prometheus will see to that. In any case, she's in the same boat we're in. She has to cooperate if she wants to survive. I'll talk to her later." He turned to Cyclops. "Prepare to disengage warp shell. Send hailing signals once we're in range."

"Roger."

Griffin sat back on the captain's chair. He didn't feel comfortable in it; it felt too large, too stiff, and nothing at all like a pilot's seat. Still, Prometheus had said he was fit for the job. And with the rest of the crew looking up to him, there was nothing for it but to go on.

"Exiting warp," announced Cyclops.

The main screen showed a brown-yellow gas giant Oneiron, rising into view like a sun. While Oneiron itself proved to be unremarkable to the Empire, it held a collection of seven moons, one of which turned out to be hospitable. Here, Zeus established Lothophages, a farming community to help feed the 30 billion citizens of nearby Olympus. For 60 years, they provided adequate sustenance while requiring only the lightest security.

"They don't even have satellite turrets," said Scylla. "Why don't we just storm in and take what we need?"

Chimera sighed. "Because it's faster to just ask for it. Sometimes I think you really want to get yourself killed."

Griffin nodded to Minotaur and they switched chairs. After Cyclops exchanged hailing messages and serial codes with the port authorities, he stated the reason for their visit. Moments later, the main screen lit up with the image of a paunchy, grey-haired man with a wide, self-deprecating smile. An ID box on the lower left corner named him as Governor Theodosius.

"Lord Admiral Heracles! Lord Theseus!" he cried. "It's a great honor to see you again—an unexpected honor!"

"Thank you, Governor," said Minotaur, puffing out his chest out in his best imitation of an officer. "Not too unexpected, I hope."

"Not at all, not at all! Please, have your vessel dock at our orbiting station. We can send the supplies you asked for at once via space elevator. In the meantime, my lords, please come to the planet's surface so I can provide a proper welcome."

"Thank you," said Griffin, then remembering how Olympians officers were supposed to behave, added, "We expect your hospitality will be worth the inconvenience of touching our feet to your soil."

"Oh it will be, my lords, it will be!" Griffin could make out the first beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. "That I guarantee!"

When he logged off, a palpable sigh of relief went around the bridge.

"So far so good," said Minotaur. "Think we fooled them all?"

"We'll only know for sure once we make planetfall," Griffin replied. "Cyclops, you take over. Guide the _Ithaca_ into port and make sure we get those supplies." Turning to Minotaur, he said, "Let's take the Talon with us. I think I'll feel safer with a proton cannon on me."

~~*~~

Laser guidance led Griffin and Minotaur to a private airfield surrounded by acres of wheat. When they landed, Theodosius and his staff were waiting to greet them.

"Welcome, my lords, to Lothophages!" cried the governor. He let them alight from the Talon before shaking their hands. He then herded them past the opaline gates of his palatial home.

"I was just thinking of you the other day," Theodosius babbled, "and I said to myself, wouldn't it be wonderful if I could have Lord Heracles over for a visit. And here you are! Might I say you've certainly grown more physically imposing, Lord Heracles. And you, Captain Theseus, it seems you have grown quite a bit younger!"

"Yes, well, Lord Zeus has been relentless in his advancement of genetics," said Griffin, "and he has been generous in sharing them with his favored ones."

"Indeed? How I envy you, my lords. To live in New Athens and be so close to the seat of power...well, not all of us could be so fortunate. But please, let's talk over supper."

"That's a great idea," said Minotaur. "What are we having?" Griffin shot him an angry glare.

"Only the best that Lothophages can offer, of course," replied Theodosius. "We grow the most exquisite fruits and vegetables here."

"Oh." Minotaur looked crestfallen.

"You there!" Theodosius pointed at a servant idling by the wall. "See to it that we have a feast ready in fifteen minutes." The thrall turned slowly to them, her face a blank slate and her eyes empty grey globes. She nodded once before shuffling away.

Prattling all the while about the shabbiness of his house, Theodosius led them into a cavernous dining hall covered in gold curtains and burnished wood. He sat them down across a long table decorated with candelabras and a silk cloth. More servants appeared bearing bottles of wine and trays of steaming food. Griffin noticed that the thralls moved as if they were underwater, and all wore same blank, faraway expression on their faces.

"I hope you'll find things to your satisfaction," said the governor, sitting across from them. "And I trust that you'll send word of my good work here to Lord Zeus."

"Not a problem," said Minotaur, spreading his napkin on his lap. "My father's always eager for news from his colonies."

One of the servant girls was pouring wine into Minotaur's glass, but in turning away knocked her bottle against Griffin's, spilling wine all over his table. Theodosius flushed red at the neck.

"You useless little wretch!" he spat. "What are you waiting for? Clean it, clean it up for heaven's sake! My lord, please forgive this little mishap."

"It-it's fine," said Griffin. He was more interested in looking at the thrall's face, which was bereft of any dismay or fear. He'd never seen anything like it. Slowly, she pulled a rag out of her pocket and sopped up the spilled wine, unmindful of the governor's cursing.

When the servants left, Griffin remarked, "You certainly keep your thralls in line here."

"Oh, I must, my lord. Quality service is essential for this operation. As you know, I'm in charge of the largest farming colony providing food for great Olympus, and I can't afford to have anything but quality service."

"I understand."

"Oh, I'm so glad. And it's no mean feat, let me tell you, having to control nearly 40,000 thralls."

Minotaur sat up. "Did you say fourteen thousand?"

"Forty. 4-0."

"And how many Olympians are here?"

Theodosius popped a grape into his mouth. "Thirty here, fourteen up in the station. Forty-four, all told."

Griffin blinked. "That's...an unusual ratio. Don't you have trouble monitoring your workers?"

"Oh, I make it work, believe me. I keep everyone in line." He smiled a cunning little smile. "You wish to know how?"

When Griffin nodded, Theodosius produced a pair of corked vials from his pocket and reached over to hand it to him. The vials contained a viscous purple liquid that seemed like wine. Griffin held it up to the light. "What is this?"

"I call it Bitter Mercy, a little concoction made from a strain of poppy we've developed here. Keeps the thralls docile and pliable, plus it's highly addictive. Has a side-effect of eroding long-term memory though, and over a long period, it will reduce a thrall to a drooling vegetable. Still, birth rates keep the numbers up and we can always ship more in, eh?"

Griffin was at a loss for words. Beside him, Minotaur had turned rigid and forbidding as a seaside cliff. To fill in the silence, Griffin said, "You...you're a crafty one, Theodosius. I can see why you were chosen to rule here."

The governor's smile stretched from ear to ear. "I am a servant of the gods. Perhaps you can put in a good word for me with His Supreme Majesty, eh? Maybe...have a little share in that age-reversing genome treatment of yours?" His eyes glittered at the thought.

Before Griffin could think of an answer, Minotaur said loudly, "I wonder how the shipment of our food cargo is coming along..."

"Oh, the cargo ships should have arrived at the orbital port by now," Theodosius said. "One moment, if you please." He hauled himself to his feet and approached his aide waiting by the door.

"I want to burn this place to the ground," muttered Minotaur. "I want to crush their fetid little Olympian skulls, starting with that governor."

"Easy," said Griffin. "Remember our situation."

"Sorry. It's just...despicable doesn't even begin to..."

"I know. I'd give plenty to be able to jump into the Talon and level this place. But we can't lose it now. We've got a job to do." He straightened up as the governor returned.

"They've arrived," he said with a smile. "As of the moment, my thralls are busy unloading the containers into your hangar. I've seen to it that they'll finish within the hour."

"Good," said Minotaur. "We must be away by then."

"Oh, must you? But you've only just arrived, and there's so much more of the colony I'd like to show you! Can't it wait another day?"

"I'm afraid it can't. We're..." Minotaur blinked and glanced over to Griffin.

"We're headed past the Outer Rim on a scouting mission," said Griffin. "Lord Zeus's orders. He may want to collect raw combat data to test the _Ithaca's_ capabilites against Atlantean forces."

"Ah." The governor seemed quite disappointed. "I suppose it can't be helped then—"

"Sire," the aide called from doorway. "We have an incoming transmission from the space port."

"Not now," Theodosius replied without turning around.

The aide was not deterred, quickly approaching with a live holo-comm in his hand. "Sire, they say it's urgent. It's from—"

"I said not now! Can't you see I'm entertaining Lord Commander Heracles himself? Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait!"

A woman in military uniform appeared at on the holo-comm projector. "Governor Theodosius?"

Surprised, Theodosius turned around. "Yes? Who are you and what do you want?"

"This is Captain Calypso of the battleship Daedalus, currently in orbit around Lothophages. By the authority of Lord Commander Heracles, I hereby command you to provide us access to your spaceport."

#

**Credits**

Written by

**Mark Aragona**

Producer

**Christian Jorda**

Executive Producer

**Manja Haensel**

Technical Director

**Baljeet Singh Kalsi**

Music

**Peter Nickalls**

Editorial

**Kate Teng**

Project Co – Director

**Adam Azani**

Art Director

**Abner Dumandan Jr**

Marketing

**Liliya Dimitrova**

Customer Support

**Erin Bell**

Voice over

**Eric Saint John**

Production Management

**Christian Jorda**

**Manja** **Haensel**

**Adam Azani**
