the fact that the Gods were Gods?
At least in the sense they pretended to be, the “Gods” were not gods at all. They were—something else.
But what? Where did they come from?
Were they actually the Gods of ancient Greece, as they claimed? Forrester wanted to throw that claim out with the rest, but when he thought things over he didn’t see why he should. To an almost indestructible being, three thousand years may only be a long time.
So the Gods actually were “Gods,” at least as far as longevity went. But the decision didn’t get him very far; there were still a lot of questions unanswered, and no way that he could see of answering them.
Or, rather, there was one way, but it was hellishly dangerous. He had no business even thinking about. He was in enough hot water already.
Nevertheless.…
What more harm could he do to his chances? After the Bacchanal fiasco, there was probably a sentence of death hanging over his head anyhow. And they couldn’t do any more to him than kill him.
It was ridiculous, he told himself, with a return of caution and sanity. But the notion came back, nagging at his mind, and at last it took a new form.
The Gods had the rest of the information he needed. He had to go to one of them—but which one?
His first thought was Venus. But, after a moment of thought, he ruled her regretfully out as a possibility. After all, there was Mars’ mention of her “predecessor.” If that meant anything, it meant that the current Venus wasn’t the original one. She would have a lot less information than one of the original Gods.
If there were any originals left.…
He tabled that thought hurriedly and went on. Vulcan had told him at least a part of the truth, and Vulcan looked like a good bet. Forrester didn’t like the idea of bearding the artisan in his workshop; it made him feel uncomfortable, and after a while he put his finger on the reason. His little liaison with Venus made him feel guilty. There was, he knew, no real reason for it. In the first place, he hadn’t known the girl was Venus, and in the second place she may not have been the same one who had been Vulcan’s original wife, thirty and more centuries ago.
But the guilt remained, and he tabled Vulcan for the time being and went on.
Morpheus, Hera, and most of the others he passed by without a glance; there was no reason for them to dislike him, but there was no reason for comradeship, either. Mars popped into his mind, and popped right out again. That would be putting his head in the lion’s mouth with a vengeance.
No, there was only one left, the obvious choice, the one who had helped him throughout his training period—Diana. She genuinely seemed to like him. She was also a good kid. The thought alone was almost enough to make him smile fondly, and would have if he had not remembered the peril he was in.
He turned away from the window to look at the color-swirled wall across the room. He had remained in his room ever since Mars and Venus had brought him back from New York, and he wasn’t at all sure that he could leave it. In the normal sense of the word, the place had neither exits nor entrances. The only way of getting in or out of the place was via the Veils of Heaven—matter transmitters, not something supernatural, he realized now.
As far as Forrester knew, they still worked. But the Gods could generate a Veil anywhere, at any time. Forrester, as a demi-God, could only will one into existence on sufferance; he could only work the matter-transmitting Veils if the Gods permitted him to do so. If they didn’t, he was trapped.
Well, he told himself, there was one way to find out.
He walked over to the wall and stood a few feet away from it, concentrating in the way he had been taught. He was still slower at it than the Gods themselves, and hadn’t developed the knack of forming a Veil as he walked toward the place where he wanted it to be, as they had.
But he knew he could do it—if he was still allowed to.
Minutes went by.
Then, as the blue sheet of neural energy flickered into being, Forrester slumped in sudden relief. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.
The Veil was there—but was it what he hoped, or a trick? Possibly he could focus the other terminal where he wanted it, but there was also the chance that the Gods had set the thing up so that, when he stepped through, he would be standing in the Court of the Gods facing a tribunal for which he was totally unprepared.
It would be just like the Pantheon, he thought, to pull a lousy trick like that.
But there was no point in dithering. If death was to be his fate, that would be that. He could do nothing at all by sitting in his room and waiting for them to come and get him.
He focused the exit terminal in Diana’s apartment. There was no way of knowing whether the focus worked or not until he stepped through.
He opened his eyes and walked into the Veil.
He felt almost disappointed when he looked around him. He had steeled himself to do great battle with the Gods—and, instead, he was where he had wanted to be, in Diana’s apartment.
She was standing with her back to him, and Forrester didn’t make a sound, not wanting to startle the Goddess. She was totally unclad, her glorious body shining in the light of the room, her blue-black hair unbound and falling halfway down her gently curved back. But she must have heard him somehow, for she turned, and for half a second she stood facing him.
Forrester did not move. He couldn’t even breathe.
Every magnificent curve was highlighted in a frozen tableau.
Then there was a sudden flash of white, and she was clad in a clinging chiton which, Forrester saw, served only to remind one of what one had recently seen. It worked very well, although Forrester did not think he had any need for an aid to his memory.
“My goodness!” Diana said. “You shouldn’t surprise a girl like that! I mean, you really gave me a shock, kid!”
Forrester took his first breath. “Well,” he said, “I could be dishonest, not to mention ungallant, and tell you I was sorry.”
“But?” Diana said.
“Being of sound mind and sound body, I’m a long way from being sorry.”
And Diana dropped her eyes and blushed.
Forrester could barely believe it.
But it did show a part of the Goddess’s personality that was entirely new to him. He was sure that any of the Gods or Goddesses could sense when a Veil of Heaven was forming near them, and get prepared before it was well enough developed to allow for passage. But Diana—who was, after all, one of the traditionally virgin Goddesses, like Pallas Athena—had chosen to pretend surprise.
Forrester had a further hunch, too. He thought she might have deliberately vanished her chiton only a second or so before he entered. And that put a different—and a very interesting—face on things.
Not to mention, he thought, an entire figure.
But he didn’t say anything. That wasn’t his main business in Diana’s apartment. Instead, he watched her smile briskly and say: “Well, you’re here, anyhow, kid, and I guess that’s enough for me. Want a drink? I could whip up some nectar—and maybe an ambrosia sandwich?”
“I’ll take the drink,” Forrester said. “I’m not really hungry, thanks.”
Diana held out her hands, fingers curved inward, and a crystal cup of clear, golden liquid appeared in each—matter transmission, of course, not magic. She handed one over to Forrester, who took it and looked the Goddess straight in the eyes.
“Thanks,” he said. “Diana, I’ve got some questions to ask you, and I hope I’ll get the answers.”
She touched the rim of her cup to his. Her voice was very soft, but she didn’t