Pagan Passions

by Randall Garrett

  CHAPTER TEN

  William Forrester sat, quite alone, in the room which had been given himon Mount Olympus. He stared out of the window, a little smaller than thewindow in Venus' rooms, at the Grecian plain far below, without actuallyseeing. There was no vertigo this time; small matters like that couldn'tbother him.

  The whole room was rather a small one, as Gods' rooms went, but it hadthe same varicolored shifting walls, the same furniture that appearedwhen you approached it. Forrester was beginning to get used to it now,and he didn't know if it was going to do him any good.

  He peered down, trying to discern the patrolling Myrmidons around thebase and lower slopes of the mountain, placed there to discourageovereager climbers from trying to reach the home of the Gods. Of coursehe couldn't see them, and after a while he lost interest again. Matterswere too serious to allow time for that kind of game.

  The Autumn Bacchanal was over, a thing of the past, on the way to thedistortion of legend. Forrester's greatest triumph had ended--in hisgreatest fiasco.

  He closed his eyes as he sat in his room, the fluctuating colors on thewalls going unappreciated. He had nothing to do now except wait for thefinal judgment of the Gods.

  At first he had been terrified. But terror could only last so long, and,as the time ticked by, the idea of that coming judgment had almoststopped troubling his mind. Either he had passed the tests or he hadn't.There was no point in worrying about the inevitable. He feltanesthetized, numb to any sensation of personal danger. There wasnothing whatever he could do. The Gods had him; very well, let the Godsworry about what to do with him.

  Freed, his mind turned over and over a problem that seemed new to him atfirst. Gradually, he realized it wasn't new at all; it had beensomewhere in the back of his thoughts from the very first, when Venushad told him that he had been chosen as a double for Dionysus, so manymonths ago. It seemed like years to Forrester, and yet, at the sametime, like no more than hours. So much had happened, and so much hadchanged....

  But the question had remained, waiting until he could look at it andwork with it. Now he could face that strange doubt in his mind, thedoubt that had colored everything since his introduction to the Gods,that had grown as his training in demi-Godhood had progressed, and thatwas now, for the first time, coming to full consciousness. Every time ithad come near the surface, before this day, he had expelled it from hismind, forcefully getting rid of it without realizing fully that he wasdoing so.

  And perhaps, he thought, the doubt had begun even earlier than that.Perhaps he had always doubted, and never allowed himself to think aboutthe doubt. The floor of his mind seemed to open and he was falling,falling....

  But where the doubt had begun was unimportant now. It was present, ithad grown; that was all that mattered. He could find facts to feed thedoubt and strengthen it, and he looked at the facts one by one:

  First there was the angry conversation between Mars and Venus, on thenight of the Bacchanal.

  He could still hear what Mars had said:

  "_... worse than your predecessor._"

  And then he'd shut Venus up before she gave away too much--realizing,maybe, that he had given away a good deal himself. That one littlesentence was enough to bring everything into question, Forresterthought.

  He had wondered why it had been necessary to have a double for Dionysus,but he hadn't actually thought about it; maybe he hadn't wanted to thinkabout it. But now, with the notion of a "predecessor" for Venus in hismind, he _had_ to think about it, and the only conclusion he could cometo was a disturbing one. It did more than disturb him, as a matter offact--it frightened him. He wanted desperately to find some flaw in theconclusion he faced, because he feared it even more than he feared thecoming judgment of the Pantheon.

  But there wasn't any flaw. The facts meshed together entirely too wellto be an accidental pattern.

  In the first place, he thought, why had he been picked for the job? Hewas a nobody, of no importance, with no special gifts. Why did hedeserve the honor of taking his place beside Hercules and Achilles andOdysseus and the other great heroes? Forrester knew he wasn't any hero.But what gave him his standing?

  And, he went on, there was a second place. In the months of his traininghe had met fourteen of the Gods--all of them, except for Dionysus. Now,what kind of sense did that make? Anyone who's going to have a doubleusually trains the double himself, if it's at all possible. Or, at thevery least, he allows the double to watch his actions, so that thedouble can do a really competent job of imitation.

  And if an imitation is all that's needed, why not hire an actor insteadof a history professor?

  Vulcan had told him: "You were picked not merely for your physicalresemblance to Dionysus, but your psychological resemblance as well."

  That had to be true, if only because, as far as Forrester could see,nobody had the slightest reason to lie about it. But why should it betrue? What advantage did the Gods get out of that "psychologicalresemblance"? All he was supposed to be was a double--and anybody who_looked_ like Dionysus would be accepted _as_ Dionysus by the people.The "psychological resemblance" didn't have a single thing to do withit.

  Mars, Venus, Vulcan--even Zeus had dropped clues. Zeus had referred tohim as a "substitute for Dionysus."

  A substitute, he realized with a kind of horror, was not at all the samething as a double.

  The answer was perfectly clear, but there were even more facts tobolster it. Why had he been tested, for instance, _after_ he had beenmade a demi-God? In spite of what Vulcan had said, was he slated forfurther honors if he passed the new tests? He was sure that Vulcan hadbeen telling the truth as far as he'd gone--but it hadn't been the wholetruth. Forrester was certain of that now.

  And what was it that Venus had said during that argument with Mars?Something about not killing Forrester, because then they would have to"get another--"

  Another _what_?

  Another _substitute_?

  No, there was no escape from the simple and obvious conclusion. Dionysuswas either missing, which was bad enough, or something much worse.

  He was dead.

  Forrester shivered. The idea of an immortal God dying was, in one way,as horrible a notion as he could imagine. But in another way, it seemedto make a good deal of sense. As far as plain William Forrester had beenconcerned, the contradiction in the notion of a dead immortal would havemade it ridiculous to start with. But the demi-God Dionysus had asomewhat different slant on things.

  After all, as Vulcan had told him, a demi-God could die. And if that wastrue, then why couldn't a God die too? Perhaps it would take quite a lotto kill a God--but the difference would be one of degree, not of kind.

  It seemed wholly logical. And it led, Forrester saw, to a newconclusion, one that required a little less effort to face than hethought it would. It should have shaken the foundations of his childhoodand left him dizzy, but somehow it didn't. How long, he asked himself,had he been secretly doubting the fact that the Gods were Gods?

  At least in the sense they pretended to be, the "Gods" were not gods atall. 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 hethought things over he didn't see why he should. To an almostindestructible being, three thousand years may only be a long time.

  So the Gods actually were "Gods," at least as far as longevity went. Butthe decision didn't get him very far; there were still a lot ofquestions unanswered, and no way that he could see of answering them.

  Or, rather, there was one way, but it was hellishly dangerous. He had nobusiness 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. Andthey couldn't do any more to him than kill him.

  It was ridiculous, he told himself, with a retur
n of caution and sanity.But the notion came back, nagging at his mind, and at last it took a newform.

  The Gods had the rest of the information he needed. He had to go to oneof them--but which one?

  His first thought was Venus. But, after a moment of thought, he ruledher regretfully out as a possibility. After all, there was Mars' mentionof her "predecessor." If that meant anything, it meant that the currentVenus wasn't the original one. She would have a lot less informationthan one of the original Gods.

  _If there were any originals left...._

  He tabled that thought hurriedly and went on. Vulcan had told him atleast a part of the truth, and Vulcan looked like a good bet. Forresterdidn't like the idea of bearding the artisan in his workshop; it madehim feel uncomfortable, and after a while he put his finger on thereason. 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 thegirl was Venus, and in the second place she may not have been the sameone 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 wenton.

  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 forcomradeship, either. Mars popped into his mind, and popped right outagain. That would be putting his head in the lion's mouth with avengeance.

  No, there was only one left, the obvious choice, the one who had helpedhim throughout his training period--Diana. She genuinely seemed to likehim. She was also a good kid. The thought alone was almost enough tomake him smile fondly, and would have if he had not remembered the perilhe was in.

  He turned away from the window to look at the color-swirled wall acrossthe room. He had remained in his room ever since Mars and Venus hadbrought him back from New York, and he wasn't at all sure that he couldleave it. In the normal sense of the word, the place had neither exitsnor entrances. The only way of getting in or out of the place was viathe Veils of Heaven--matter transmitters, not something supernatural, herealized now.

  As far as Forrester knew, they still worked. But the Gods could generatea Veil anywhere, at any time. Forrester, as a demi-God, could only willone into existence on sufferance; he could only work thematter-transmitting Veils if the Gods permitted him to do so. If theydidn'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 itthan the Gods themselves, and hadn't developed the knack of forming aVeil as he walked toward the place where he wanted it to be, as theyhad.

  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, Forresterslumped 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 hecould focus the other terminal where he wanted it, but there was alsothe chance that the Gods had set the thing up so that, when he steppedthrough, he would be standing in the Court of the Gods facing a tribunalfor which he was totally unprepared.

  It would be just like the Pantheon, he thought, to pull a lousy tricklike that.

  But there was no point in dithering. If death was to be his fate, thatwould be that. He could do nothing at all by sitting in his room andwaiting for them to come and get him.

  He focused the exit terminal in Diana's apartment. There was no way ofknowing 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 steeledhimself to do great battle with the Gods--and, instead, he was where hehad wanted to be, in Diana's apartment.

  She was standing with her back to him, and Forrester didn't make asound, not wanting to startle the Goddess. She was totally unclad, herglorious body shining in the light of the room, her blue-black hairunbound and falling halfway down her gently curved back. But she musthave heard him somehow, for she turned, and for half a second she stoodfacing 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 hadrecently seen. It worked very well, although Forrester did not think hehad any need for an aid to his memory.

  "My goodness!" Diana said. "You shouldn't surprise a girl like that! Imean, 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 entirelynew to him. He was sure that any of the Gods or Goddesses could sensewhen a Veil of Heaven was forming near them, and get prepared before itwas well enough developed to allow for passage. But Diana--who was,after all, one of the traditionally virgin Goddesses, like PallasAthena--had chosen to pretend surprise.

  Forrester had a further hunch, too. He thought she might havedeliberately vanished her _chiton_ only a second or so before heentered. And that put a different--and a very interesting--face onthings.

  Not to mention, he thought, an entire figure.

  But he didn't say anything. That wasn't his main business in Diana'sapartment. Instead, he watched her smile briskly and say: "Well, you'rehere, anyhow, kid, and I guess that's enough for me. Want a drink? Icould 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 ofclear, golden liquid appeared in each--matter transmission, of course,not magic. She handed one over to Forrester, who took it and looked theGoddess straight in the eyes.

  "Thanks," he said. "Diana, I've got some questions to ask you, and Ihope I'll get the answers."

  She touched the rim of her cup to his. Her voice was very soft, but shedidn't hesitate in the least. "I'll answer any questions I have to. Sitdown."

  They found chairs along the walls of the room and sat facing oneanother. Forrester took a sip of his drink, settled back, and tried tothink where to begin. Well, God or no God, Zeus had the key to that one.He had said it years ago, and it had passed almost into legend:

  "Begin at the beginning, go on until you reach the end, and then stop."

  Very well, Forrester thought. He cleared his throat. Diana looked at himinquiringly.

  "I don't know how far into the noose I'm putting my head with this one,Diana," he said. "But I trust you--and I've got to ask somebody."

  "Go ahead," she said quietly.

  "First question. The original Dionysus is dead, isn't he?"

  She paused for a moment before answering. "Yes, he is."

  "And I was scheduled to take his place."

  "That's right."

  "As a full God," Forrester said.

  Diana nodded.

  There was a little silence.

  "Diana," Forrester said, "what are the Gods?"

  She got up and crossed to the window. Looking out, she said: "Before Ianswer that, I want you to tell me what you think we are."

  "Men and women," he said. "More or less human, like myself. Exceptyou've somehow managed to get so far ahead of any kind of science Earthknows that, even today, your effects can only be explained as 'magic' or'miracle.'"

  "How could we get that far ahead of you?"

  Forrester took a leap in the dark to the only conclusion he could see."You're not from Earth," he said. "You're from another planet." Thewords sounded
strange in his own ears--but Diana didn't even actsurprised.

  "That's right," she said. "We're from another planet--or, rather, fromseveral other planets."

  "_Several?_" Forrester exclaimed. "But--oh. I see. Pan, for instance--"

  Diana nodded. "Pan isn't even really humanoid. His home is a planetwhere his type of goatlike life evolved. Neither Pluto nor Neptune ishumanoid, either; they're a little closer than Pan, but not really veryclose when you get a good look. The rest of the Gods are humanoid--butnot human."

  "Wait a minute," Forrester said. "Venus is human. Or, anyhow, she's areplacement, just the way I was slated to be a replacement forDionysus."

  Diana drained her cup and clapped her hands together on it. The cupvanished. Forrester did the same to his own. "Correct," she said. "Venusjust--just disappeared once. They got an Etruscan girl to replace her.She's not the only replacement, either."

  Forrester stared. "Who else?"

  "You tell me."

  He thought the list of Gods over. "Zeus," he said.

  Diana smiled. "Yes, Zeus is a long way from the great hero of thelegends, isn't he? Using the old calendar, Zeus died in about 1100 B.C.,not too long after the close of the Trojan War. As far as anybody knows,Neptune did the actual killing, but it's pretty clear that the originalidea wasn't his."

  "Hera's," Forrester guessed.

  "Of course," Diana said. "What she wanted was a figurehead she couldcontrol--and that's what she got. Though I'm not sure she's entirelyhappy with the change. If the original Zeus was a little harder tocontrol, at least he seems to have had an original thought now andagain."

  Forrester sat quietly for a time, waiting for the shock to pass. "Whatabout Dionysus?"

  Diana shrugged. "He--well, as far as anybody's ever been able to tell,it was suicide. About three years ago, and it drove Hera pretty wild,trying to find a substitute in a hurry. I suspect he was bored with thewine, women and song. He'd had a long time of it. And, too, he'd hadsome little disagreements with Hera. As you may have gathered, she isnot exactly a safe person to have as an enemy. He probably figured she'dget him sooner or later, so he might as well save her the trouble."

  "And Hera had to rush to get a replacement? Why couldn't there just havebeen some sort of explanation, while the rest of you ran things?"

  "Because the rest of us couldn't run things. Not for long, anyhow. It'sall a question of power."

  "Power?" Forrester said.

  "Everything we have," Diana said, "is derived, directly or indirectly,from the workings of one machine. Though 'machine' is a long way fromthe right word for it--it bears about as much resemblance to what youthink of as a machine as a television set does to a window. There justisn't a word for it in any language you know."

  "And all the Gods have to work the machine at once?"

  "Something like that." Diana came back from the window and sat downfacing him again. "It operates through the nervous systems of the beingsin circuit with it, each one of them in contact with one of the powernodes of the machine. And if one of the nodes is unoccupied, then themachine's out of balance. It will run for a while, but eventually itwill simply wreck itself. Every one of the fifteen nodes has to beoccupied. Otherwise--chaos."

  Forrester nodded. "So when Dionysus died--"

  "We had to find a replacement in a hurry. The machine's been running outof balance for about as long as it can stand right now."

  Forrester closed his eyes. "I'm not sure I get the picture."

  "Well, look at it this way: suppose you have a wheel."

  "All right," Forrester said obligingly. "I have a wheel."

  "And this wheel has fifteen weights on it. They're spaced equally aroundthe rim, and the wheel's revolving at high speed."

  Forrester kept his eyes closed. When he had the wheel nicely spinning,he said: "Okay. Now what?"

  "Well," Diana said, "as long as the weights stay in place, the wheelspins evenly. But if you remove one of the weights, the wheel's out ofbalance. It starts to wobble."

  Forrester took one of the weights (Dionysus, a rather large, jollyweight) off the wheel in his mind. It wobbled. "Right," he said.

  "It can take the wobble for a little while. But unless the balance isrestored in time, the wheel will eventually break."

  Hurriedly, Forrester put Dionysus back on the wheel. The wobble stopped."Oh," he said. "I see."

  "Our power machine works in that sort of way. That is, it requires allfifteen occupants. Dionysus has been dead for three years now, andthat's about the outside limit. Unless he's replaced soon, the machinewill be ruined."

  Forrester opened his eyes. The wheel spun away and disappeared. "So youfound me to replace Dionysus. I had to look like him, so the mortalswouldn't see any difference. And the psychological similarity--"

  "That's right," Diana said. "It's the same as the wheel again. If youremove a weight, you've got to put back a weight of the same magnitude.Otherwise, the wheel's still out of balance."

  "And since the power machine works through the nervous system--"

  "The governing factor is that similarity. You've got to be of the samemagnitude as Dionysus. Of course, you don't have to be an _identical_copy. The machine can be adjusted for _slight_ differences."

  "I see," Forrester said. "And the fifteen power nodes--" Another ideaoccurred to him. "Wait a minute. If there are only fifteen power nodes,then how come there were so many different Gods and Goddesses among theGreeks? There were a lot more than fifteen back then."

  "Of course there were," Diana said, "but they weren't real Gods. As amatter of fact, some of them didn't really exist."

  Forrester frowned. "How's that again?"

  "They were just disguises for one of the regular fifteen. Aesculapius,for instance, the old God of medicine, was Hermes/Mercury indisguise--he took the name in honor of a physician of the time. He wouldhave raised the man to demi-Godhood, but Aesculapius died unexpectedly,and we thought taking his 'spirit' into the Pantheon was good publicrelations."

  "How about the others?" Forrester said. "They weren't all disguises,were they?"

  "Of course not. Some of them were demi-Gods, just like yourself. Theirpower was derived, like yours, from the Pantheon instead of directlythrough the machine. And then there were the satyrs and centaurs, andsuchlike beings. That was public relations, too--mainly Zeus' idea, Iunderstand. The original Zeus, of course."

  "Of course," Forrester said.

  "The satyrs and such were artificial life-forms, created, maintained andcontrolled by the machine itself. It's equipped with what you might calla cybernetic brain--although that's pretty inadequate as a description.Vulcan could do a better job of explaining."

  "Perfectly all right. I don't understand that kind of thing anyhow."

  "Well, in that case, let me put it this way. The machine controlledthese artificial forms, but they could be taken over by any one of theGods or demi-Gods for special purposes. As I say, it was publicrelations--and a good way to keep the populace impressed--and undercontrol."

  "The creatures aren't around nowadays," Forrester pointed out.

  "Nowadays we don't need them," Diana said. "There are othermethods--better public relations, I suppose."

  Forrester didn't know he was going to ask his next question until heheard himself doing so. But it was the question he really wanted to ask;he knew that as soon as he knew he asked it.

  "Why?" he said.

  Diana looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Why? What do you mean?"

  "Why go on being Gods? Why dominate humanity?"

  "I suppose I could answer your question with another question--why not?But I won't. Instead, let me remind you of some things. Look what we'vedone during the last century. The great wars that wrecked Europe--youdon't see any possibility of more of those, do you? And the threat ofatomic war is gone, too, isn't it?"

  "Well, yes," Forrester said, "but--"

  "But we still have wars," Diana said. "Sure we do. The male animal justwouldn't be happy if he didn
't have a chance to go out and get himselfblown to bits once in a while. Don't ask _me_ to explain that--I'm not amale."

  Forrester agreed silently. Diana was not a male. It was the mostunderstated statement he had ever heard.

  "But anyhow," Diana said, "they want wars, so they have wars. Mars seesthat the wars stay small and keep within the Martian Conventions,though, so any really widespread damage or destruction, or any wantonattacks on civilians, are a thing of the past. And it's not only wars,kid. It's everything."

  "What do you mean, everything?"

  "Man needs a god, a personal god. When he doesn't have one ready tohand, he makes one up--and look at the havoc that has caused. A god ofvengeance, a god who cheers you on to kill your enemies.... You'vestudied history. Tell me about the gods of various nations. Tell meabout Thor and Baal and the original bloodthirsty Yahweh. People _need_gods."

  "Now wait a minute," Forrester objected. "The Chinese--"

  "Oh, sure," Diana said. "There are exceptions. But you can't bank on theexceptions. If you want a reasonably safe, sane and happy humanity, thenyou'd better make sure your gods are not going to start screaming forwar against the neighbors or against the infidels or against--well,against anybody and everybody. There's only one way to make sure, kid.We've found that way. We _are_ the Gods."

  Forrester digested that one slowly. "It sounds great, but it's prettyaltruistic. And while I don't want to impugn anybody's motives, it doesseem to me that--"

  "That we ought to be getting something out of it ourselves, above andbeyond the pure joy of helping humanity. Sure. You're perfectly right.And we _do_ get something out of it."

  "Like what?"

  Diana grinned. She looked more like a tomboy than ever before. "Fun,"she said. "And you know it. Don't tell me you didn't get a kick out ofplaying God at the Bacchanal."

  "Well," Forrester confessed, "yes." He sighed. "And I guess thatBacchanal is going to be the one really high spot in a very shortenedsort of life."

  Diana sat upright. "What are you talking about?"

  "What else would I be talking about? The Bacchanal. You know whathappened. You must know--everybody must by now. Mars is probablydemanding my head from Hera right now. Unless he's got more complicatedideas like taking me apart limb by limb. I remember he mentioned that."

  Diana stood up and came over to Forrester. "Why would Mars do somethinglike that and especially now? And what makes you think Hera would goalong with him if he did?"

  "Why not? Now that I've failed my tests--"

  "_Failed?_" Diana cried. "You _haven't_ failed!"

  Forrester stood up shakily. "Of course I have. After what happened atthe Bacchanal, I--"

  "Don't pay any attention to that," Diana said. "Mars is a louse. Alwayshas been, I hear. Nobody likes him. As a matter of fact, you've justpassed your finals. The last test was to see if you could figure out whowe were--and you've done that, haven't you?"

  There was a long, taut silence.

  Then Diana laughed. "Your face looks the way mine must have, over threethousand years ago!"

  "What are you talking about?" Still dazed, he wasn't quite sure he hadheard her rightly.

  "When they told me the same thing. After the original Diana was killedin a 'hunting accident'--frankly, she seems to have been too independentto suit Hera--and I passed my own finals, I--"

  She stopped.

  "Now don't look at me like that," Diana said. "And pull yourselftogether, because we've got to get to the Final Investiture. But it'sall true. I'm a substitute too."