The Second Randall Garrett Megapack. Randall Garrett

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      “Well,” Forrester said, “I—”

      “You begin to look for fights,” Vulcan said. “You go around beating up everyone you can find, simply because you now know you can get away with it. Do you understand me?”

      “I guess so.”

      “A man with a vicious streak in him would be intolerable in this position. Can you see that? Take an example: Ares. Mars is a tough God, hard and at times brutal. But he is not vicious.”

      Forrester was a little surprised to hear Vulcan say anything nice about Mars. He knew, as everyone did, the long history of ill-will and positive hatred the two had built up between them. It had begun soon after Vulcan’s marriage to Aphrodite/Venus.

      He hadn’t been a cripple then, of course. For a while, he and Venus had had a fine time. But Venus, apparently, just wasn’t satisfied with the dull normal routine of married life. None of the Gods seemed to be, as a matter of fact. Either they were altogether too married, like Zeus, or else they weren’t married enough, like Venus. Or else they were like Diana and Athena, indifferent to marriage.

      At any rate, Venus had begun looking around for fresh talent. And the fresh talent had been right there ready to sign up for a long contract on a strictly extra-legal basis.

      One day Vulcan caught them at it, his wife and Mars. Vulcan was angry, but Mars didn’t exactly like to be interrupted, either, and he was a little faster on the draw. He tossed Vulcan over a nearby cliff, crippling him for good.

      And as for Aphrodite—who knew? It was entirely possible that, by this time, the Goddess of Love had run through the entire list of Gods and was now at work on the mortals.

      Forrester wasn’t entirely sure he disliked the idea, on a simple physical level. But there was more than that to it, of course; there was Vulcan. Forrester found himself liking the solemn, positive workman. He didn’t want to hurt him.

      And a liaison with Venus was certain to do just that.

      He came back to the present to hear Vulcan still discoursing. “Also,” the God said, “changes in glandular balance must be made. These changes have a necessary effect on the brain. The personality changes subtly, though I can assure you that the change is not a marked one.” He paused. “For all these reasons,” he finished, “I am sure that you can see why we must subject you to further tests.”

      “I understand,” Forrester said vaguely.

      “Good. Now, you will not know whether a given incident—any given incident—is a perfectly natural occurrence or a test imposed on you by the Pantheon. Can you understand that?”

      Forrester nodded.

      Vulcan levered himself upright, his ugly face smiling just a little. “And remember what I have told you. No worrying. You don’t even know just what any given test is supposed to accomplish, so you can’t know whether the action you choose is right or wrong. Therefore, worrying will do nothing for you. You will be at your best if you simply behave naturally.”

      “I’ll try.”

      “Remember, also, that you were picked not merely for your physical resemblance to Dionysus, but your psychological resemblance as well. Therefore, playing his part should be comparatively simple for you. Right?”

      “I guess so,” Forrester said, feeling both expectant and a little hopeless about it all.

      “Fine,” Vulcan said. “Now wait one moment.” He turned and limped over to a structure that looked like a sort of worktable. When he came back, he was carrying several objects in his big hands. He selected one, an ovoid about the size of a marble, colored a dull orange, and handed it to Forrester. “Swallow that.”

      Forrester took it cautiously. As soon as he found out what he was supposed to do with the thing, its dimensions seemed to grow. It looked about the size of a golf ball in his shaking hands.

      “Swallow it?” he said tentatively.

      “Correct,” Vulcan said.

      “But—”

      “This object is a—well, call it a talisman. It will not dissolve, and it is recoverable, but for the Investiture it must be inside you.”

      “But—”

      “You will find it so easy to swallow that you will need no water. Go ahead.”

      Forrester put the thing in his mouth and swallowed once, just to test Vulcan’s statement. The effect was surprising. He could barely feel it leave his tongue, and he couldn’t feel it go down at all. He swallowed again, experimentally, and explored the inside of his mouth with his tongue.

      “It is gone,” Vulcan said. “Good.”

      “It’s gone, all right,” Forrester said wonderingly.

      “The sandals are next.” Vulcan selected a pair of sandals with rather thick soles and handed them over. They were apparently made of gold. Forrester obediently strapped them on, and Vulcan next handed him a pair of golden cylinders indented to fit his curved fingers.

      “You hold these very tightly,” Vulcan said. “During the Investiture, you must grip them as hard as you can.” He peered closely at them and pointed to one. “This one goes in the left hand. The other goes in the right. Squeeze them as if—as if you were trying to crush them. All right?”

      “All right,” Forrester said.

      Vulcan nodded. “Good. From this moment on, do exactly as you are told. Answer questions truthfully. Keep nothing secret. Remember my instructions.”

      “Right,” Forrester said doubtfully.

      “Come on,” Vulcan said, heading for the wall. The inevitable Veil of Heaven appeared, and Forrester followed through it as before.

      The room they entered was not, he thought, the same one they had been in before. Or, if it was, it had changed a great deal. It was difficult to tell anything for sure; the shifting walls looked the same, but they also looked like the shifting walls in Venus’ apartments.

      At any rate, there were now no couches on the floor. The room seemed even bigger than before, and when the walls settled down to a steady golden glow, Forrester felt lost in the immensity of the place. In the center of the room was a raised golden dais. It was about five feet across and nearly three feet high.

      The Gods were ranged around it in a semicircle, facing him. Vulcan slipped into an empty space in the line, and Forrester stood perfectly alone, holding the cylinders.

      Zeus cleared his throat. “Step up on the dais,” he said.

      Stumbling slightly, Forrester managed to do so without losing his grip on the cylinders.

      In the center of the raised platform, with the Gods staring at him, he felt like something under a microscope.

      “William Forrester,” Zeus said, and he shuddered. The All-Father’s voice had never been more powerful. “William Forrester, from this moment onward you will renounce your present name. You will be known as Dionysus the Lesser until СКАЧАТЬ