"Very important," Morpheus said slowly, "the candidate sleeps pretty
well--soundly, as a matter of fact. The only trouble is that he doesn't
get enough sleep. But then, no one on this entire crazy world ever
does." He yawned and added: "Not even me."
Forrester passed a hand over his forehead. He realized, very suddenly,
that he had come to a conclusion somewhere during the meeting. He was,
he told himself, definitely sane.
That left another conclusion. He was not dreaming anything that was
happening. It was all perfectly real.
And he was about to become a demi-God.
That in itself didn't sound so bad. But he began to wonder, in a quiet
sort of way, just what was going to happen to William Forrester,
acolyte and history professor, when Forrester/Bacchus had became a
reality. With a blunt shock he knew that there was only one answer.
William Forrester was going to die.
It didn't matter what the verdict of the Gods was. There were more tests
coming, he knew, and if he failed them the Gods would kill him quite
literally and quite completely.
But, he went on, suppose he passed the tests.
In that case he was going to become Forrester/Bacchus, a substitute God.
Plain old Bill Forrester would cease to exist entirely.
Oh, a few traces might remain--his Beta curve, for instance, whatever
that was. But Bill Forrester would be gone. Somehow, the idea of a
revenant Beta curve didn't make up for the basic loss.
On the other hand, he reminded himself again, what choice did he have?
None.
He forced himself to listen to what the Gods were saying.
Zeus cleared his throat. "Well, I think that closes the subject. Am I
right, dear?"
"You are," Hera said.
"Very well," Zeus said. "Then the subject is closed, isn't it?"
Hera nodded wearily.
"In that case, we can proceed with the investiture. Hephaestus, will you
please take charge of the candidate?"
Hephaestus/Vulcan sighed softly. "I suppose I must." He swung off the
couch and stood half-crouched for a second. Forrester looked at him
blankly. "Well," Vulcan said, "come on." He jerked his head toward
Forrester. "Over here."
With one last backward glance at Venus, Forrester walked across the
room. Vulcan turned and hobbled ahead of him toward the wall. Forrester
followed until, almost at the wall, a Veil of Heaven appeared. Feeling
almost used to the thing by now, Forrester followed Vulcan through, and
he didn't even look behind him to see if the Veil had vanished after
they'd come through. He knew perfectly well it had. It always did.
The room they had entered was similar to the others he had seen, but
there was no change of colors. The walls glowed evenly and with a
subdued light that filled the room evenly. And, for the first time, the
walls weren't simply blanks that became things only when approached. The
strangest-looking objects Forrester had ever seen filled benches,
tables, chairs and the floor, and some were even tacked to the glowing
walls. He stared at them for a long time.
No two were alike. They seemed to be all sizes, shapes and materials.
The only thing they really had in common was that they were
unrecognizable. They looked, Forrester thought, as if a truckload of
non-objective twentieth-century sculpture had collided with another
truck full of old television-set innards. Then, in some way, the two
trucks had fallen in love and had children.
The scrambled horrors scattered throughout the room were, Forrester told
himself bleakly, the children.
Vulcan sat down on the only empty chair with a sigh. "This is my
workshop," he announced gravely. "It is not arranged for visitors, nor
for the curious. I must advise you to touch nothing, if you wish to save
your hands, your sanity, and very possibly your life."
Forrester nodded dumbly. Vulcan's tone hadn't been unfriendly; he had
merely been warning a stranger, in the shortest and clearest manner
possible, against the dangers of feeling the merchandise. Not, Forrester
thought, that the warning was necessary. He would as soon have thought
of trying to fly as he would of touching one of the mixed-up looking
things.
"Now," Vulcan said, "if you'll--" He stopped. "Pardon me," he said, and
levered himself upright. He went to a chair, swept a few constructions
from it and put them carefully on a table. "Sit down," he said,
motioning to the chair.
Gingerly, Forrester sat down.
Vulcan returned to his own chair and climbed onto it. "Now let us get to
business."
"Business?" Forrester said.
"Oh, yes," Vulcan said. "I imagine you were pretty well bewildered for a
while. No more than natural. But I think you've figured it out by now.
You know you are going to be given the powers of a demi-God, don't you?"
"Yes. But--"
"Do not worry about it," Vulcan said. "The powers are--simply powers.
They are not burdens. At any rate, they will not be burdensome to you.
We know that--we have researched you to a fine point, as you may have
gathered from the fol-de-rol back there." He gestured toward his right,
evidently indicating the Court of the Gods.
"But," Forrester said, "suppose I'm not what your tests say. I mean,
suppose I--"
"There is no need for supposition. Beyond any shadow of doubt, we know
how you, as a mortal, will react to any conceivable set of
circumstances."
"Oh," Forrester said. "But--"
"Precisely. You have realized what yet needs to be done. We know what
your abilities and limitations are--_as a mortal_. The tests you have
yet to pass are concerned with your actions and reactions as a
demi-God."
Forrester swallowed hard. He felt as if he were on a moving
roller-coaster. No matter how badly he wanted to get off, it was
impossible to do so. He had to remain while the car hurtled on.
And where was he going?
The Gods, he told himself with more than ordinary meaning, knew.
"The power which is to be infused into you," Vulcan said, "if you don't
mind the loose terminology--"
"I don't mind in the least," Forrester assured him earnestly. "Not in
the least."
"The power infused into you will make some changes. These will not only
be physical changes. Mental changes must be expected."
"Oh," Forrester said. "Mental changes."
"Correct. Physically, you see, you will become what no mortal can ever
quite be: a perfectly functioning biological engine. Every sinew, nerve
and muscle, every organ and gland, every tissue in your body will be in
perfect harmonic balance with every other. Metabolically speaking, your
catabolism and anabolism will be in such perfect balance that aging will
not be possible."
Forrester thought that over. "I'll be immortal," he said.
"In that sense of the word," Vulcan said, "you will. You will be, as a
matter of fact, quite a good deal tougher, stronger and harder than any
animal now existing on the face of the Earth. I must except, of course,
a few of the really big ones, like the elephant and the killer whale."
"Oh," Forrester said. "Sure."
"But make no mistake. You can still be killed. A bullet through the
heart will not do the job; it will merely incapacitate you for a few
hours. But if you were to have your head blown off by a grenade, you
would be quite dead. Remember that."
"I don't see how I could forget it."
"You will heal with incredible rapidity, but there are limitations.
Anything that pushes the balance too far will be fatal. You can lose a
hand or even an arm without serious harm; the missing member will be
regrown. But if you were to fall into a large meat-grinder--"
"I get the idea," Forrester said, feeling pale green.
"Good," Vulcan said. "However, there is more."
"_More?_"
"There are certain other powers to be given you in addition. You will
learn of these later."
Forrester nodded blankly.
"Now," Vulcan said, "all these physical changes will have a definite
effect upon your psychological outlook, as I imagine you can plainly
see."