Cronus hiccuped.
It doesn't happen often, and it rarely has much significance.
Only this time, it had significance. This time, Cronus was
busy.
He was adding a slight touch of gray to Demo's hair.
Cronus, to those not knowing, has time as his domain. Even the
gods respond to his wiles, and age even as you and I.
And Cronus was gently aging Demo.
Cronus hiccuped.
He had taken a liking to the boy since they had met on an
earlier task imposed by Zeus on Demo. So Cronus had not acted in
spite. It was only that Cronus is the master of time, and when
he hiccuped he inadvertently sent Demo flying into a time far
removed. Even this would hardly have been a problem, for Cronus
could easily have returned him. But, as only one way exists for
a project to go right, and many ways for it to go wrong, this
project went wrong.
Cronus was distracted by his wife. He quickly followed her to
adjust a timepiece that kept erratic time. "My dear, it really
isn't the sundial that's at fault. It's the sun. It refuses to
travel at a constant rate. I've talked to Zeus. Unfortunately,
It's low on his priority list."
Then Cronus went off to his study, and his hobby of clock
collecting. Demo was, for the moment, forgotten. In his study
Cronus maintained clocks of every size, every design, every
motif. Electronic clocks, grandfather clocks, wall clocks, floor
clocks, round clocks, square clocks - even clocks that kept
time. But no two displayed exactly the same time. For, you see,
time isn't at all the same. Here it has one value, there
another, and elsewhere still a third. But, most assuredly, one
of the numerous clocks ticked the right time. Only Cronus knew
which one.
"Which studio you with? They shooting here today?"
Demo looked quizzically at his interrogator. Since becoming
Zeus' protg he found that languages were no problem. All the
same, always there were references, words, and phrases of which
he had no ken.
"I know not of studios, and the next shooting is at the great
fair, a full moon away. There I shall surely prove champion of
all of Greece, perhaps of all the civilized world."
"Ah-ha! Your advertising a coming film, right. The Great Fair.
Well, I'll try to take it in. Your doing good, pal. I'll tell
you, though, that costume really needs some work."
The stranger smiled and walked away.
Demo frowned.
No city of Greece was this. Grass grew not, and chariots dashed
madly, teamless, down streets of solid rock, The people wore
clothing of strange design, talked in a weird dialect, and gazed
at him in benign amusement. The buildings were as none he had
ever seen. They, too, were made of stone or even metal, and
their height gave challenge to proud Olympus.
Suddenly he noted, passing high overhead, a dragon of strange
construction, growling deeply as it passed. Passersby gave it no
heed. Plainly the monster had already fed, was returning to its
lair for rest.
A chariot smashed into the side of another, and high-pitched
screams as of the wild geese filled the air. The chariots lined
up, one behind the other, all emitting similar shrills.
Something here is akilter, he thought.
He noted men being disgorged by the shrilling chariots,
shouting each to the other and making aggressive motions with
closed fists.
Then arrived chariots with fires of red and blue flashing upon
their heads, screaming like night creatures in tales he had been
told.
These in turn disgorged men adorned in blue cloth, with shining
metal decorations on their chests. These men in turned carried
sticks, and screamed and shouted at those who had gone before.
In due time the horseless chariots moved away, the mass chasing
in single file the leader. And endless sequence followed madly
after the leading chariot. Was this a race, or a new form of war?
Along the pathway a bench attracted his attention, and he sat
down, took dried venison from his poke. A young man, perhaps his
own age, approached.
"Hey, got a dollar? I'd like to borrow a dollar for a while."
"What, pray, is a dollar?"
The youth stared at him for a moment. "All right, forget it!
Whatcha eatin'? What's in th' poke?" He gestured toward Demo's
pouch.
"Food, good food. Would you care for some tasty viands?"
"Vines? Did you say vines? That ain't vines you're eatin'.
Looks like meat to me. You got any more?"
"Yes, try it. You'll find it quite tasty. My mother dried it
under the sun, salted it herself."
The suppliant tasted the dried venison, looked at Demo in
disbelief. "Hell, I'm going to the Salvation Army. You really
eat this stuff!"
A large horseless chariot pulled up alongside him. A woman
starred at him through some strange, clear material. She smiled,
then laughed. He looked around to see what caused her laughter.
Nothing untoward met his sight. Ill-dressed heathens strolled
aimlessly, it seemed, along the wide pathway. No, there was
nothing amusing to be seen.
Frowning, he continued to eat his dried venison. Two men
dismounted from the chariot, and it drove away, moaning in a
disquieting manner.
Inside the passengers were looking at him through the viewing
space in the rear.
Perhaps it is my garb. Here they dress strangely.
"Hare Krishna?"
One of the passengers who had descended addressed him.
"No, Demo."
"That's a new one. Is it Indian?"
"I don't think so. Greek."
"Greek? Well, new ones are popping up all over. Here, just to
show you I'm open-minded, I'll donate a couple of bucks. Good
luck."
The man walked off, murmuring, "Demo, and Greek! L A is the
place, I'll tell you!"
He approached a large building. It had openings through which
he could see, but could not enter. However, watching the strange
people he noted an entrance that resembled a whirligig. My, he
thought, how many years since I played with a whirligig. Anyway,
as people went in and out, the door rotated.
Finally, he entered the building.
A boy stood in front of a silver recess, leaned down, and a
gush of water rose, striking him on the mouth. Only then did
Demo realize he was thirsty. When the boy moved Demo approached
the recess, leaned down.
Demo frowned. Nothing had happened.
He leaned forward again. A man looked at him, "Hey, it ain't
broke again, is it?" The man pressed the button and a stream of
water struck Demo's face. He sputtered, then drank thirstily.
What part of Olympus is this, he thought. It resembles nothing
I've seen before.
Nevertheless, it was becoming gradually familiar. He entered a
little room that had the picture of a man on the door. After
watching a few moments he found himself well versed on the
facilities.
Fortunately, item after item followed a similar pattern. The
important thing was to watch. The paper given to him earlier
served as money. You used money to buy from machines and from
individuals. Of course, how to get money was unclear.
Then he thought of the boy who had asked him for a dollar. Of
course, just ask.
He tried it. At first he felt a little strange, for time after
time the individuals he asked seemed a little embarrassed,
finally provided either coins or paper. "Damn cults everywhere.
All right, here, just leave me alone."
The young supplicant soon found his purse bursting with paper.
It was a strange phenomenon. Ask for money, it is given to you.
Give it to machines, to individuals, and they give you products.
Not too unlike home, except for the first step.
Cronus frowned.
There is something I've overlooked, he thought to himself.
Something important. Well, tomorrow I'll get around to it.
The thought struck him.
Demo! He had been aging Demo! Then, he had helped his wife with
the sundial. Then . . . . Oh, ho! The boy! What of the boy?
"Ah, I've lost him!" He spoke aloud. "I've let him slip off,
and I didn't really note to where - rather, to when. Drat, it's
inconvenient. I suppose he'll show up by and by, sometime. Yes.
I wonder, what time?"
At that moment he heard his wife calling. Evening meal was
ready. Thank goodness, I am famished, thought he.
It was a delicious meal.
Demo left the building, watched the chariots stopped in the
broad streets, growls issuing from inside. At times other sounds
issued from the vehicles. Loud and raucous, the sounds
repeated and repeated, as though some musical instruments were
being played out of tune. Accompanying these sounds were screams
and yells of tortured innocents.
He could only assume that, in some manner, the chariots had
malfunctioned.
Duane Golchick and Ralph Fulcere waited nervously outside the
bank door. The customers were thinning out as three o'clock
closing time neared. Finally the last of the stragglers left.
Duane and Ralph entered quickly.
"Say, I'm sorry, we were just closing." The guard smiled,
motioned them toward the door.
"Just walk over to the counter with us. Put your hands behind
your neck and hold 'em there." Duane spoke in a half snarl, held
a revolver in his hand.
The guard noticed the nervous motion of the gunbarrel. "Okay,
okay, don't be nervous. Whatever you say! Just take it easy! No
one's causing any trouble."
"All right, listen up!" Ralph shouted. "This is a holdup! Any
screams, any alarms, and we'll take you out. And we don't care
who we shoot first, so you heroes just give it a try. Open it
up, babe."
He indicated the gate leading behind the counters. The clerk
nervously fumbled with the catch, finally opened the gate.
Duane and Ralph cleaned out the drawers, stuffing bills into a
garbage bag. "On the floor, all of you. Hands straight out, legs
spread, face down. Lift a head, move a muscle, and you're
history!"
The left the building quietly. No one had moved. No one was
moving now. They ran for the car, parked in a nearby alley.
A man in blue stopped Demo.
"Those arrows real?"
"Oh, yes, very real. Deadly, too. I've killed many a buck with
them. Won a few tournaments, too."
"I thought so. You got a license to carry a deadly weapon? You
ain't some kind of kook, here to kill off as many as you can,
are you? Here, you better give me the bow."
"Oh, no, I couldn't do that! It's been in the family for
generations. My Father used it to kill the sea serpent. And his
Father before him to kill fire dragons. I just couldn't part
with it."
The policeman, for such he was, looked at Demo in astonishment.
"Oh, boy! One of those!"
He took out his communicator, called for reinforcements. "Were
standing in front of the alley next to Martin's Bank. Seems like
a loony. Anyway, so far he's not violent. Get some
reinforcements over here, before he does go off his rocker. And
tell Sue warm up my pizza. I'll be in about two hours from now.
You let her know."
He had hardly signed off when he felt an object pressing
against his neck. "Your in our way, Mr. Man. Now just pull out
that gun and let it fall, real easy. Now, put your hands behind
your head. Up against the wall. Spread 'em!" Ralph was relishing
the situation.
"Get the gun and let's get out of here. You, get out of the
way." Duane motioned to Demo, who stepped politely aside.
The two men entered the car, rev'd up the engine, pulled out
into traffic.
"Stop them! Stop! Police!" The officer shouted.
Demo notched an arrow to his bow, drove it through the right
rear tire of the vehicle. He then repeated the process with the
left tire.
The car abruptly swerved, ran against the curb, jumped it.
Crashing into a store front, the engine died.
Almost at that instant the reinforcements arrived and hurried
to the car.
"My God, it must be the kook with the bow. Look sticking out of
those tire! See if anyone is hurt. I've got him in sight."
"Drop it, drop it now! I'll shoot!"
Demo glanced at the approaching form. This also was a blue
clothed one. He turned to his companion. "Is he talking to you?"
"Hey, it's all right. He's okay. Get them gorillas in the car.
Hurry, they're getting out!"
Everyone rushed madly toward the chariot. For a moment Demo
watched, then turned with a shrug. An interesting, but kind of
strange, sport.
"Hey, Guru, tell me what life signifies. You still chomping
that dried junk?" The boy who had asked for a dollar was
grinning at him.
"My name is Demo, not Guru. Yes, I rather enjoy dried venison."
"Look, Guru, no offense, eh? You got cover for the night? The Y
has some pads open. They get taken in a hurry, so you better
scat over there if you want one. Gonna rain before morning. Say,
I'm Randy. Look, I can't pronounce that Demo bit, so you're
Guru. Don't let it throw you."
"Cover? The Y? Ah, shelter from the rain? Yes, that would be
well. You are kind. Where is this Y?"
"Hell, I'll baby sit you a while. Just follow along, sport."
They located an available pad, and Demo found himself in a
dormitory filled with numerous unique individuals. The glances
he received indicated that he won honors for uniqueness.
It is a law of nature that, for things to go right, there is
only one viable path. For things to go wrong, the paths are
infinite. Demo continued down one of the infinite paths.
Cronus had indeed attempted to make contact, return Demo to his
own time and place. Cronus selected the right time without
difficulty. Place, however? Well, place threw him a curve.
Demo had gone wandering off.
Cronus had rather limited power so far as space is concerned.
Given sufficient time - of which he was the sole master - he
could examine the reaches of space. And examining the reaches of
space was his immediate goal.
He began the task methodically.
First, he returned himself to the time and space when he was
occupied with aging Demo. Then he moved forward (time-wise) to
that point in time when he was distracted. With care he then
gave careful thought to the next incident.
Unfortunately, he found himself in the predicament many of us
face from time to time.
He had a sudden mental lapse.
As the saying goes, the right words were on the tip of his
tongue. Stubbornly, unfortunately, they clung there tenaciously.
Grumbling, he vectored forward in time once more. I'll sleep on
it, he decided. Tomorrow is soon enough.
Demo, if he were asked, would not have agreed.
Randy woke him early. He knew it was early because it was dark.
Also, because he was sleepy. He was not by any stretch of the
imagination an early bird. Au contraire!
They left the building hurriedly.
"Nice place and all," Randy noted. "Just keep in mind, some
strange people stay here. I'd rather not meet them outside.
'Nough said?"
They walked along the pathway, which Randy called a sidewalk.
Demo noted that he himself was rapidly developing an extended
vocabulary of words, mainly from listening to Randy.
"Look, we got to scrounge some eatables, you know, food. Now
there's a place over on 5th . . . ." He paused as Demo smiled,
motioned toward his pouch.
"We can buy food. My pouch is full of paper, eh, money. Gifts!
Dollars!"
Randy stared at him for a moment, put his hand in the pouch and
pulled out a few bills. "All right, man! You are with it! Okay,
let's hit this place across the way. I could use a good meal for
a change."
The waitress smiled at them, looked at Demo's garb with
curiosity. "Look, no offense, but you Joe's got cash? The boss
is real mean about that!"
"Of course we got cash! Hey, show her, Guru!"
Demo pulled a handful of bills from his pouch, stuck them back
in.
The waitress stuck out her lower lip, nodded. "Okay, here's the
menu. What'll you have? The western omelette's not bad. Makes a
good meal."
Randy ordered the omelette and coffee.
"I'll have the omelette and milk," Demo decided.
"Hey, Guru, where'd you get that rig? What's your thing,
anyway? You're awful close mouthed."
"Randy, you ever hear of people traveling through time?"
"Oh, great! All right, forget it. Sorry I asked."
"No, really, I'm serious. I'm from Greece . . . from long time
ago Greece. Don't ask me how I got here. I really don't know.
And I don't know how to get back." Demo's disconsolate look
almost convinced Randy.
"You are one good actor. I'm ready to break out a hanky. Look,
I was out of line. You don't have to tell me anything. Hell,
I've told you practically nothing about me, now have I?"
They finished their omelettes, and Randy was sipping his coffee
when Demo glanced out the window.
"It's him! It's Cronus! I'm going back! Randy, thank you for
your help. Here, take this money."
Demo pulled out handsful of bills, laid them on the table in
front of Randy.
"Cronus! Come off it!" Randy glanced out the window.
A tall figure, dressed as was Demo, stood on the sidewalk. His
face was grim, and he was making some weird, ritualistic
motions. Randy looked toward Demo.
Demo was fading. At the moment he seemed at some point between
clear jello and fog, with fog gaining the upper hand.
Randy reached out to grab Demo. His hand passed through the
image in front of him, touched nothing.
He stood up, threw his arms around his new found friend.
A chill ran through him.
The room was darkening. His vision blurred.
"Not me! Leave me here! I belong here! I . . . ."
The words faded.
He was now part of the fog. He could see nothing, hear nothing.
But he knew things were happening.
Strange things.
The waitress stood beside the table, eyes wide. "Boss, I don't
feel too good today. I think I better take the rest of the day
off."
"You can't do that! Cecilia is ill, Grace is on vacation!
Anyway, what's the problem?"
"Two boys! They were sitting here. I brought them omelets. Now
look! They're gone. They didn't pay me, I didn't see them leave,
they left all this money. Something is really weird. I think it
may be me."
"Nah! Here, let me check the washroom. Anyway, what if they
slipped out. That'll pay for the meal and leave you one real
fine tip."
In a moment he returned. "Ain't no one back there. Two of 'em,
eh? Look, don't let it bug you. They probably are just having
fun, playing a joke on you."
"Well, I don't like this kind of joke. All right, I'll stay.
Say, I sure feel odd."
Randy looked around wildly.
The city was gone, the restaurant, the building even.
Around him were trees, a nearby brook, some birds singing. Demo
was sitting on a log nearby.
"Man, what have you done to me? What is going on here. I don't
like this. No sir, I don't like this at all!"
"Randy! Randy, what in the world are you doing here? Cronus
must have brought you too. Oh, boy! What a mess."
"This . . . ." Randy hesitated.
"This th' place you were talking about. Look, I'm sorry. I
thought you were putting me on! I wonder why'd he bring me here?
How'm I gonna get back. Who is this Cronus? You tell him, I want
to see him, and right now. He can't push me around this way!"
"Just calm down, and for goodness sake, don't talk like that!
It's just an accident, just some kind of accident. I'm sure
he'll send you back. Well, I'm kind of sure . . . ."
He wasn't.
Randy languished. Rural atmosphere and bucolic settings were
great TV fare. Who wants to actually live such a life! No way!
Demo attempted to teach him hunting.
Randy proved that, with considerable effort and practice, he
would never be a hunter. The trees chosen as targets survived
unmarked. Arrows vanished into unlikely places.
Chariots in lieu of cars did not sell to well. First, Randy was
scared of horses. Second, he couldn't tell his gee from his haw.
Third, he wasn't interested.
However, one aspect of Demo's world did indeed interest Randy.
At the evening meal Theresa chanced by, was introduced, and
Randy's eyes lit up. Rural atmosphere, bucolic settings - in the
right company they could be tolerable.
He started by telling Theresa of all the wonders of the 20th
century. She suggested he drink less wine.
He explained to her the pleasures of flying. She gently
suggested he learn to drive a chariot.
He told her of the convenience of food dispensing machines. She
explained to him how gardens could be grown.
They fascinated each other.
Cronus made known to Demo that he could now handle sending
Randy back to his own time and place.
Demo explained this to Randy.
Randy looked at Theresa, who looked wide-eyed at Randy.
"No way! I'm here, and here I'll stay!"
Demo looked at them both, nonplused.
He reported the state of events to Cronus. Cronus consulted
with Zeus.
"Ridiculous," Zeus growled. "Ship him out!"
"Absolutely not!" Hera cried. "It's very romantic. Let him
stay."
Being a wise husband, Zeus recanted.
Should you have read of the mysterious disappearance of Randy
Bocksteil, and wondered what happened, you now have the details.
Randy became a mediocre farmer. He learned the rudiments of
hunting, of skinning and quartering deer.
He learned, alas, how to make the potent wine of the region.
When newcomers visit the village, and Randy has sampled his own
wine, he explains to them the wonders of the 20th century.
They suggest he drink less wine.
It was said of Dionysius that, if he did not steal it, he would
do without it.
It was said of Dionysius that, if he did not kill, he would
call the day a waste.
And so it was.
Dionysius came with a band of pirates from a peninsula lying
far to the west. He came at night, landing on the shores of
Greece in the early dawn of day. He killed a soldier guarding
that shore.
Dionysius killed without hatred, killed quickly. Some joyed in
toying with their victims, inflicting pain. They wished to
stretch out the victory. They reveled in the growing fear felt
by their opponent. Watching in glee as their opponent realized
his impending fate and became increasingly desperate, they
delayed the inevitable. Then, when the game began to wear, they
cruelly and slowly mutilated their prey. Eventually, tiring of
the game, they dispatched the helpless victim.
Dionysius' pirate companions were of such nature. He despised
them, traveled with them only for his own ends.
Once they had made shore, dispatched the guard, he left them to
their own devices. He began a sojourn to the mountains. To the
mountains where lived Demo.
Demo pursued the deer in the foothills. They had migrated down
from the mountains during the night. He found their spoor beside
a clear branch whose cold waters they had come to drink.
Demo followed the trail from the branch deeper into the green
copses. The deer were cautious, kept moving. He pursued them as
they drifted toward the distant seaside. At times the wind
shifted, and they caught his scent. They scurried quickly into
the deeper forest.
He moved carefully from tree trunk to tree trunk, keeping the
obscuring bushes between himself and the herd. Finally the
distance was right, and he drew his bow.
Even as the arrow flew the deer began to bolt.
Too late for the buck he had chosen! It fell to the ground with
a shudder as the arrow entered its heart. He moved forward
quickly to bleed the carcass.
Only then did he see the cause for the deers' alarm!
Dionysius stepped from the shadow of a tree trunk, sword in
hand.
"Good shooting. Don't reach for another arrow. I believe I
shall take that buck. Be so kind as to carve it for me. And I
would not try to use knife against sword. At least, not until
the buck has been carved. Then you may try what you like. Lay
down the bow!"
Reluctantly Demo unstrung his bow, placed it on the ground.
I deserve to lose that buck. To have failed to watch, listen
carefully! He stalked angrily to the deer, began cleaning the
meat.
While cutting he watched the robber with careful eyes. If the
fellow dropped his guard! Forlorn hope. It did not happen. Then
he noticed something new.
The birds on the shoreward side became suddenly noisy, then
broke into flight. Their flight was followed only by silence.
Something, or someone, was approaching!
He went on with his task, while his eyes searched feverishly to
see who approached.
She stepped into view at the edge of the small clearing.
Smiling she approached.
"Demo, I was told you hunted here. Ah, what a fine buck! You
never miss, do you?"
"Theresa, go home! Quickly!"
He stood erect, stepped between her and the swordsman.
The latter smiled, swished his sword through the air in
melodramatic gesture. "Not so quickly, my lady. We haven't yet
been properly introduced. Boy, where are your manners?"
Theresa shrank back, took a deep breath, turned toward the
forest.
"You run, the boy dies!" Dionysius' voice was gruff, angry.
Slowly she turned back, eyes wide with fear as she glanced at
Demo.
"Theresa, run! Now!"
She obeyed!
"Boy, you call for your own death!" Dionysius growled angrily.
Dashing into the forest, she ran with all possible speed toward
the village. In the fields at the village's edge she saw her
father with other farmers.
"Demo! He's in danger. A swordsman has him prisoner."
They gathered their tools, and her father his longbow. "Show
us!" her father commanded, grim-faced.
They arrived in time to see Demo toss the buck's haunch at
Dionysius. He fell back to ward it off, even as his sword was
impaled by the meat.
Demo lunged forward, wrestled with Dionysius before the latter
could free his sword. His own knife fell to ground.
Suddenly Dionysius released the sword, dove to the ground and
seized the fallen knife.
He smiled as he stepped toward Demo.
Only then did he note the ring of farmers at the forest's edge.
And most of all he noted the longbow, drawn, in the hands of
Theresa's father.
Dionysius, stopped, bowed. "Here, boy, you'll need this to
finish cutting the meat."
He extended the knife, hilt first.
Demo took it, cautiously, backed off.
The farmers quickly tied their captive, led him back to the
village. A messenger was dispatched, and soldiers came quickly.
Dionysius sojourn had ended