"Send the pension to his parents,” said Marie-Elysee with uncharacteristic generosity, kindled perhaps by the afterglow. “I believe they're quite poor. After all, dearest, I have you. Send them the medal, too. I certainly don't want the damn thing."
"I exist,” murmured Balabanov, taking a firm grip on Vincent's widow's thin and elegant body, “only to serve you."
And he did, too—over and over and over. In that as in so many other things, he resembled his hero Talleyrand.
At first Vincent's parents were not much grieved by the news of his demise. He'd so thoroughly neglected them that his death seemed the end of somebody who was more than half a stranger.
All that changed when they learned that he'd blown himself up to free a whole world from the grip of a tyrant. Now they recalled the ideals of his childhood, his long-forgotten yearnings to liberate and uplift. Mrs. Khartoum found one of his school notebooks in some rubbish at the bottom of a cupboard, and for a long time she and her husband sat together, staring at a picture he'd drawn of himself with sword and torch.
"Imagine!” whispered his mother, beginning to weep. “All that time. Working himself up at UNIDIP, getting himself sent to Mala-whatever, just so he could carry out his dream of liberating oppressed humanity!"
"And I used to think,” muttered Vincent's father in an agony of contrition, “that he was such a—such a—well, you know. Turd."
When the pension (fattened by Vincent's hero bonus) began arriving, they had another reason to bless him. At last they were able to move out of the Peoria Honeycomb and into a comfortable suburban villa, where at night the soft radioactive glow of Chicago illuminated the northern horizon.
In their new home they set up a kind of altar in a corner of the living room, displaying Vincent's portrait in his diplomatic uniform, along with his medal (Hero of Humanity, Second Class) and a scroll from the Office of Heraldry attesting to his sacrifice.
Their new neighbors were deeply impressed; the Khartoums achieved high status and became quite boring as they recounted over and over (with improvements) words of wisdom that supposedly had issued from the mouth of the young Vincent. Of the years between his childhood and his death—since they knew practically nothing about them—they said little.
"He wanted us to forget him,” sobbed his mother, “so that we wouldn't grieve when he died. But of course, we never did."
This too became part of Vincent's legend, a legend that his parents, even though they'd made up most of it, deeply believed.
Their greatest honor came when the Xluan ambassador arrived, all the way from the embassy at New Great Zimbabwe, to lay a wreath before Vincent's portrait. He and his entourage—squat tripeds, cerise in color, with garlands of tentacles waving around the place where their necks would have been (if they'd had necks)—made an exotic show in the burbs of North Peoria and drew a gaping crowd.
The ambassador laid the wreath; then, addressing Mr. and Mrs. Khartoum, he declared, "!!U nyuknyuk ^zu u|du."
He'd been studying a recent Xluan translation of Shakespeare, and had chosen for Vincent an appropriate epitaph from Macbeth: “Nothing in his life became him like the leaving it."
"I dunno what you said,” replied Mr. Khartoum, “but you can say that again."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Atalanta Loses at the Interpantheonic Trivia Bee by Heather Lindsley
Heather Lindsley's story “Just Do It” appeared in our July 2006 issue. She has also published stories in Strange Horizons, Talking Back, and she has also written and directed several plays. At the moment, she lives in London where she is finishing up a novel based on Norse mythology. Her new story for us also deals with mythology, though perhaps not in the most serious of ways....
Atalanta was doing sit-ups when the goddesses pounded on her door.
"Two hundred thirty-seven,” she said with the exhale, then “Who is it?"
The response was a chorus that sounded to Atalanta like Athenphroditemis.
"Oh,” said Atalanta to herself. “Oh, this cannot be good."
"We heard that,” the chorus said.
"Sorry,” said Atalanta as she opened the door. A blink-inducing divine glow—along with Athena's spear, Artemis’ bow, and Aphrodite's cleavage—made her add quickly, “Oh Great Goddesses, how may I serve you?"
"Trivia bee,” said Athena. “We need a human on the team."
"It's in the rules,” said Aphrodite.
"Stupid rule,” said Artemis.
"Trivia bee?” said Atalanta. “Uh, that isn't really my thing. Shouldn't you ask, I don't know, Medea? Medea's smart."
"She creeps me out,” said Aphrodite.
"And she's a sore loser,” said Artemis.
"And then we wouldn't be the A Team,” said Athena.
"The what?” said Atalanta.
"The A Team,” Athena said. “Our team name. Every team in the trivia bee has a name."
"What about Arachne?” Atalanta ventured, immediately regretting it. She didn't like the look in Athena's storm-gray eyes. There could be lightning.
"She's ... indisposed,” Athena said.
"Just say you'll do it, Atalanta,” said Aphrodite. Atalanta had a hard time separating Aphrodite's charm from the threat.
"Fine, I'll do it,” Atalanta said. “When is it?"
"Now,” said Athena.
* * * *
"Welcome, gods and goddesses, deities and designers, demons and humans, and spirits of all ages, to the Seventeenth Millennial Interpantheonic Trivia Bee!” The Sphinx stalked across an unadorned stage, flicking her tail and the microphone's cord into the same sinuous arc. “I'm glad to see so many teams participating in what's sure to be the most exciting charity event of the season."
"What, this?” said Atalanta. The hall could have been a junior high cafetorium if not for its massive scale and the absence of stale institutional food odors.
"I know it doesn't look like much,” Athena said, testing a dry erase marker on the white board their team was issued when they registered, “but really, it's very prestigious."
"Uh huh.” Atalanta rapped her knuckles against her molded plastic chair. “Stackable. Very nice."
"Forget the hall,” Artemis said. “Forget the chairs. Forget that sticky spot on the floor—"
"What is that sticky spot?” said Atalanta, sliding her sandaled foot away.
"Probably blood. This hall gets used for a lot of stuff. Ritual sacrifices, showdowns between Good and Evil, potlucks.” Artemis leaned closer to the pale green flecked linoleum floor and examined the stain. “Maybe it's gravy."
"Let's call it gravy,” said Atalanta.
"Fine, it's gravy. Now forget the gravy. Just remember it's all about winning."
The Sphinx moved to the edge of the stage. “Before we get started, I'd like to take a moment to welcome back the winner of the last three Interpantheonic Trivia Bees, the Eye of the Tigris: Inanna, Nanna, Utu, and Enheduanna!"
A knot of supporters at the back of the hall broke into enthusiastic applause. The Sumerian sky deities and their priestess rose from their circle of plastic chairs and hefted last year's trophy in the air, eliciting more cheers.
"Oh, please.” Aphrodite rolled her eyes. “What a bunch of show-offs."
"You're just jealous of Inanna's breasts,” Athena said.
"Am not,” said Aphrodite.
"So,” the Sphinx said, “let's have an evening of good fun, good sportsmanship, and remember—” here she indulged in a particularly wide smile, “the decisions of the judges are final."
"Look,” said Athena, pointing past the Sumerians, “Dad's playing."
"Who's with him?” Artemis asked. “I can't see around those Mayans. What is it with agriculture gods and their corn headdresses?"
Athena had to lean back to see. “Apollo and Hermes."
"And who's their human?” asked Artemis.
Aphrodite answered without looking. “Hippomenes."
"Who?” said Athena and Artemis in u
nison.
"Hippomenes.” Aphrodite nudged Atalanta. “You've met him. He's cute, don't you think?"
"Eh.” Atalanta shrugged. “Not really my type. Kinda scrawny. And he throws like a girl."
"You throw like a girl,” said Athena.
"I throw like a....” Atalanta was about to say goddess but remembered that hubris didn't go over well with this crowd. “I throw like a woman,” she finished.
"Nice save,” said Artemis.
"And now,” the Sphinx cleared her throat, “the first question. What is the speed of light in a vacuum expressed as Egyptian royal cubits per second?"
* * * *
"Starting with the easy ones, as usual,” said Apollo. He scrawled numbers across the white board.
"Yeah,” said Zeus, curling his beard around a finger. “Easy ones. Hey, check out the cubits on the Swedish metal bikini team over there."
"Those are Valkyries,” said Hermes. “Don't mess with them."
"Why not? They look like they'd appreciate a good bolt."
"Focus,” said Apollo as he wrote down the last few digits.
"Why?” Zeus leaned back in his chair. “You've got it covered."
"Not if you keep distracting me,” Apollo said. “I almost forgot to carry the one."
"Where's Atalanta?” said Hippomenes. “I can't find her."
"Over there,” said Hermes, “on the other side of the Sumerians and behind the Mayans. See?” Hippomenes just nodded, not taking his eyes off Atalanta once he'd found her in the crowd. “I told you Aphrodite would get her here. Now, are you ready?"
Hippomenes turned back to Hermes. “Are you sure this is going to work?"
"How could she resist?” said Hermes.
"I don't know, kid,” said Zeus, “This is kind of extreme, don't you think?"
"I have to do it,” said Hippomenes. “My heart belongs to her."
"Yeah,” said Zeus, “but there's no need to be so literal about it...."
Hippomenes looked at Hermes and took a deep breath. “Let's go."
"This may hurt a little at first,” Hermes said.
Hippomenes put his hands defensively over his chest. “How much is ‘a little'?"
"Sorry, I'm just messing with you,” said Hermes. “It won't hurt at all now.” He pushed his hand into Hippomenes’ chest. “But I can't guarantee it won't hurt like hell later."
Hermes pulled out a golden apple and held it for a moment before passing it to Hippomenes. Hippomenes turned it in his hands, mesmerized by a surface glowing like rosy liquid gold in sunlight, just transparent enough to reveal the heart within.
"I didn't know it would look like this,” he said, swaying a little.
"Are you sure you want to give it up?” Zeus asked.
Hippomenes didn't answer. He just walked to the edge of their circle and rolled the apple away.
* * * *
"Oooh,” said Aphrodite when she saw the rolling apple. “Shiny!"
"No!” shouted Athena and Artemis as they tackled Aphrodite.
"Ow! Cut it out!” said Aphrodite.
"No golden apples!” Artemis insisted.
"You remember what happened last time,” said Athena.
"Yes, I remember what happened last time, it was a ten-year war, of course I remember! You two harpies are never going to let me forget it."
"Harpies?” said Artemis.
"That's a little harsh, don't you think?” Athena said.
"Yeah,” said Artemis.
"Whatever,” said Aphrodite. “Anyway, the golden apple is obviously for Atalanta."
"How do you know that?” said Artemis.
"My name's on it.” Atalanta took the golden apple Aphrodite offered her.
"There's more writing on the back,” said Athena.
Atalanta turned the apple. “You stand on the peaks of this pulse,” she read. “You live in these chambers.” She thrust the apple at Aphrodite, who refused to take it back.
Artemis peered at the apple. “Yep, that's a heart."
"Anatomically correct, too,” said Athena. “I mean, jamming it into an apple has distorted it a little, but it's all there."
"It's warm,” said Atalanta. “And beating."
"It's a beautiful gesture,” said Aphrodite. “Don't you think?"
"It's Round Two,” the Sphinx announced before Atalanta could answer, “and with a twenty-three-way tie it's still anybody's game. Let's raise the level of difficulty. The question: what does human birth feel like?"
"Oh, no way,” said Artemis.
"That's ambiguous,” protested Athena. “Do they mean the feeling of passing through a birth canal, or the feeling of pushing something through a birth canal?"
"Either way,” said Aphrodite, “ick."
"Well?” Artemis poked Atalanta in the ribs.
Atalanta looked up from the apple. “Well what?"
"What's the answer?” said Athena.
"What was the question?” Atalanta asked, her eyes back on the apple.
* * * *
"Hippomenes?” Apollo said.
"Hey, don't look at me,” he answered.
"Just put ‘Like having your skull cracked open,'” said Zeus.
"Can you see what Team Holy Holy Holy is writing?” Hermes said. “The chick in the blue shawl looks like she's on it."
"Number one, that's cheating,” Apollo said. “And number two, no, I can't see."
"Just put the skull thing,” said Hermes, turning his attention back to Hippomenes. “They're gonna be a tight fit. Better exhale first."
"I have,” said Hippomenes.
"If you can talk you haven't exhaled enough,” said Hermes.
"Fine,” huffed Hippomenes through collapsed cheeks.
"Oh, come on, you're not even trying! Do you want to win her or not?"
Hippomenes blew out the last of the air in his lungs.
"There! Got ‘em!” Hermes gave another golden apple to Hippomenes, who staggered forward and tossed the apple with less accuracy than his previous effort. Hermes redirected the apple with a flick of his wrist, maneuvering it past divine toes, claws, and paws until it bumped into the dusty sandals of Hippomenes’ beloved.
* * * *
Artemis poked at the apple with one finger. “What is that in there, a sponge?"
"Okay, why would he send a sponge?” said Aphrodite. “What's romantic about a sponge?"
"He's trying to be romantic?” asked Artemis with surprise.
"It's not a sponge.” Atalanta showed the apple to Athena.
"You before air,” Athena read. “Lungs."
"What's romantic about lungs?” said Artemis.
"Exactly,” said Atalanta. “What kind of guy sends body parts?” Her eyes widened with the horror of a new idea. “Hey, what if they're not even his? What if these are ex-lover body parts?"
"They are not ex-lover body parts,” declared Aphrodite. “They're his. Given as a pledge of eternal love. I can tell. You should thank him."
"I should find him and kick his ass. Unless of course his ass is already rolling its way over here encased in a golden apple."
"That's silly,” said Aphrodite. “Why would he send his ass?"
"Why would he send his heart and his lungs?” said Atalanta. “It's just weird."
"It's poetic,” Aphrodite said.
"It's creepy,” said Atalanta.
"Would you two keep it down?” hissed Athena. “I can't hear the Sphinx."
"—British pop sensation achieved success by contracting with Ah Puch the Destroyer?” asked the Sphinx.
"Oh, great,” said Artemis. “A gimme for the Mayans."
Athena looked at Aphrodite.
"Typical,” Aphrodite pouted. “You don't listen when I tell you the fifteenth multiplicative perfect number is thirty-nine, but along comes a question about the Spice Girls and you just assume I have the answer at my perfectly manicured fingertips."
"So,” Athena said, “it's the Spice Girls?"
Aphrodite
sighed. “Yes it's the Spice Girls. Of course it's the Spice Girls."
* * * *
"Are you sure it's not Petula Clark?” Apollo asked.
"It's the Spice Girls, I'm telling you,” said Zeus.
"I don't know, I think it might be Petula Clark,” said Apollo.
"Look, I know it's the Spice Girls, because I put a lot of time and effort into ranking them according to who was most deserving of my thunderous Olympic ambrosia. First was—"
"Okay okay, it's the Spice Girls,” said Apollo. “Look, I'm writing it down. Just stop talking about your thunderous Olympic whatever."
"Ambrosia,” said Zeus. “Nectar of the God, baby."
"So Hippomenes,” Hermes said, “you might want to get that image out of your head before we do this."
"I'm trying,” said Hippomenes. “Really."
"And it's best if you're thinking of her,” Hermes said. He rested his palm on Hippomenes’ temple. “But, uh, it might send the wrong impression if you're thinking of her naked."
"Hey, I wanna see,” said Zeus, grabbing Hippomenes’ skull in his meaty palm.
"Ow!” said Hippomenes.
"Wow,” said Zeus. “No wonder you're tossing body parts."
"Just ignore him,” Hermes said, prodding Zeus away, “and think happy thoughts.” He sunk his hand wrist-deep into Hippomenes’ forehead and pulled out a third golden apple. The apple flickered below its surface.
"What is that?” said Zeus. “Lightning?"
"Mostly thoughts,” said Hermes as he put the apple in Hippomenes’ hands, “with a few dreams mixed in to keep it interesting."
Hippomenes moved blindly toward Atalanta. Hermes grabbed him by the tunic.
"Just send her the apple, kid."
Hippomenes stood dazed at the edge of the circle, his eyes locked on Atalanta. He didn't throw the apple—it seemed to leap from his hand, then twisted through the crowd without any guidance from Hermes.
"So,” Apollo whispered to Hermes, “heart, lungs, brain, all thrown away. What's he living on?"
"Hope,” said Hermes.
"What,” said Zeus, “that shabby little thing at the bottom of Pandora's box?"
"Yep,” said Hermes.
FSF, September 2007 Page 7