Zeus, Again

Hera found Zeus drinking alone in the Hit Room, a once biker-bar turned yuppie nightclub, now an indie tap house with a stage.  Local acts played there a few nights a week; the place was usually crawling with college kids and computer nerds from AetherTek.  

It was 1986, a few years before the internet would break into public consciousness.  AetherTek was a major DARPA contractor, the unseen motive force behind the recent advances in technology.  It hired the best, the brightest, drained MIT and CalTech of its wizards before Microsoft and IBM even knew the kids existed.  It was a young company, but a powerful force in Seattle.  

Great energies swirled around AetherTek, perhaps even a touch of… yes, perhaps even She.  It was for this reason Hera had begun her long-procrastinated search for Zeus.  Why she had come here, to this place, this time.

She stood in the damp doorway to surveil the place before entry.  It was a quiet night, and Zeus stood out.  Of course, he’d draw her eye even if surrounded by a crowd of thousands – but here, despite his mortal appearance, it was obvious she’d found him.  At last.

Hera nodded to the bartender, who was chewing a toothpick and loading the dishwasher with glasses.  He looked up, nodded, his gaze slipping away.  As it should be: mortal men did not look upon Hera without explicit permission.

Zeus had his back to her, but he rose smoothly at her approach.  So, nothing wrong with his defenses.  Good.  She smiled slightly, a small worry negated.

He was huge, broad.  Nearly seven feet in height, shoulders half as wide.  The XXXL leather biker’s jacket stretched across taught muscle; he probably had to actively control himself to prevent its seams from bursting.  A dreadful embroidered logo spanned his back: some garish depiction of two nude women straddling a Harley, posed to show their smooth, white butts hovering inches above the seat.  “Haulin Ass!” lettered in blood, with dice, liquor bottle, and a switchblade aligning to form a Power Circle.  She relaxed her human vision; her Sight revealed the intricate structure of protective force laced throughout the design.  It was as subtle in function as it was ugly to see – impressive work.  She doubted Zeus was responsible; his was a more… flamboyant expression of raw power.

From behind: the jacket, jeans, worn boots.  Wallet chain dangling to knee.  Zeus kept his hands loose at his side, torn and weathered cuffs of the jacket barely hiding the massive tendons of his wrist.

She approached silently, but they both knew he was aware.  She circled the small table, glancing sideways to view his profile.  Ragged, unkempt white hair.  Gold loop earring.  And… that face.  The weathered, yet handsome visage she’d known for millennia.  A jolt rocked her spine, she nearly stumbled.  After so long, this again?

And this was not even really Zeus.  Oh, he was as perfect as she could manage.  Created oh, so long ago during the dark times.  And always her faithful golem.  Nobody had suspected.  Nobody!  And after awhile, even she had…

Hera realized she’d drifted off when she found his eyes gazing into hers steadily.  Again, the jolt.  A near visual flash of recognition; confirmation.  He was remembering things as well… she could sense the thoughts sliding and diving beneath the surface of his mind.  So, the connection remained, a bit.  Despite the time, despite the warding power of his jacket.

He smiled.  And daybreak came to Olympus, she knew.  Cascading sheets of glorious Sol broke over the columns, the monuments, and its citizens wept at its return.  Or so she imagined; a quick time zone calculation and she realized it was only 4 AM local time or so – not yet sunrise.  She sighed.  Oh, Zeus.

“Hera,” he rumbled.  His voice was unchanged despite the passage of time.  Hell, despite the ridiculous clothes, he was unchanged.  Again, a small relief.

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.  He gestured at the chair across from his, and she folded herself into it, watching him seat himself after.

“Nice clothes,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh… this?”  She waved a hand over her pale suede lambskin coat, acquired in Rome that morning.  Beneath it she wore Escada jeans, vintage red Converse sneakers, a plain white cotton blouse.

“Well, you fit right in,” he chuckled.  She frowned slightly, not caring what the locals would think, realizing perhaps she should.  It had been awhile since she’d tried moving undetected in human demenses.  Clearly Zeus had more practical recent experience… deciding to track him down was turning out to be an even better move than she’d first thought.

“What will you have to drink?”

The question startled her.  Zeus saw it and grunted, lifted a hand above his shoulder.  The bartender saw and nearly instantly appeared at the god’s shoulder, received whispered instructions, and scurried back to his workspace.

“I ordered you a dirty martini.  The wine in this place is terrible.”

She remained mystified until the drinks came – a Henry Weinhard’s draft for Zeus – but she tasted her drink anyway, made a face.

“You’d hate the wine more.  Trust me.”  Zeus swallowed half of his 20 oz beer in one draught, smacked his lips.  “But beer, well, we need to start importing this stuff pronto.”

“Zeus, you haven’t been back to Olympus in… seventeen centuries?”

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.  “So?  Doesn’t mean I don’t remember.”

She sat back, suddenly lost.  How was she going to do this?  She’d come here thinking she would be the one in control, she’d be calling Zeus back into service.  Instead he seemed to be running her.  This was wrong.

Of course, he picked up on it.  “So, what’s on your mind?  You came here for a reason, Hera.  And I think I know what it is.”

She smiled faintly.  “Really.  So tell me.”

Zeus looked at her sideways, considered.  “No.  I’d rather hear you say it.”

Hera sighed.  Looked around the dark, quiet place.  Posters for Rainier Beer and something else called Olympia.  She frowned at the corrupted spelling, the appropriation of the name for mere marketing purposes…

“Hera, focus.”  He snapped his fingers in front of her face.  It was a small thunderclap; all conversation in the bar ceased for an instant, resumed with a stumble.

Even Hera jumped.  What was wrong with her?

Then she had it.  The realization.  She’d known… no, feared it was true.  But now she knew.  In her immortal bones.  Suddenly her mouth was dry; she took a large sip of the martini, welcomed its burning acidic path to her stomach.

Finally she looked up into his eternally patient eyes.  “You’re Zeus.”

Raised eyebrows.  “Who else would I be?”

“No.  I mean, you’re really him.  But that’s…”

“Impossible.  Yes, I know.”  He turned sideways in his chair, thinking.  Came to a decision, stood.  Towering over her, he held out a giant weathered hand.

“Come.  Let us take the air.”

She rose hesitantly, placing her hand in his (warm, rock-hard, gentle) and together they walked from the Hit Room, the bartender never acknowledging their passage.

The streets of nighttime Seattle in 1986 were quiet, empty.  Pioneer Square had yet to see its rebirth, so vagrants and bombed-out buildings were the scenery.  A light cold drizzle hissed from above, but being gods they were immune to such: they remained as dry and warm as they wished.

They walked together through trash-filled streets, distant harbor sounds coming to them on the sweet night breeze.  It smelled of moss and pine, even here in the city.

“You created me,” he began, “only too perfectly.  What perfection are gods capable of in their endeavors?  Need I answer that?”

Another dozen steps, then,  “Hera, you are incapable of creating imperfection.  After all, you are a god.”  He squeezed her hand then, hard.  A human’s bones would have compressed; the tightness she felt only reinforced his point.

She shook her head.  “No.  I mean, yes, we’re—I’m a god.  But we make mistakes.  Have you even heard the songs they sing about us?  The fuckups have been… legendary.”

He laughed then, the booming sound startling rats and the homeless alike.  “Yes, I’ve heard them sing.  But one thing I have come to realize in my advanced age… infallibility does not imply rationality.  We have free will, we can choose to make mistakes.  Our emotions are… well, god-like in their force.  Take one look at our dysfunctional family, and tell me we do anything that makes sense.”

“Gods, it really is you.”

He rolled his eyes.  “Hera, you made me.  You made me from memories, from anguished memories.  You were grieving.  Death-memories are the most potent of all; even moreso for the gods, for we know death the least.  Dig back to that time… recall your state of mind.  You put yourself into the task.  You pinched off a bit of your god-hood and, ka-blam!”  

Zeus clapped his hands before them, and lightning twisted away to touch the ground.  A thunderclap rolled through the streets, setting off car alarms.  “I was born, again.  As perfect as you could make me.  And, you are so very perfect, my dear.”

A beat of silence as she digested this.

“But at that time,” he continued, “I was but a shadow of Zeus.  For so long you used me as intended, and I was numbly compliant.  Enjoyed the intimacy a bit, even.  But eventually the stirrings of self-direction caused a sort of adolescent rebellion, I suppose.”

She smiled at this, remembering.  “And I cast you out.”

“Yes!  My reward for exploring my nature, for expressing my true self… this.”  He looked up, cast a hand to take in all of human existence.  

They stopped then, turned to face each other.  He took her hands and kissed them gently as she wept.

“Stop crying, my love.  For when a god cries, people die.  This was necessary.  It was only the process of moving among the humans for so long that settled me, recentered me.  And once I was myself, naturally the power returned as well.”

She laughed despite the tears.  “It’s really you,” she repeated.

And he nodded.  “Believe it.” he turned them back to walking, “Or, perhaps it’s easier to accept I am so much like your Zeus that the differences really don’t matter.”  He shrugged.  “I’ll leave that heavy philosophy shit to Metis.”

Hera felt better.  A weight had lifted, her task seemed suddenly endurable.  She squeezed his hand and he squeezed back.

“So”, Zeus said, “tell me what’s troubling you.”

“Athena,” she sighed.

He nodded, unsurprised.  So he really had known all along.

“There’s something wrong with her.  She is not… herself.”

“I know,” he said, as he stopped them at the end of the street, where the new development had been forged.  He gestured for her to look ahead and up.

Before them lay Pioneer Centre, a gleaming white concrete and steel artifact of soaring beauty, erected from former squalor.  Millions of square feet of new retail space, the new Crowne Plaza hotel, and in the center, the thrusting white finger of AetherTek One, the newly dominant skyscraper in Seattle’s skyline.  AetherTek’s blue-neon logo – an owl bearing lightning bolts in its talons – adorned the tower near its 98 story top.  Spotlights sought the heavens, as if taunting Olympus.

Hera paused, honestly afraid for the first time.  How had she not seen?

As if reading her thoughts, he replied.  “Olympus has slept for too long.  Our attention has been scattered.  Human motivations and… madness… have taken root in our family.  It’s time we intervened.”

“What has Athena done?”

“Many things.  Not crimes, not really, not yet.  But she has bested Prometheus on his worst day, passed gifts and boons into mortal hands that they are simply not ready to accept.  Advanced technologies, terrible engines of war, the means to destroy not only themselves, but to strike at primordial forces.  They stand at the cusp of shattering the very foundations of reality.”

She nodded.  It was far worse than she’d believed.  Than she’d conceived.

“Also, she is poised to unleash a Pandora’s gift of unfathomable destructive capabilities… this two-edged sword will both elevate and corrupt mortal will as no prior force.”

He turned to her then, gazed into her eyes so she could see the concern there.

“They call it ‘Internet’.”

She shuddered.  “What shall we do?”

“My dear, need I remind you, you are a god!”  His voice raised, and distant thunder rolled.  “What do gods do when intervention is warranted?”

His words did something.  Another jolt to her spine.  This one was different; she felt invigorated, renewed.  Purpose and determination flooded through her as it had not done in centuries.  Hera’s fingertips crackled with barely suppressed energies, her eyes flashed.  She felt a throaty laugh building, shoving aside the fear, the uncertainty.

She clamped down on the laugh, channeling it instead into her projected Voice.  Hera turned towards the neon owl so high above, and released it.

“Athena!  We come for you!”

The sound was shocking.  It echoed across the Centre, shattering windows.  The neon flickered, went dim, resumed its blue glow, but now one of the owl’s eyes was burned out.  Hera laughed then, and that sound too boomed and reverberated through the city, waking up humans who mistook the noise for an earth tremor.

Zeus smiled. “That’s my girl.”