Prometheus Wakens - 8. Chapter 8: Athena Visits

Chapter 8: Athena Visits

The boy who was waiting on the patio beside the breakfast table had golden blond hair, but what drew my attention was the intense and vivid green-gold-brown of his eyes. They looked as if they would glow in the dark. Privately, I looked forward to testing that hypothesis.

“Good morning, Hazel,” I said. “Am I correct?”

“Yes, Lucas, I am Corylus avellana, the common hazel.”

“Oh, there is nothing at all common about you,” I said.

He blushed, but had presence of mind to gesture to the table where breakfast was laid.

After breakfast, Hazel and I walked to the coffee groves. On the way, he told me about our coffee. “Most coffee is grown within thirty degrees of the equator. We are at a higher latitude, but the weather here is controlled.

“I think,” he said. “I think it’s something that Ginkgo and Apollo are responsible for. Or perhaps because Demeter and Hebe were for a while, girlfriends.”

I saw the boys working in a tightly knit group. “Why are they all in that grove?”

“There are six sections to the coffee plantation; one section reaches maturity every sixty days or so. That was Hebe’s secret for growing the best coffee in the world! They are harvesting that section. Afterwards, we will decide which trees need to be discarded, and will plant new trees in their place.”

His references to Hebe had not created the pain I’d seen in Olive. I was hopeful this meant the boys were getting over the funk I’d seen, and were coming to life, again.

“Do any Dryads live in coffee trees?” I asked.

“Not here. The bushes never grow large enough, nor last long enough. We replace them every ten years on average. Some think that is the secret of the coffee.”

Hazel and I joined the boys in pulling red berries from the coffee trees—which, as he’d said, were large shrubs rather than trees. We carried baskets full of berries into a huge building and dumped them on the floor of a large room.

“Mundanes from the village will complete the processing. They remove the seeds from the berries and ferment them in big vats for a few days. Afterwards, they roast them in drums over charcoal fires. The hulls will fall off and be winnowed.”

As he spoke, I realized that the figures in the deeper recesses of the room were men and women using what looked like snow shovels. They were moving the beans around, turning them over, and scooping some into baskets, which they carried away.

“I should speak to them,” I said, and gestured toward the mundanes.

After some initial trepidation (on the part both of the mundanes and of me) I learned that jobs were inherited, passed from father to son and mother to daughter, as they had been for hundreds of years. I thought of my reality, in which once that had been true. I thought of the family farms that had been destroyed by huge agribusinesses. I thought of the skills of craftsmen, once passed through generations, which had been destroyed by the assembly line, and wondered what had gone wrong.

The mundanes insisted on addressing me as “My Lord,” but they seemed pleased that I would be working alongside the dryads. I made it clear not only that I liked a good cup of coffee, but also that I hoped by working together we could maintain the reputation of the estate. I think it was an effective speech.

Hazel and I worked a while longer in the coffee grove, and then popped back to the house for lunch. For years I had not drunk coffee other than a cup in the morning, but was pleased that someone thought to serve coffee with lunch. Hazel consulted a ledger, and talked about the roast, the date of the roast, the type of bean, and the grove. I resolved to ask for different roasts each morning from now on, and asked that the ledger be brought to the breakfast table each day.

I was brushing my teeth after lunch when Hazel popped into the bathroom. After cleaning the toothpaste from my chin, I glared at Hazel, but made sure he knew it was in fun and that I wasn’t really upset by his interruption.

“Athena asks if she might visit,” he said.

“When?”

“As soon as convenient—”

“Five minutes,” I said, throwing off the tunic I was wearing. “Please ask someone else to prepare refreshments on the patio and get a shower yourself, too.” The last words were spoken over the rush of water in the shower.

Hazel nodded, removed his tunic, and joined me in the shower. Damn, I thought. He’s cute and I don’t need an erection at this moment! With that thought, my penis detumesced. Wow, new power, I thought. Not sure it’s very useful—or wanted, though. I stepped from the shower, dried myself, and put on a clean tunic and sandals before popping to the patio.

Refreshments were on the table. Two dryads I didn’t recognize were standing close by. “Thank you for coming so quickly,” I said. “Who are you?”

“Hickory,” they said in unison.

“Please—”

Before I could complete the sentence, three things happened. Hazel popped beside me, the nearby oak trees rustled their branches, and Athena appeared.

Athena’s hair was in tight, brown curls, held close to her scalp with a cloth band. She wore a dress with many folds that covered her shoulders and dropped nearly to her sandal-shod feet. The aegis was thrown across her right shoulder, draped across her chest, and held in place by a cord around her waist. Not a shield, as I had first imagined, but what appeared to be heavy leather, covered with gold, and embossed with the head of Medusa. Athena appeared to be in her late teens, not that it meant anything . . . or did it? Another puzzle for me.

Hazel and the two Hickories knelt and bowed their heads. I looked her in the eye and said, “Be welcome, goddess of Wisdom and Just Warfare.”

Athena smiled, and said, “Apollo said you needed advice in both categories. I am honored that you would ask, and am pleased to offer.”

After we sat, and the boys served, I asked, “I suppose it’s unnecessary to ask if you know of Zeus’ apparent displeasure with my plan?”

Athena chuckled and then said, “I wasn’t born, full armored and adult from his forehead as they suggest in your reality, but he is my father and I am his favorite daughter.”

She winked. “Given the number of bastards he has sired, that’s saying quite a lot, I think. Yes, I know of his edict, but I also know what Mars said, and why he said it.

“Mars was right—we need someone to kick us in the . . . backside and shake us up, else we all will perish.”

“There are stories in my reality,” I said. “Stories that may be based on this reality or which may have helped form this reality—stories that tell of jealousies among the gods, competitions in which mortals were foils asked to determine who was the most beautiful, who would be the patron of a certain city—”

“The city was Athens, and the contest was between Apollo and me,” Athena interrupted.

I flushed, and she laughed. “I know the story; it is only partly true,” she said. “And Apollo and I are—we are closer now than then, partly because we are among the few of the oldest gods who remain. We have no time for enmity or jealousy, and neither of us expects to be named generals in your army.

“You were wondering, weren’t you?” she asked.

I nodded. “I am sorry if I doubted either of you, but, yes, I was wondering.”

“Mars said I was more a catalyst than hero. Do you think so, as well?” I asked.

Athena narrowed her eyes as she thought. “That is the most likely scenario, especially since that Mars has spoken it. And more so now that you have spoken it.”

Oh, oh! I thought. If the words of the gods create reality, how much more so, mine.

“I need to watch my mouth,” I said.

Athena nodded. “You do, indeed.” Then she laughed. The oaks rustled. They got the joke, which meant that all the boys did. I blushed. Athena was kind enough to pretend not to notice, although I saw one of the Hickories nudge Hazel.

“What did Apollo tell you about my plan?”

“He said you were going to strike several simultaneous blows at the branches of the Medusa that has claimed your reality, to find the weakest link, and then focus your efforts, there. It’s a good plan, as far as it goes.”

“It’s merely a broad outline,” I said. “Mars said he’d help with tactical details, but that I needed strategic advice. For example, am I likely to face any divine enemies? Will those gods who do not side with me, oppose me?”

Athena seemed taken aback by that, and thought for a while before answering. “It depends, I think, on Zeus. If he lets it be known that he actively opposes what you are doing, there may be some who may oppose you directly, but more likely they will oppose you through surrogates.”

“One more factor in an already complicated puzzle,” I said.

“I will think more on that,” Athena said.

But then, she warned me about spreading myself too thin. “Sun Tzu lived in this reality as well as yours. Sometimes, his maxims are about as useful as the predictions of the oracles—that is to say, not at all. On the other hand, much of what he said makes sense. I’ve never compared his two texts, but think it might be interesting to do so. His Maxim 1-10 begins, ‘By method and disciplining are to be understood the marshaling of the army in its proper subdivisions and the graduations of rank among the officers.’

“You must learn to delegate.”

I described my plan to attack five different targets or arms of the Medusa. “None of these will be large attacks, nor will they require more than a few dozen people, I don’t think. Nor will they all require soldiers. To attack a church, I need only show that its leadership are involved in the drug trade. To attack a drug network, I will need soldiers to overcome guards and workers at a drug-processing laboratory in the jungles, and destroy it. To attack lobbyists, I need to show that they are spending money that has been laundered through drug accounts, usually using bit-coins. To attack government employees and politicians, I need only show—”

I stopped talking and thought for a minute. “I really haven’t thought this out very well, have I?”

Athena laughed, but she wasn’t mocking me. “That’s why you called me,” she said. “Strategy, remember?”

I determined to listen.

“You told Apollo that they were all dependent upon the money that came from the drug trade. That is the critical link. Cut off the money and drugs, and the Medusa is paralyzed, herself turned to stone.

“The most significant drug trade in your reality runs from growers of poppies and cocoa through shippers to processors, through smugglers to markets, through middlemen to distributors which include street-corner salesmen.

“You look surprised,” she said.

“You know quite a bit about it,” I said.

“What Zeus doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” she said. “I’m trying to help the new United Colonies in this reality to become ‘These United States.’ I want to get them off on the right foot and to avoid some of the mistakes made in other realities. I’ve done quite a bit of research in your reality.”

I nodded. “Where might we attack the drug trade?”

“I would remove one target from the list, immediately,” she said. “The pharmaceutical companies which manufacture pseudoephedrine have managed to bribe too many legislators in order to keep their drug classified as over-the-counter for the sake of their profits—and the public welfare be damned. The availability of the raw materials and the ease of manufacturing, have made methamphetamine production and distribution entirely too diffuse to attack. If, however, you can shut down some of the corruption in your congress and state legislatures, you might get them to regulate the raw materials. That’s a long-term project, though.

“Likewise, marijuana is grown in too many places, and legal either for medical or recreational use in several states. It’s also diffuse.

“About 450 tons of heroin flow into the global market each year. Opium poppies from which the heroin is made are grown primarily in Afghanistan, with some grown in Burma and Laos. Processing is done close to the source. The product is shipped overtly and with the complicity both of the governments involved and of legitimate shipping companies through Iran, Central Asia, Russia, and Turkey to Europe and the United States. Some is shipped through Africa; a little bit ends up in Australia. I can’t immediately think of a central weak spot except the poppy fields.”

“No,” I said, “I cannot see us destroying enough of them to make a difference. If we did, it would cause starvation among thousands of peasants who depend on the poppy harvest. No, that’s not the answer . . . at least, not initially.” I added this to my to do list.

Athena thought for a moment, and then continued her lecture. “The trip cocoa leaves make to the labs is much shorter, as is the trip to the users. Most cocoa is grown in the Andean Region of South America. A grower will process nearly 4,000 pounds of leaves to create about six to seven pounds of concentrate that they call pasta. The pasta is further processed in laboratories—”

“The jungle laboratories,” I interrupted.

The laboratories may be in jungles, but are also in cities,” Athena corrected me. “The largest single amount of the finished product—nearly 500 tons each year—is shipped to the United States, whose 55 million users account for more than half of the worldwide consumption of illegal drugs.”

She must have seen something in my expression, because she stopped speaking.

“You evoke memories,” I said. “Memories that are unpleasant. But, you are correct. Please, continue.”

“The finished drugs leave the laboratories by many different routes which, like the branches of a tree, split over and over again until the drugs reach street-level distributors and their customers.

“The weakest link is the laboratories. They are fixed targets. They are expensive to set up and operate. Their locations can be determined easily. And many are staffed by children, sold into slavery by their parents. The children don’t live long . . . they are poisoned by the chemicals they use and exposure to the drugs. By rescuing children and destroying the labs you would be accomplishing two missions. Further, cocaine brings in much more money in the USA than does heroine, and it’s the drug trade in the USA that you have to attack.”

“Sun Tzu might not approve of having more than one objective,” I said, thinking of trying both to shut down laboratories and rescue children. “Certainly the army doctrine of unity of purpose . . . “ I sensed Athena’s displeasure.

“I wasn’t making light of the problem!” I protested. “That is only one factor to be considered.”

Athena relaxed. “Please forgive me,” she said. “I think that you and I just reached a place from which we can talk and plan as equals. I was not deliberately testing you, nor were you deliberately goading me. Yet we took the other’s measure. I am pleased.”

“I am pleased, as well,” I said. “And, although I suggested we limit our objectives, I think we must add a third objective.

“As important as the laboratories are, the transportation routes are also critical, and more violence occurs along the transportation routes than anywhere else. If we can strike at a place that will cripple both a laboratory and a transportation node . . . a seaport, for example.”

Athena nodded. “A further complication but one which, I believe will yield a significant dividend.”

We continued to talk, more and more freely. Neither took exception when the other took exception. Ideas bounced back and fourth, and my stacks of paper grew. It was not until I could not see to write that I realized how much time had passed.

Athena declined my offer of supper. “I need to get back to Philadelphia. While I can slip in time, doing so may create paradoxes I’d rather avoid at this point. I will return in a few days.”

I thanked her and stood when she did. She disappeared. I looked at the pages of notes I’d taken, and wished for a MacBook Pro^®.

The showers Hazel and I had taken just before Athena arrived were cursory, so we took a longer shower before supper. We soaped and scrubbed one another as might old friends—sensually and languidly—and both, I believe, enjoyed it.

Over supper, we talked about what Athena had said, and the conclusions that had been reached. I asked that the papers be put in what I was beginning to call the conference room.

Hazel’s eyes did not, after all, glow in the dark, but his cheeks flushed brightly when I brought him to climax. I suspect mine were just as bright shortly after that.