Aphrodite continued to smile as she studied him. “What have the others offered? The usual? Wealth? Power?”
“A slight variation,” said Varian. “One gave a combination of the first two; the other, knowledge.”
“Knowledge! A formidable adversary, that one,” said Aphrodite.
Varian watched her. “When compared to what?” he asked.
Aphrodite touched a clasp at the neck of her gown.
“To this,” she said as the gown fell away in a whispering rush. She stood naked before him and she was truly the most perfect woman he had ever seen. Her skin was ivory and flawless, smooth and supple. Her legs were long, firm; her breasts high and pointed; her stomach flat above a golden triangle equal in brilliance to the blond tresses of her head.
His blood pounded in his temples, and in other places. He struggled to retain his composure, but never had he ever beheld such a vision. Forcing the words between his teeth, he told her that he would have to consider her offer, as well as the others.
Gracefully, she stooped to gather up her gown, and grasping it to her breasts, she backed away into the foliage—a now familiar exit.
Time became an insubstantial thing. It stretched and eddied and dripped like wax about him; he was not conscious of it. He felt lost in a swirl of memories and impressions which could-have-been, but on the other hand. . . .
He marveled at the utter unreality of the experience. The meaning of it. The incomprehensibility. The absurdity. Again the sensation of being in a game came over him, and he attempted to reconcile that, but could not. Curiously, he gave little attention to which of the three offers he would choose.
Until all three appeared once again, each one seeming to be on the verge of giving him a conspiratorial wink.
“We await your choice,” said Hera.
Varian laughed. “Believe it or not, so do I.”
None of them smiled, nor did they reply. It sobered him and he regarded them as dispassionately as possible under the circumstances.
“All right, let me preface my choice with a few words, which concerns the reality of this whole thing. I am a skeptic if you must know. Therefore, I doubt whether or not any of this is really happening. Under actual circumstances, I would opt for the offer of knowledge—I assume you are all aware of each other’s little bargains?—especially since I find all three of you equally ‘fair,’ as the inscription read.”
At this point, Athena’s expression brightened, the hint of a smile appeared at the corners of her full mouth.
“However,” continued Varian, “I cannot make myself believe that this is more than fantasy. Although I do not like the idea of sacrificing one aspect of life for another, I realize that life is indeed a parade of choices, of denials, and sacrifices.”
“Get to the point,” said Hera, who seemed to realize that her offer of power was not going to be the chosen one.
Varian laughed. “The point is simply this. Under these peculiar circumstances, I would have to say that Aphrodite is ‘the fairest’ of all of you.”
There was, for an instant, a total pause—in sound, in breath, in motion. Varian felt a moment of vertigo, which quickly passed, then time seemed to start up again. Aphrodite smiled and stepped forward, and for a moment he thought that it was all real, that she was going to—
He blinked his eyes, and it was finished.
The three women, mysteriously and stunningly beautiful, had disappeared. Vanished more quickly than smoke in a strong breeze. They were simply gone.
Although Raim never spoke, could never speak, he was still a man of great wit and understanding. Many evenings during their journey, he had entertained the others with his talent for mime and impersonation, and with the music he played upon the small flutelike instrument called the arthis. Its playing required the musician to have an elegant dexterity in his fingers, but also a firm control of breath and lips. The tongue must remain depressed in order to achieve proper tone; since Raim’s tongue had been cut out, he was especially adept on the arthis.
It was late evening, after dinner, and the others had said their good nights, having gone to their quarters. The robot had passed through, arrogant and yet accommodating as usual, but had said nothing to Raim. The small, muscular man was feeling restless, and since he could not sleep, he attempted a walk through the levels of the Citadel.
Coming to the lowest levels in the place, he found himself surrounded by the thrumming of great machines—the purposes of which were far beyond his understanding and so he ignored them. Pausing for a rest on the edge of a catwalk spanning two large generators, Raim pulled out his arthis and began to play. The music rose above the hum of the machinery, sounding as if amplified, and echoed throughout the vast chamber. It was a pleasant acoustical effect, prompting him to play louder.
Music was very special to Raim. It was the only kind of sound he was able to create, and he treasured his ability on the arthis. He used his music to communicate his thoughts and his feelings. He poured his soul into the tiny instrument and warmed to its compassionate sounds.
It was while he played that the dark vision came to him.
Out of the shadows of the great machines a large indistinct figure drew up. It was darker than black, yet insubstantial like swirling smoke. Its face was not visible because of the full hood and cloak which covered its form and seemed to flow like a liquid.
The soft notes of a waltzlike tune died in his throat as Raim looked up to see the thing-out-of-nightmare looming over him. In an instant he jumped to his feet and flicked out his shortsword, but was paralyzed as the thing spoke to him.
“Your weapon is useless upon
