“Raim! You’re outta your mind! He’s the only friend, the best friend, I’ve ever had. Every man should wish to have a friend like him. By Krell! He’s like a son to me!” Stoor laughed nervously, but the oddly attired man called Zeus did not smile.
“Precisely, Stoor. Precisely.”
“Huh?”
“In order for a sacrifice to mean anything, the item being relinquished must be of some intrinsic worth, am I not correct?”
“Some intrinsic worth? A human life? Of a friend, yet? I’d say it had worth!”
“Well, that is my price. . . . You give me Raim, and I will see that the rest of you will win your contest against Guardian, and be free of this place.”
“Ridiculous. What do you want with Raim? What will you do with him?”
Zeus grinned. “Why, kill him, of course!”
Stoor almost turned away from the man, but remembered that one never turns his back on a man with a weapon. “You’re insane!” He spit out the words, almost tempted to attack the man and be done with the confrontation. He could feel the resentment building in him, and he was tired of talking.
“Insane? Hardly. Think on this, Stoor: Would not Raim gladly lay down his life for you?”
“What?”
“Raim. Is he not indebted to you? Didn’t you tell everyone that you saved his life long ago and that he is forever in your service because of it?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then he, in a sense, owes you his life. I am certain that if you asked him to sacrifice himself for the good of the others, he would comply without compunction.”
“Perhaps he would . . . but that’s his decision to make, not mine.”
“Is it? You decided years ago to save his life. You have already exerted your control over his life or death; there is no reason to relinquish it now.”
“No. It’s not right!”
“There is no right or wrong. There is only what is. Asking Raim is only a formality. You know that.”
“And you’re askin’ me to act in his place. Give the word, so to speak?”
“It is necessary that it be done that way, believe me. What we are talking about is an age-old ethical question. And its answer must be reevaluated and reanswered every time it is asked anew.”
“What are you talkin’ about?”
Zeus looked away, for a moment, as if remembering something. “Once a man named Agamemnon was asked to sacrifice his daughter. . . .”
Stoor snapped up his head, staring intently at Zeus. Of course! The man’s words had sprung the memory. He knew now where he had heard the name before. . . .
“. . . and the daughter’s name,” said Stoor, “was Iphigenia!”
Now Zeus looked startled. “You know? How could you?”
Stoor smiled. “Only the way I heard it, she was killed for somebody named Artemis. That’s not one of your other names, is it?”
“No, but she is a friend of mine. We do each other favors.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“I am... surprised that you know of us,” said Zeus, now regaining his composure. “But that does not change my request.”
Stoor smiled. “I’ll give you my answer, but first you’ll have to level with me.”
“Level?”
“Tell me the truth, all right?”
“I cannot bargain.”
“Then I cannot answer,” said Stoor.
A silence passed between them and Zeus grew impatient. “All right, what is it you want to know?”
“This isn’t real, is it?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean this is some kind of illusion, some kind of game or something, right?”
“What do you mean by that?” Zeus maintained his calm, but there was a suggestion of unease in his voice.
“I mean you aren’t really prepared to give us our means of escape, just like you aren’t really going to take Raim’s life if I give it to you . . . because you don’t really exist!”
Zeus grinned. “Old Stoor. You are a tough old man. . . .”
“I’m right, then!? I’m right, ain’t I?”
“In a sense.”
“What in Krell’s that mean?”
“That I do not have the power as you say, that this may not . . . be as it seems.”
“Sounds like what you want more than anything is some information. Some knowledge. . . .”
Zeus nodded his head. “Please tell me now! What would you do? Would you make the sacrifice?”
Stoor studied the face of the one who claimed to be
Zeus. There was something about the man’s eyes, or whatever thing it was that masqueraded as a man, something which needed an answer. The question was burning into him now: Why? What was going on here?
“Please give me your answer,” said Zeus.
“All right,” said Stoor. “I would sacrifice him. . . .” Under certain conditions, thought Stoor. He was not a superstitious man, nor did he believe in the ancient legends, but there was a kernel of fact, or wisdom actually, to be found in almost all the old fables. He answered as he had, as much from curiosity to see what would come next as from his conviction that it was the correct answer.
Zeus nodded and stepped back toward the solid wall. “Thank you,” he said. “Thank you very much. I will leave you now.”
“Wait!” said Stoor, and the figure did pause for a moment before fading through the wall into nothingness.
Naturally, Tessa was not excluded from the series of odd encounters which befell the group. She was in the Data Retrieval chamber, trying to learn the many uses of the machines and equipment, when a strangely attired man appeared to her. He wore the armor of a primitive warrior, yet his face reflected intelligence, even cunning.
She was not certain from where he had come. It seemed that in a moment he was simply there. Under one arm he carried an ornately carved box of adamantine, ebony, ivory, and other exotic woods. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, and even though she was startled, even frightened by the sudden appearance of the man, she found that she had difficulty taking her eyes from
