"I reveal a deceiver
In the highest seat in the land.
His idle hands, the devil's workshop
Generate more smoke than heat."

- Megadeth, "Kill the King"

Gabrielle awoke with a jerk in a forest clearing, staring straight into the sky. What happened? she wondered, feeling completely confused and at a loss.

I was walking with Mentor, and then... she trailed off as a twinge of pain awoke behind her eyes. "Ow," she stated succinctly, then winced as the effort and sound of her word brought another twinge.

Not speaking, she thought firmly, and was rewarded as the pain began to fade. She slowly sat up, letting her head adjust to the gradual shift in position, and tried to remember what had happened. She watched her foot slide through a small flower, and realized That's right; I'm still a ghost.

She drew a blank as she tried to remember the recent past. She remembered walking into Zeus' throne room, after witnessing the birth and death of stars, of being beside herself and realizing she had a killer ass to match her abs, and then... Walking with Mentor. What happened to me in between those times? she wondered, then winced as another stab of pain erupted between her eyes. And how did I get from there, to... Here?

Hmm, she pondered. That was convenient timing. She thought about walking with Mentor, or more precisely Athena. She rubbed one temple, a vague memory of being struck there by lightning coming to mind, then tried to think once more of what had happened while she was alone with Zeus and once more felt her head begin to throb as soon as she did. Very subtle. Not. So I'm not supposed to remember what happened, she realized. Great. So how am I supposed to know what I'm supposed to do next?

A faint sound of raised voices came from over a rise, and Gabrielle slowly climbed to her feet, a vague memory of the fact that she could walk or sit if she wanted to, despite being insubstantial, flitted briefly across her mind before fading. Alright, she thought, standing up. I remember that I can walk, so lets see where I am. She rose to her feet, and after several abortive lurching attempts, managed to find a gait that would let her walk. Moving with an odd, gliding stride, she headed for the voices, wincing whenever an idle thought turned her attention towards the forbidden time period.

Odd though her stride was, it seemed to cover great distances very quickly, and in no time at all, she reached another clearing, this one filled with a veritable crowd of gods and mortals. Ares, Artemis, Hades, Celesta, Persephone, Aphrodite, Hephaestus, Hermes, Hercules, Iolaus, Autolycus... Xena. she breathed, naming them to herself as she came closer.

"Xena!" Gabrielle called out, but neither she nor the others reacted. "Xena?" she tried again, but to no avail.

Well, this isn't good, she thought. Turning away from the unseeing crowd, Gabrielle faced her unmoving body as it lay beside a gem inlaid golden ball and stared at it, trying to will herself back into it, but without success. That's not good either. Lying down, she tried to position herself so that her spirit overlapped her body, but that failed to achieve the desired results as well.

So I'm invisible, intangible, and incompetent. Wonderful, Gabrielle thought with a snort. I'll bet any of these gods could help me if they could only see me.

"Hello, dead woman talking here!" she called out, waving her arms wildly in front of the unseeing gods, but without noticeable effect. "Great. I spend years wishing the gods wouldn't keep popping up to annoy Xena and me, and the one time I want them to notice me, they ignore me. Typical."

Gabrielle glided over to Xena, who was still maintaining a vigil over her... well, not corpse exactly, but she'd definitely had better days. An idea struck her as she gazed at her friend staring at her unmoving body. Lets see... How did Xena do this when she was dead...? she idly wondered, waving her hands uselessly through her friend's body in a fruitless attempt to get her attention. Let's try... this. She attempted to overlay herself over Xena's form, despite the difference in their size, and tried to insert herself into her body.

After long, frustrating moments, Gabrielle sighed and kicked her foot awkwardly through the log Xena was seated on. I can't get in. Xena's thoughts and her will were too strong to let her insinuate herself into her body, or so it seemed to Gabrielle. How can I tell them that I'm here if I can't... Autolycus!

Grinning, Gabrielle hurried across the clearing to where the King of Thieves was showing off his digital dexterity by marching a gold coin across his knuckles. Sticking the tip of her tongue out of her mouth in concentration, she sank into his body with an effort and strained to insinuate herself.

Autolycus froze as he felt... something. "What the... ?" he began, only to fall silent as he felt himself being pushed aside in his own body. I haven't felt like this since...

A sourceless voice resonated in his head, saying, "Sorry about this, Auto. I need to borrow you for a second."

Oh, gee, thanks, he thought morosely, unable to work his own mouth. Let one dead person inhabit you, and you're marked for life.

The sourceless voice giggled. "Don't worry, Autolycus. You might like this. In fact, you can compare it from both sides."

If he'd been able to control his eyes, he'd have blinked in confusion. As it was he could only watch as his body turned and stiffly stagger-stepped over to where Xena maintained her vigil over Gabrielle's body. "Xena," he heard his voice say, though a good deal higher in pitch than he was used to.

When Xena looked up, Autolycus felt his arms go around her, as his body swept her into an embrace and began kissing the warrior princess passionately. The coin he'd been knuckle-juggling fell unnoticed atop Gabrielle's body as he deepened the kiss. No, no, no! Autolycus cried out, silently. She'll kill me! What are you doing? he demanded, as he felt his tongue insinuate itself into Xena's mouth.

The sourceless voice commanded, "Shut up, and let me enjoy this. I know you are; don't try to tell me you're not." He felt an insubstantial caress in an intimate location showing just how much his body was indeed enjoying the kiss, then the entity controlling him turned its attention fully back to kissing Xena.

Xena's eyes widened as the King of Thieves began kissing her, but to her shock, it felt very much like someone else. As much from shock as from the pleasure of it, she felt her mouth fall open, and his tongue entered her mouth in a way that was very familiar; a kiss she had experienced only once before.

"Autolycus?" Iolaus gasped in shock, watching him as he kissed Xena hungrily, his hands openly wandering. "What are you doing?"

Even Aphrodite was startled as she and the crowd turned to watch the passionate display above Gabrielle's unmoving body.

When the two finally broke for air, Xena whispered, "Gabrielle," and dipped Autolycus, devouring his breath with fervid hunger as she took control and kissed him thoroughly.

"Um," Hades began, slightly embarrassed by the display, but Aphrodite had realized the significance. "Duh," she said. "Gabrielle's in him, Hades. Do the math."

"Oh," he responded, nonplussed. How did I miss her return? "If you're finished, Gabrielle, I'll put you back in your body now."

He waited, watching the kiss continue. "Whenever you're ready."

He waited some more, watching as Xena began returning some of her earlier caresses. "If you're quite through?"

Finally losing his patience when it seemed like she was loosening Autolycus' clothing, he mumbled an incantation and gestured, and suddenly the kiss stopped.

"Don't kill me, don't kill me," Autolycus mumbled over and over like a mantra around the warrior princess' tongue as he suddenly found himself back in control of his body. He clenched his eyes shut and readied himself to face the afterlife as he felt Xena's lips lift from his and her tongue leave his mouth.

Xena turned and unceremoniously dumped him in the dirt before sinking down beside Gabrielle's body and taking one of her hands in her own. "Gabrielle?" she whispered, with a desperate hope in her voice.

With a sudden flash of energy, the armor Gabrielle had been trapped in by Ares dissolved, leaving her clad in her normal travelling gear. The metallic threads connecting her to Hephaestus' machine detached themselves from her body, and retracted back into the orb with a whirling hiss as the gems inset into the platinum ball all began to glow a uniformly brilliant and reassuring green.

Gabrielle's eyes slowly opened, and she looked deeply into Xena's eyes. The corners of her mouth slowly tilted up in the prelude to a smile, and... She screeched, "Ow, ow, ow..."

Xena blinked as Gabrielle hurriedly sat up and began wildly struggling to pull off her boot.

"Gabrielle?" she asked.

"Help me," Gabrielle commanded. She imperiously shoved one booted foot into Xena's chest and ordered, "Get it off... Quick!"

Bemused, Xena obeyed, and with their combined efforts, the recalcitrant boot came off with a creak of overtasked leather. She watched as Gabrielle sighed in immediate relief and frantically began rubbing at her foot. "Ow... That boot was much too tight," she sighed in relieved explanation. "I don't know what happened. It fit just fine before all this happened. Stupid Ares. Trapping me in that armor, and messing up my boots... I ought to..."

Xena looked at the sore foot and slowly counted, "Six toes?"

Gabrielle blushed as she hid the foot beneath her. "Don't look at it!" She winced as the sore foot was stressed by the position. "How in the world did that happen? My mom took care of that a long time ago!"

Aphrodite smirked as she sank down beside the flustered once- again mortal and gently began stroking her tousled hair in a soothing gesture. "Eating ambrosia cures all wounds when it makes you a god, Gabrielle. Even very old ones. Not to mention that both Apollo and Aesclepias worked on making sure you were as good as new. In fact, I think you'll find that between the three of them, you've been healed even more thoroughly than the Well of Canathus in Argolis could have."

The bard blinked, recognizing the reference, as her face took on a thoughtful expression. Leaping to her feet, she hurried into the bushes surrounding the forest clearing.

"She just wants to check something," Aphrodite informed the others, as she became the focus of many curious gazes. "She'll be back in a minute."

From the ground at her feet, Autolycus slowly opened his eyes, relieved to still be alive. Licking his lips, he tasted Xena on his tongue, and marvelled. So that's what she meant when she said I could compare it from both sides.

Further questions or thoughts were interrupted as Gabrielle limped back into the clearing with her skirt disordered and a truly goofy expression on her face. "You can tell her later, sweetie," Aphrodite told her with a grin. "Let it be a surprise."

Gabrielle nodded, but she couldn't quite lose the strange smile that remained plastered across her face.

"So that's it?" Ares demanded. "Everything's back to normal? Game over? End of story? What exactly did the old man do or tell you that made him end it like this?"

"I... don't quite know," Gabrielle admitted, wincing as her thoughts turned to the protected time period. "I don't think I'm supposed to know."

Ares sneered at that denial and peered into her mind, seeking the answer for himself. As he attempted to read the recent past, the barbed energy Athena had woven around her mind grew spikes, and then electrified itself.

Gabrielle and Ares screamed in unison and fell to the ground, wisps of smoke rising from their heads. "Gabrielle!" Xena cried out, tromping on Autolycus as she hurried to her side. "Are you okay?" she demanded, pulling her into a protective embrace.

Ares winced as he sat up, pressing the heel of one hand against his head. "Okay, so maybe she's really not supposed to know."

"Do that again, and I'll make you pay, Ares," Xena snarled, holding Gabrielle tightly in her arms.

"Don't worry, Xena. I'm not into that much pain," Ares winced, shaking his head as it continued to throb. "Not my own, anyway. I need a drink." He snapped his fingers, half expecting it to not work, but his expression showed his relief in the brief moments before he vanished in an eruption of blue fire.

The other gods swiftly departed as well, leaving their well wishes behind, and leaving only the mortals in the clearing. Autolycus and Iolaus shared a look as Hercules walked over to join them. "All's well that ends well, I suppose," the demigod murmured, vaguely dissatisfied with the way things had ended up. "Somehow I was expecting something more... I don't know, just more."

"Don't knock a happy ending, Herc," Iolaus reminded him as they watched Xena begin to kiss Gabrielle again. "It could have ended much worse, and they're both happy this way."

"If only it could have ended with a bang," Autolycus muttered under his breath, savoring the taste of Xena as it lingered on his tongue. "What?" he demanded as they all turned to look at him with disparaging looks. "Like you weren't all thinking the same thing after seeing that kiss?"

The shaft of divine power Gabrielle unleashed in her attempt to undo her godhood was too potent to simply fade away. It burned through the heavens heading further and further from earth, diminishing only slightly in intensity as it incinerated the few particles of dust and space debris it encountered as it went. Glowing with the full weight of a goddess' power, it streaked through space, heading out of the solar system at near light speed.

In the darkness of space an object floated. Near the giant gas planet man would later name for the king of the gods, it hovered in majestic solemnity untouched by the vast emptiness surrounding it. It was a geometrically perfect monolith, the edges sharper than any knife and the faces inhumanly smooth despite the countless impacts of cosmic dust and the long centuries it had remained in orbit near the giant planet and it's circling satellites. Blacker than black, with an albedo so close to zero that it was visible more by what it obscured than by what it reflected, it rested in space, waiting for the moment its' creators had predicted eons before. It had remained there for countless centuries, reading the transmissions of its lesser brethren that maintained a vigil on the inner planets, and performing unknowable tasks as it waited for its moment of destiny to arrive, and would remain doing so for countless more yet to come.

Into this majestic tableau, the shaft of Gabrielle's divine force intruded. The leading edge struck the monolith near the top center of the largest face, splashing briefly against the surface before attempting to continue on its way. The monolith, made of a substance harder than any found on earth outside of Hephaestus' forge, actually managed to resist the shaft of divine energy briefly, but under the assault of the immeasurable might of a goddess, even its' doughty substance began to give way.

Sparks composed of energies not seen since the universe first exploded in the primal "Big Bang" leaked from the heart of the celestial object, giving it an impetus and making it spin slightly in an inanimate attempt to evade the beam of energy that was consuming its substance. The mighty slab slowly rotated, spinning under the increasing pressure of the beam of power, as the monolith was steadily carved in two. Flames appeared to shoot out around the tunnelling beam, formed by the dissolution of the incredibly hard substance under the relentless shaft of might, and the release of the strange energies locked within. With an electronic scream of distortion transmitted across all bands of the spectrum, the titanic monolith fell apart, bisected and slain - if such a thing could be said to have been alive.

Although no one could hear the scream as the alien mechanism died in the cold and lonely vastness of space, the electronic wail of its destruction sent ripples across the fabric of the universe, alerting its' creators that something unexpected had occurred. A replacement was immediately constructed and sent, but it would take the mechanism almost a thousand years to arrive, although the transit time for the replacement would seem but an eyeblink thanks to the effects of relativity.

Forced out of position by the impact of the beam, the burning halves of the monolith spun out of control, one half clipping the ongoing shaft of power burning through space and losing a chunk of its substance, the piece cut off by the still potent beam as it gouged into the fragmented monolith.

Eventually, the beam petered out, but the damage had long since been done. The remains of the monolith, burned, scarred, and fragmented by its might, were caught in the Jovian gravity well and, unable to resist its mighty pull, began the final plunge into the planet's atmosphere.

The flaming debris gained speed as the gravity pulled it down, until by the time it hit the outer edges of the atmosphere, the pieces were engulfed in flame and moving faster and faster, the dead mechanism breaking down as it was consumed by its own erupting energies. The small fragment carved off by the beam, on a slightly different approach vector, was caught and slingshotted around the planet, sent off on a breakneck elliptical course that would bring it back within the solar system in a few millennia. The other pieces weren't so lucky; trapped by the gravity well, they plunged headlong into the turbulent atmosphere of the gas giant, burning and throwing off chunks of alien matter as they decayed, and spitting out multicolored flame as energies unknown to mankind erupted from the decaying alien artifact.

As the pressure mounted around the falling debris and the atmosphere grew thicker, the fragments finally succumbed to the pressures from within and without. With a monumental gout of flame and an eruption of strange energies, they exploded, consuming themselves and a sizable chunk of atmosphere in an enormous pyre that lit up the southern half of the planet, the light shining like a beacon and for a brief time bathing the frozen moon Io in a deep crimson light.

The flame soon died, but the effects lingered. The heat and alien energies, having disturbed the atmosphere and shifted its equilibrium, spawned a storm of mammoth proportions as the air swirled around the vortex left in the wake of the explosion. Over the next few years, the massive storm would grow larger and larger until the crimson blight on the surface of the atmosphere could be seen from a great distance.

The Great Red Spot had been birthed, arising like a phoenix from the funeral pyre of the giant monolith's destruction.

Gabrielle rubbed her temple irritably, and suppressed the wince of pain with practiced skill as she tried to hide her suffering. The headaches have gotten worse.

She chewed on the end of an old quill and squeezed the coin she held in one hand tightly, waiting for the spike of hurt to fade. Slowly exhaling, she made sure that her traveling companion was busy, Xena's focus centered on the small tear in her armor that she was mending. Regretting the necessity, she drank deeply from the skin of Pramnian wine she had purchased in Ainos.

Xena listened to Gabrielle drink, and worried, hiding her concern as she anesthetized herself with the medicinal alcohol. She had examined Gabrielle many times over recent months, both as she lay sleeping and while awake, but had been unable to find the source of her distress - but it was certainly real. Gabrielle had become wan and pale, the near-constant pain and the many sleepless nights that resulted taking their toll on the young woman.

The fact that she hasn't noticed I've been leading us in circles - at about a third our usual speed - isn't reassuring either, Xena noted silently to herself.

Gabrielle winced again, and her hand spasmed tightly shut, gripping the coin she'd found stuck down her cleavage months before painfully as she felt the reeding along the edge bite into her palm. Rubbing the familiar profile on the coin with the ball of her thumb, she tried to use the trick she'd learned to avoid triggering the pain: remembering a world that might have been, and a fate that had not befallen her, and filling her mind with thoughts and ideas that seemed alien, and yet were her very much her own, from an earlier time - thoughts that bypassed the source of the pain.

Gabrielle's mind raced from one thought to the next, the now familiar feel of the gold coin in her hands serving as a focus for her thoughts as she sank deeper into her memories, deeper than the source of the pain. Athena must have intended me to forget, she mused, But I can't. Taking another swig of wine, she mentally added, And it's killing me.

At least if it does, I'll have achieved something, she consoled herself, as her mind began retracing the thoughts of the previous night, constructing the framework of a document that she dare not write down until she had it complete and perfect. After the fiasco of her own experience as a goddess, she knew that the gods would not - could not - aid her in this. I only hope that Xena can move on with her life, and find some sort of happiness once I'm gone.

Xena could only watch Gabrielle's inner turmoil, so clearly written on her expressive features, and worry.

Cyane was bored. Deeply bored.

She set aside her broom and sank down onto the steps leading to the altar and sighed in discontent. Although she had thought serving in Athena's temple would be exciting - especially since she served in the goddess' namesake city of Athens - not even the most devoted of her worshippers were queueing up to enter the temple at this time of night.

Still, I shouldn't complain. After Apollo's "tender" mercies, and his "loving" embraces, serving a boring novitiate in a quiet temple suits me just fine, thank you, Athena. After a few years, I might even be set up in my own temple, one in another big city, like Corinth... She soon became lost in her daydream, picturing a life of power and ease, honored and respected by all, leading the faithful in prayers and counting the wealth and the concurrent power and respect that flowed to her...

So absorbed in her own dreams was she, she didn't notice the small woman carrying a staff entering the temple. The woman didn't linger, she simply dropped a scroll in the offertory and hurriedly left, the heel of her staff tapping softly on the marble as she went.

The novice, abruptly startled by that tapping noise, hurried to the door, but missed the woman as she left. Frowning in disappointment, both at failing in her duties and more importantly in missing something that might have broken the tedium of her chores, she checked the offering.

It was a small scroll, made of good quality vellum, and sealed with an oddly shaped symbol pressed into a blob of green wax. Curious, Cyane looked around. Still no one in sight. Taking a small, thin-bladed knife from within her gown, she carefully heated it in a brazier until even the horn handle was warm, then delicately slid the hot knife horizontally through the wax, keeping the shape of the seal intact, but allowing her to reseal it after she had read the scroll. Smiling at her own cleverness, she sat down and began to read in the middle of the long scroll.

"...this nature of a god's office is best exemplified by an examination of Ares' brushes with mortality - both because of my familiarity with these cases, and because frankly, after a long association with him, I don't care if his weaknesses are exposed.

"When Sisyphus stole his sword, Ares' lost his Office - war - along with his godhood. The power of war, and the mechanisms used by his divine soul to cope with controlling such a heady and bloodthirsty elemental power were summarily stripped away, leaving him with a purely mortal soul... devoid of his powers, and more significantly also devoid of the powers his birth granted him, since his innate godhood had become altered to cope with the additional energies assuming the office of war necessitated. Thereby, he became almost honorable, lacking the twisted energy of war warping his soul and feeding him with its dark power."

The young woman's eyes widened. Fascinating... she eagerly unrolled more and kept reading.

"This is contrasted with the time he lost his power to a parchment ensorcelled by Aphrodite. In that instance, his use of his powers was curtailed, but his soul remained unaffected. Consequently, he remained his usual devious, scheming, dishonorable..."

"I'm disappointed in you Cyane," a resonant voice interrupted her.

The novice looked up... straight into the face of the goddess, Athena. The metal and glass device she wore on the bridge of her nose failed to hide the displeasure lurking in her expressive eyes. "I'm sorry," Cyane whispered contritely. "I was just so bored... and there was no one around, so..." she trailed off, seeing the displeased expression lingering on those noble features.

"You shouldn't read other people's mail, no matter how bored you are," Athena sighed in frustration. "I know your experiences with the gods haven't been the best... which is why I provided you with this position in the first place, but you must apply yourself. You will never accomplish anything if you don't try to learn the lessons you are given, and face the challenges presented."

"Yes, my goddess," the novice muttered, feeling ashamed of herself.

The goddess plucked the scroll from the girl's unresisting fingers, and her eyes widened as she read the title. "How could she...?" she trailed off, then told Cyane, "Besides... this scroll is not for a mortal's eyes... you shouldn't know these things." She waved a hand and vanished in a flash of light.

Cyane felt an odd sucking sensation in her mind, but when she shook her head, she felt fine. Of course, she remembered nothing of her last meeting with the goddess, the scroll, or any other interruption in her boring night, but since she didn't remember it, she couldn't notice it's absence. She sighed in renewed boredom, and wearily got up to resume sweeping, feeling oddly ashamed at having been delinquent in her duties.

Athena reappeared on a darkened Athens street beside Gabrielle - though at first she didn't recognize the mortal. Gabrielle had become pale and washed out, and she moved with the slow, deliberate movements of an almost invalid. "Gabrielle?" she asked hesitantly.

"Hello, Athena," Gabrielle murmured in turn. "Nice to..." she began, only to fall silent as she collapsed at the goddess' feet.

"Oh, bother," Athena muttered, stooping to catch Gabrielle before she could hit the ground. Hefting the unconscious mortal, she cloaked herself and her burden in invisibility, then vanished from the world of men once more, taking the old-seeming young woman with her.

Athena reappeared in one of her abandoned temples, and gently placed Gabrielle on the altar. "Let's see," she murmured to herself, "how you could remember enough to write such a scroll..." She stroked the unconscious mortal's temple, and gently whispered a cantrip, the cadence of her speech matching the motion of her fingertips.

Encouraged by her words, a blunt tendril of energy slowly arose from the center of Gabrielle's forehead, the end swaying gently back and forth as Athena's power sank into the unconscious mortal. Smiling, she encouraged her creation to rise further, her words hypnotic and compelling, and like a snake charmed and enticed by a fakir, it did.

Athena's eyes widened, and her charm almost broke before she could regain control of herself and the spell she was casting. The energy she'd woven into Gabrielle's soul had grown - and evolved.

The simple tendril of power she'd left within Gabrielle's mind had grown, both in length and in complexity. Increasing the tempo of her words, she enticed it forth, watching coil after coil free itself from where it had insinuated itself within the soul of the mortal, the spikes that grew from every inch of the thing flexing and moving and piercing Gabrielle with every motion.

Athena winced as she saw what the spikes she had woven into it as a defense and a disincentive had become: wickedly barbed, with fractalized subspikes that had embedded themselves deeply into Gabrielle's essence and tore at it mercilessly. How could she have survived this? she wondered silently, not daring to interrupt her spell.

When the tail end of the thing finally slipped free, revealing the wicked sting that glittered with lethal power, Athena let her spell fade, and contemplated her creation in both wonder and dismay. I can't believe I did this to her, she shuddered. Those spikes were supposed to protect her from the other gods' curiosity, not... I owe both her and Artemis apologies for this.

Struck by the thought, she examined Gabrielle closely, reading the fabric of her soul, and wincing as she saw how worn and tattered it had become; almost as fragile as it had been when her two parts had been reunited. But wait... How could it have gotten this bad? Surely Zeus would have watched over her... Or Artemis... ? And yet, despite her thoughts, she found no sign of Artemis having re-bonded with her once Chosen, and the only signs of Zeus' influence on her soul were now old.

Whispering under her breath, Athena began another spell, and under the goddess of weavers' influence, Gabrielle's soul slowly began to reknit itself, the damage of months slowly beginning to undo itself as she worked. With the spiritual damage healing, Athena shifted her attention to the physical. Months of constant pain, little sleep, and gallons of Pramnian wine and other less beneficent substances to ease the pain had taken their toll. Athena spent her energy freely, doing her best to repair the damage her failure to check on her creation had done.

And when the pains had all been eased, and the hurts had all been soothed, Athena made one additional alteration. I'll make it right, Gabrielle, Athena promised herself. And I'll send Artemis back to you. Frankly, you need the protection. Leaning over the unconscious mortal, she gently kissed her forehead, both in a blessing and an apology.

Leaving Gabrielle for the moment, and giving both of them time to recover, Athena drew a small ruby from within a belt pouch and contemplated her creation as it shifted and turned on the marble floor. She scowled as the barbed spikes scored the stone it rested on, and quickly made her decision. Lifting the gem into the air, she began to chant.

When Athena fell silent once more, the gem in her hand pulsed with light as the energy creature she had unwittingly created shifted and moved within the confines of its new home. You'll be safe in here until I can decide what to do with you, she told it silently, gently stroking a faceted surface and feeling the purr of contentment coming from within.

Seating herself delicately on the altar next to Gabrielle, Athena sighed. As Gabrielle slowly began to return to consciousness, she apologized, "I'm sorry Gabrielle. The spell I wove was supposed to vanish once the memories it shielded had faded, but as the spell evolved, the spikes that were supposed to keep unwanted intrusion out also served as anchors that reinforced the memories. It was unintentional, but I'm still sorry; I've removed it, and I'll let nature take its course with your memories from here on out. I would have just taken your memories and be done with it, but your soul was too delicate from your travails to chance it - both now and before. It was my mistake to leave you unwatched before, but this time, should you ever need my help, you have but to ask."

With a small gesture, and a brief flicker of white light, Gabrielle vanished, leaving Athena alone in her temple. "Now, how do I explain what happened to Artemis without getting turned into a chicken?" she wondered aloud.

Xena awoke with a start, and abruptly found herself no longer alone. "Gabrielle?" she whispered, shocked and hopeful beyond words at her transformation back to glowing health after months of an agonizing and unstoppable decline. "Are you alright?"

Gabrielle smiled, and stretched languorously. "I'm better than alright," she grinned mischievously. "I'm feeling great. But there's something I have to know," she trailed off, and eyed Xena speculatively.

"Anything," Xena promised, fervently, drawing Gabrielle into her embrace.

"Will you marry me?"

The air was dank, clotted with the memory of old pain and the fading shrieks of tormented souls, unrelieved by even the hope of surcease. The heat was stifling, sapping the will and enervating even the hardiest of visitors. If that combination wasn't miserable enough, it was also dark; only a dim gangrenous glow from the rotting of certain fungi provided any light, and the leprous, patchy glow did little more than make the pools of darkness that lay in the heart of these writhing tunnels through the bowels of the earth all the more foreboding in the pale corpse-light of decay. It was the worst section of Tartarus, a place so foul not even the worst human villain was condemned here... a place so evil that Zeus could not bear to sentence even his overthrown ancestors, the Titans, to this dank hole.

It was here that Athena went, bearing the scroll Gabrielle had left in her temple in hand. She ignored the oppressive and dreary atmosphere, almost used to it after venturing here many times before, and proceeded deeper into the warren of twisting tunnels, moving swiftly and with purpose, ignoring the small movements that lurked at the edge of her vision, and the rock formations twisted like the dreams of madmen into screaming ghoulish visions of horror.

A dull clank reached her sensitive ears, and she gladly increased her pace, eager to reach her destination and escape the fetid stench lingering in the dreary air. Somehow the smell seemed more loathsome every time she came, more redolent of foetor and pain. She had grown used to everything else, but that aroma... She approached the source of the metallic sound, the heat and the ambient light increasing steadily as she went, while the sulfurous smell gradually grew to dominate the lesser stinks hanging in the stagnant air.

"Hello Athena," Hera's grating voice sneered as the goddess entered a cave. "Come to gloat again?" She rattled her chains briefly, but could do no more, her powers drained and safely locked away by the power of the chains forged by Hephaestus that held her pinned to the wall in this place of misery and despair.

"I don't gloat, Hera," Athena explained gently, not giving the deposed Queen of the gods the satisfaction of an angry retort. "Father may not have been the most devoted of husbands, but you tried to overthrow him - with the threats of both Dahak and the one god looming - and you failed, weakening Olympus at a time when unity and strength were most needed. You deserve punishment. Unless by chance you are willing to repent for your behavior?"

A viperous smile was her only response. Turning to the other prisoner, who had remained silent during the brief exchange, the goddess of wisdom asked, "How about you? Nothing to say? Are you finally ready to face the consequences of your actions and redeem yourself?"

"Release me," Hope's voice, once grating, was now sepulchral and raspy with disuse, deep and creaking like a rusty hinge. "When my father..."

"Oh, please," Hera sneered at her fellow prisoner. "That pathetic excuse for a god was no match even for a mortal like Xena, let alone a true god like me. He's deservedly dead... now shut your festering yap, you pathetic half- breed."

Hope snarled angrily while straining at her chains, but could no more escape her chains than Hera. "He is not dead! I can feel him in my soul! And when Dahak frees me, I will feast on your liver, and squeeze the blood from your still-beating black heart into your own putrid mouth, hag," she growled, her voice brittle as old bones. "You will die screaming, looking up into my triumphant eyes as you choke on your own bile!"

Laughing, Hera ignored the threat, having heard - and inflicted - far worse over the long years of her life.

How someone as good as Gabrielle could spawn such a creature, even with Dahak as a father, Athena shook her head, but otherwise ignored the chained and feuding deities as she approached the small pool of lava bubbling across the cave from the prisoners that provided the added light and heat to this chamber far below the surface of the earth. Crouching, she reached into the lava with her free hand, and pulled a head from underneath the surface, lifting the body of the submerged person from the bubbling rock by the hair. "Hello Velaska. Have you repented of your sins yet?"

The self-proclaimed goddess of chaos, still with her blue- white eyes despite her length of time as a goddess, only snarled and spat out a gobbet of congealing magma. "Send your sister to see me, and then maybe we'll talk," she cursed. "I'll break free, and when I have torn out her throat for her failures then..."

She stopped not because she'd repented or changed her mind, but because Athena had pushed her head back under the lava. She personally didn't think Velaska deserved such a harsh punishment, but Artemis held grudges for a very long time... and it wasn't as though the stupid would-be Amazon goddess had ever sought forgiveness or redemption, either of which would release her from her torment.

Sighing in frustration, Athena shook off a few cooling droplets of lava from her hand, then rose to her feet. I always ask, and they always refuse. Even though she knew they would never repent, she still felt obligated to ask - though Hades often reminded her that even this slim chance for repentance that she offered would be rejected, seen by the twisted souls of the prisoners as merely another ploy to increase the torment, rather than the hope for salvation that it truly was.

Sighing, she turned to face the other two prisoners, who had halted their feud long enough to watch the exchange with their fellow inmate. From this angle, she could clearly see both, chained as they were to opposite sides of the yawning opening in the cavern wall... the passageway as dark as the foul hearts of the pair flanking it like living gargoyles. The two chained goddesses sneered in unison, united in their contempt for the once mortal prisoner chained in the lava. When they realized they were agreeing with one another, even if silently, their argument redoubled in intensity, the threats, curses, and imprecations sizzling between them.

The goddess of wisdom strolled blithely into the passageway between the two chained goddesses, blocking the saliva and curses they spat at her without conscious thought. Maybe in a few centuries they'll think of more interesting invective, she mused. Their curses and threats have become almost... pedestrian on my last few visits.

At the end of the final passageway, two torches flanked a door, the wood burning perpetually without being consumed. The clean light of the torches gave off a welcoming glow as she approached the doorway, the sheer mundanity of the torches a welcome respite from the wretched loathsomeness of the rest of this part of Tartarus. Her wards, guards, and various devices, spells, and mystic creatures that acted as protection silently let her pass without a whisper of protest. She gladly stepped through and let the door slide shut behind her, blocking out the muted sounds of cursing that continued coming from the prisoners outside.

As caverns went, the room within was relatively modest; it was barely larger than a small amphitheater. Still, it was good- sized, though the massive pillars of basalt bracing the ceiling, filled a fair proportion of the space.

It was also cluttered, the available space filled with rack after rack of tomes, scrolls, stellae, slabs, objects, and less recognizable things. Devices of Hephaestus' manufacture shared space with those of mortal craftsmen, united in cunning and ingenuity to be sharing this space of honor. Crystals, implements, and tools, salvaged from the sunken island of Atlantis by a grudging Poseidon were scattered through the room, weapons and mundane tools alike stored here, far away from curious hands.

Locked within this repository was also the forbidden knowledge, information too dangerous to leave in the hands of mortals, though information was harder to suppress : the scrolls of prophecy of the priests of Dahak, the sacred texts of the god of the Israelites, a copy of a treatise written by a woman from Ch'in, a book written on human skin by a mad Arab, the Books of Shadows left behind as traps for unwary young girls by a score of demon lords banished from this plane of existence... all gathered here for her sole perusal and safeguarding.

Stored here were also the devices too dangerous or too potent for mortals to be trusted with... the last of the arrogant Atlantean's technology, the weapons of the great designer Daedelus, vials of poison distilled from unearthly substances... weapons and tools forged by man, god, and demon alike, all stored here... for her experimentation and evaluation.

The cavern was Athena's laboratory and workshop. It was a place where she could work undisturbed, free from observation, and free of worry should any of her experiments go awry - she could hardly make this armpit of Tartarus any worse, after all.

Here she collected the items and knowledge too dangerous to keep anywhere else, and indulged her curiosity as she ventured into places best left undisturbed and routinely delved into matters that man was not meant to know. She could give her search for knowledge free rein in this place, testing and experimenting as she explored mysteries and outré avenues of inquiry her fellow gods had no idea even existed... Not even Nike would venture here, rightly fearing the contents more than she loved sharing in her friend's company.

It was here that Athena had created the first Hydra... which one of the captives now chained outside the door had then copied and spread throughout the known world. Here she had bred the first golden hind... using the knowledge gained from examining the centaurs - beings spawned by Ixion's lustful coupling with a cloud shaped like Hera by Zeus - to create a race free of the centaurs' liabilities - no females... a certain anatomical problem making reproduction hard (no pun intended) with human women... an inability to handle alcohol - and ending by giving them a potent power all their own - the blood that could kill a god.

Here she had first conceived of the olive, and had tamed her first owl. Here she had written her first treatise on the nature of the mind, and had experimented on the nature of the bonds between gods and their chosen - and disposed of the bodies of the failures.

And so... here was where she went, bearing Gabrielle's scroll, potentially the most dangerous or the most beneficial information ever to be written on the planet.

She wended her way through the stacks of objects and the racks of scrolls until she stood by her favorite chair. It was a comfortable chair, unlike any seen on Olympus, suitable for sitting in while reading, thinking, or simply contemplating the nature of reality. Unfortunately, she had also begun to think of it as a "lazy boy" since her assistant was so fond of sitting in its padded and cushioned comfort as well...

Sinking into the welcoming depths of her chair, she reclined comfortably and unrolled the scroll to the title as she elevated the footrest. "A Guide for the Newly Divine, A Handbook by Gabrielle of Potadaiea, ex-Goddess of Olympus."

Reseating her glasses on the bridge of her nose, the goddess relaxed and calmly began to read.

Athena didn't move while she perused the long document, muttering occasionally as she pondered some of the more interesting passages. When she had finished, she set the scroll aside on a conveniently positioned end table and leaned back to relax.

Gabrielle is so clever, she mused. If only Artemis would give her to me... though I suppose there's as much chance of that after what I did to her, as Ares giving me Xena, she thought wryly.

Her scroll was thoughtful, logical, informative, and well- reasoned, and looked at the perspective of being a goddess from a purely mortal slant, and offered some fascinating insights into the process of becoming a god. Although in a few places her reasoning was wrong - probably due to her failure to accept an office, and the changes that accompanied it - on the whole, she was perfectly correct, and the insights she detailed provided Athena with an entirely new line of inquiry for an ongoing investigation.

It would also be invaluable for any mortal who consumed ambrosia; and consequently it had to be consigned to this storeroom, for it was far too dangerous to be released to anyone. Had Velaska or Callisto possessed the knowledge contained in the scroll...

Smiling, Athena looked at the glowing ceiling high above her. It will be safe here, until it is needed. But, if Gabrielle's speculation is correct... "Igor!" she called out.

"I keep telling you, that's not my name," a young male voice protested. Her assistant hurried over to her chair, his small frame slipping between the shelves with ease, though his long hair caught once on a carefully tagged ass' jawbone that faintly glowed with power.

Rising, the goddess playfully ruffled his long hair. "I know. Did you change the hydra's litterbox?"

"Yes, Athena," he replied, fixing his hair within the silver circlet then encircled his brow. "And I changed the crystals in the lamps, and I gave Cerberus his water."

"Good." Guiding him with one hand on his back, Athena led the boy over to examine one of her ongoing projects.

Her project sat against a back wall, shielded by massive supports and a structural framework that crackled with periodic discharges of mystical energy. Even should the rest of the mammoth room somehow collapse or be destroyed, the small enclosure her project rested in would survive. The potency of the construction was self-evident, and her assistant unconsciously shivered as he felt the edge of the outermost ring of protective wards.

It was vaguely innocuous at first glance, though in any place other than Athena's laboratory it would certainly appear highly unusual. The central feature was a flawless sealed crystal flagon nearly six feet tall and two feet in diameter. Atlantean crystals, humming with power and glowing a fierce yellow focused their energies on the contents, while rods that Hephaestus had labored over for a solid year quivered as they pointed unerringly at the thing trapped inside.

In the center of the jar hovered a flame - although not exactly. Flame did not spontaneously grow fiery tendrils or smash impotent tentacles of its essence against the polished crystalline walls of its confinement. The foul soul of Dahak, freed when Hercules had slain its mortal form, was caged - and it didn't like it. Not that Athena cared what the demon liked. The wards she had set up ensured that the prisoner locked within the crystal flagon would never escape... until death.

"How's the energy drain?" Athena asked curiously, eyeing the rods' vibrations, and watching Dahak's struggles with a watchful eye.

"Up nearly 70%," her assistant enthused. "Adding the Atlantean crystals to the rods has increased the power output enough to compensate for his struggles. I'm charging a half dozen storage cells per day now."

Making some quick calculations, the goddess nodded her pleasure with the progress. "Excellent. In less than a decade, it's power will be siphoned away, ready for us to use, and this demon will be utterly and irrecoverably dead... forever."

"Do you think..." the young man began hesitantly.

"What is it?" the goddess asked.

"Will Hope get better, once it dies?"

That question actually took Athena by surprise. She hadn't considered the effect the demon-god may be continuing to influence over the imprisoned Hope, despite her claims of "feeling him in her soul." Maybe... "We'll see," Athena smiled. He definitely made an excellent assistant - well worth the small expenditure of power it had taken to recruit him into her service.

Turning away from Dahak's execution chamber, they walked in companionable silence to a small table, isolated from the clutter that filled the rest of the cavern.

A slab of polished grey stone rested here, under a shaft of brilliant light that emanated from nowhere. It looked much like an altar, though it was bare of adornment.

Resting on the slab was a corpse. Though not any ordinary dead body this; it was the corpse of a god.

Strife's body lay pale and naked on the stone slab, the knife wound that had slain him clearly visible in his abdomen. His tissues still stubbornly refused to reknit themselves no matter how she encouraged them. Although his body remained fully intact otherwise and was undecomposed - he was still dead.

Gazing down on his cold flesh, she was struck by the expression on his face. In death, his face looked oddly peaceful, and even younger then his years.

Athena had not intended for something like this to happen when she'd created the golden hind. Strife was such a sweet child, happy, eager to please... before he went to work for his uncle. She shook her head in disgust.

"Fetch the electrodes, Igor, we have work to do."

"My name's not Igor," her assistant reminded her again, "It's SOLAN."

"Once you learn to part the veil of time with your vision, you'll appreciate my humor better," the goddess retorted. "Now get the electrodes... Gabrielle's scroll gave me some ideas. And where's Callisto's body? I know I put it in here somewhere..."

"It's in the back," Xena's son replied, scuttling off to retrieve the necessary devices, "hanging from the minotaur skull."

"Good," Athena began, rubbing her hands together. "Now, let's see what we can do..."

It was the best party anyone on Olympus had ever seen; everyone agreed on that. Aphrodite had outdone herself; the food, the wine, the nectar had all been excellent, and the entertainment... It was unmatched.

Aphrodite was smug as she reclined on her divan, sipping from a goblet of nectar as she gazed down into the giant scrying seashell she'd had her husband install for the party. It had taken a lot of time and effort to bring everything together, but it had all paid off in the end.

Everyone who was anyone had come to the party, from a dozen pantheons or more, so many in fact that the overflow had been compelled to move to the balcony overlooking the abyss of Tartarus to watch the entertainment on Zeus' video screens. Taking a larger drink of her Fuzzy Navel, Aphrodite silently toasted the image of two women snuggling together in the afterglow of their spent passion as she sighed in contentment of a job well done.

Gabrielle had been wrong when she had thought that half of Olympus would be watching them. EVERYONE had watched as the pair finally consummated their love. It had taken years of effort, more trials and tribulations than even Helen had faced (and 'Dite was still majorly bummed about the way that relationship had worked out), and even a half quiver of Cupid's arrows, but the long wait was finally over... And boy, was it worth the wait! I'll be glowing for days after that little performance. I knew Xena would know what to do, but who knew Gabrielle could be so creative?

Despite the general festive mood, not everyone was happy. Hephaestus had been forced to restrain Ares to keep him from interfering (although he had stopped complaining when he became distracted shortly after some nymphs took advantage of his captive state to take advantage of him), and Bacchus and Morpheus had spent most of the party arguing over who had first claim on the bard (though the bacchae had really enjoyed the show - their revelries as they imitated the duo made a floor show in its own right).

Hestia had been the biggest surprise though. She broke down in tears and wept when... Well, when IT finally happened. "She was such a good viwgin," Hestia sobbed. "So pwaiseworthy, even the second time..."

Smiling in delight, Aphrodite rose and hugged her husband. "I love it when a plan comes together," she cooed, snuggling into his powerful embrace.

"It's a girl!"

Athena turned off the viewing crystal, and smiled in satisfaction. "I hope you like my gift, Gabrielle," she whispered. "It's not quite parthenogenesis, but it's close enough."

"It's ALIVE... ALIVE!"

"Are you still hung up on that stupid movie?" Solan demanded. "I almost wish I hadn't figured out how to see the future so I wouldn't know just how bad your sense of humor really is." He muttered under his breath, "Part the veil of time, my ass."

"Whoa, like what happened?" Strife groggily asked. He slowly sat up and squawked in dismay before awkwardly trying to cover his essentials as he discovered his unclothed state. "Auntie Athena? Did we...? Nah, it couldn't be; you're still a virgin, right?" Turning to the young man standing nearby, he asked, "Dude, where's my clothes? Oh, man, Unc's gonna be mucho angry with moi for sleeping on the job, capice? I'm..."

Laughing with an edge of hysteria in her voice, Athena ignored them both as she kept gloating. I've finally done it; I've brought a dead god back to life...

(Note: This timing is based on the Hercules episode where he claims in modern times that it's been 5000 years since Iolaus died. This makes no sense when compared to some of the more recognizable historical figures, but lets give TPTB the benefit of the doubt.)

The wind howled through the trees of the Russian steppe, wailing with the mournful cries of long dead souls as the cold wind blew. This was a haunted place, avoided by the few locals who eked out a living in this blighted land; it was an area long held to be either holy or cursed - or more likely, both.

Though the locals didn't know it, they were exactly right. The restless shade of an ancient shamaness and necromancer lingered in this place, chained to the spot of her defeat at the immaterial hands of the souls of Xena and a tribe of Amazons after being thrown out of the cycle of death and rebirth by the Darsham Naima following her defeat at the hands of Shakti and Arminestra - and the souls of Xena and Gabrielle. On this very spot, thousands of years before, she had been defeated, cut off from her source of power and slain... though her soul refused to accept that fact and face the punishment that her wicked deeds had earned her.

She had lingered here ever since, sustained by the power of her hate, cursing the memory of Xena and all Amazons, and trying futilely to regain enough power to revive her long decayed body. She had been here for so long that her evil had been ingrained into the very soil which her spirit now haunted.

An unusual spot of light in the heavens caught the ghost's attention, causing Alti to break off her curses for the first time in ages. Looking up, she saw a bright point of light streaking ever closer, growing ever larger in the sky.

High above the surface of the earth an object entered the atmosphere and began to burn. It had gone undetected on its collision course with the planet, though it was travelling much faster than most fragments of celestial debris.

The final fragment of the Jovian monolith was nearing its end. It had travelled a long, elliptical journey spinning through space until it's course had intersected with the orbit of the third planet, and now its travels were nearing completion.

The evil spirit looked up as the flaming piece of debris approached, but she couldn't run. She was trapped; chained to the very land that her black soul had blighted for millennia. It could only watch as the flaming object drew ever nearer... Growing closer... and closer... until in a final flaming burst of self-immolation, the Jovian debris exploded directly above the phantom's head.

Alti's ghost screamed in impotent fury as the ravening fireball consumed her wicked soul, her insubstantial voice fading away as the flames of the last remnant of the alien monolith's demise filled the air, smashing down trees for miles around and ensuring that the name Tunguska would be remembered forever.

Warning: foul language ahead!

The man rose from behind his desk as he eagerly welcomed the young woman who entered his office. "You made it! Welcome, Dr. Pappas. I'm honored you agreed to come," he greeted her eagerly, his clipped British accent deepening with the weight of the enthusiasm of his greeting.

"Why, thank you, Professor Falken. The honor is mine. I know my daddy enjoyed his correspondence with you, and I'd do his memory a disservice if I didn't come after your kind invitation."

"Not at all," the professor smiled as he held the back of the chair while she seated herself. He resumed speaking as he went behind his desk, "I've followed your career since your graduation with some interest. Your work disproving the so-called Giza Tablet as a hoax, and your fine monograph on dialect shifting in Dorian poetry is already being hailed as a master work."

Melinda Pappas smiled, though a small blush rouged her cheeks at the praise. "You are much too kind, sir."

"Not a bit of it. In truth," Falken continued as he seated, "it's your success with those two efforts that led me to extend my invitation."

Leaning forward slightly in her chair, Melinda betrayed the depth of her interest. "I know there's been a lot of speculation about this dig that you're overseeing," she began. "I've heard rumors of some anomalous," she drawled, her soft accent stretching the vowels fetchingly, "findings here."

"Anomalous," the professor sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Quite." After a pause to organize his thoughts, he began, "As you might know, the site was discovered near the end of the war, when an off-target artillery shell revealed..." he trailed off, then stood up, inviting her to do the same with small hand gesture. "But it would be far easier to show you."

Rising gracefully, Melinda reclaimed her hat and gloves and followed the professor out of his office and down the hall to a storeroom. He turned on a light and then stepped aside to allow her access as he drew a shrouding tarpaulin from atop a massive table.

"Capstones!" Melinda gasped, staring at the carved stones that interlocked to form a single massive circle. "But that design is almost exclusively Egyptian."

"Quite so," the professor agreed. Moving back to allow her a detailed examination, he absently folded the tarp and set it aside as she slowly walked around the table, examining the carvings minutely.

"Erato, Clio..." Melinda read the names of the two closest muses as she stared into the faces incised into the ancient stones. "The muses."

"And at the center," Falken prodded.

"Guard well this... treasure? hoard? you muses," Melinda slowly read, her fingers tracing the ancient letters, "and protect from destruction these... fruits of your inspiration... that you bestowed upon..." she looked up from her examination and finished the translation as she adjusted her thick glasses, "The Athens City Academy of the Performing Bards." She was understandably breathless as she asked, "Can this possibly be authentic? I thought the Academy was just a myth! And a poorly conceived one at that, since the name would have had to predate Plato, but given the dialect this is written in..."

"So did I," the professor agreed. "And these capstones are just the first of the anomalies we've found. Frankly, we've had a devil of a time keeping reputable archaeologists working on the site; it's just too amazing a combination of finds. As the dig progresses, and more and more unusual artifacts surface, the scholars and archaeologists who are working on it all seem to decide that it must be an elaborate hoax and quit before their reputation can be tarnished."

"But if it's real," Melinda began.

"Yes, indeed," Falken nodded, acknowledging the point. "But I'd be the first to admit that that's a big if. For example," he began, pointing to the stones again, "Note how thin these capstones are. The artillery shell that revealed the digsite exploded almost directly on top of these, and yet the stones remain undamaged. Anomalous indeed."

Melinda nodded silently, her fingers silently stroking the ancient stones, feeling the age of them beneath her finger tips. "And yet, not impossible."

"But improbable," the professor pointed out. "And there's more. One of the first items recovered from the dig site was a letter the alleges that it was written by Homer... THE Homer. Among other things, it also claims that he had been writing under the pseudonym Orion, but that for this repository he felt compelled to use his birthname in order to honor the muses."

Melinda blinked. "I once read a medieval translation of an Arabic text that claimed Homer had worked under a pseudonym when he was young, under the mistaken belief that 'Homer' was insufficiently 'heroic' for writing epic verse."

"The St. Saens scroll. Yes. You felt the scroll to be authentic?"

Slowly, Melinda nodded. "Yes," she drawled, "or to be precise, that the medieval work is. I can't speak for the Arabic work it quoted. That may well have been an embedded falsification that was dutifully transcribed by the monks."

"Do you begin to understand my dilemma, Dr. Pappas? The St. Saens scroll is hardly famous, outside certain circles, nor widely acknowledged as accurate, and yet this letter - virtually the first item recovered - offers independent corroboration for a minor controversy that virtually no one outside a select few people know of; what better 'proof' to shield an elaborate hoax behind? It's simply too perfect. We lost our first archaeologist after he decided that letter was proof of the site being a hoax."

Melinda slowly nodded, "And yet..."

"Exactly." He sighed, then continued, "The second archaeologist left us after the next layer of artifacts was recovered." He silently handed her two ancient pages, carefully mounted between panes of glass. "What do you think of these pages?" he asked.

Examining them minutely, she described, "Rough handwriting. It will take me a bit of time to translate them, but it appears to be a story about Ares."

"No, no," Falken interrupted her. "Forget the writing for the moment. Look at the pages themselves. Do you see the similarities?"

Glancing from one to the other, Melinda slowly nodded. "There's a small inkblot under the name 'Discord' on the second line on both, and there's the same misspelling of the word..."

"Yes, yes," Falken interrupted again. "Put the panes together and hold them up to the light. We mounted the pages this way for precisely this test."

Slowly, Melinda did as instructed, despite her reluctance to expose the ancient text to direct sunlight, and gasped. With the light shining through the ancient pages, she could tell, "They're identical! Absolutely identical! But that's impossible! Movable type wasn't..." she trailed off, and separated the sheets once more, examining them minutely, "but no, these were handwritten, not printed. How did..."

"We don't know," Falken admittedly soberly. "We have a full dozen copies that we've recovered so far that as best we can tell are absolutely identical to each other - identical down to the same discoloration in the source sheet, the same ink stains, the same brush strokes, even the same grain. We've had experts examine the sheets under a microscope, and to the best we're able to determine, they're authentic... And identical in ways that go far beyond simple replication. Aside from some slight differences in the way they've aged, these pages are absolute copies of each other; so absolute that we frankly don't know how we could do something similar with modern materials, let alone with such ancient pieces.

"The letter from 'Homer' that we recovered claims that one morning, the bards at the Academy awoke, and every bard had a copy beside his bed, and that the reason this 'hoard' was created was to prevent Ares from reclaiming them, and destroying them, and all the other works that exposure to these copies of the story had inspired."

Melinda carefully set the mounted sheets down on top of the capstones, and shook her head slowly in mounting disbelief. "I'm beginning to understand your problem keeping personnel. 'Anomalies' are fascinating to read about in the Gazette, but not so fascinating to work on when your name might forever be associated with what turns out to be a wild jest by some prankster."

"Exactly," Falken nodded, then gestured for her to precede him from the office. As they walked down the hall, he elaborated, "Consequently, we've been taking elaborate steps to use photography to document everything, and preserve a record of where things are found in situ. I'm sure it's frustrating our current archaeologist to no end to be forced to move so slowly, but C.H.A.K.R.A.M. is, after all," he smiled, "paying the bills."

"Why, that's a fine idea," Melinda smiled as she followed him down the hall, "It must be fascinating to have such a record of the history of both the site, and the excavation."

"Indubitably," Falken acknowledged, "and given the anomalies that have been found on this excavation, if we're to have any hope of maintaining our credibility, it's absolutely essential. Which brings me to the crux of the matter," he concluded, as he politely held the back of her seat as she seated herself.

"Yes?" Melinda asked politely, as he reclaimed his own chair.

"I want to hire you as our translator. Even setting aside those identical pages, we've found an amazing assortment of scrolls, pages, and pieces of art that need translating. But, even more importantly, since your work debunking the Giza Tablet was published - an item I myself would have sworn was authentic - you've got a very good reputation for sniffing out forgeries. To be frank, I want to hire you for that reputation, as much as for your skills."

"You want me to," Melinda began, her dander beginning to rise.

"Please hear me out," he pleaded. "I don't mean anything untoward by it. Over and above your translations, I just want you to participate in the excavation, and write a paper on whether it's a hoax or not. At this point, after so much uncertainty and headache, I'm not sure that I care which it is, so long as the result is definitive, but if you're unable to reach a determination, simply say so, and defend it, so that we don't become a laughingstock. This dig is too rich to simply ignore, even given the anomalies that keep turning up; if it were otherwise, we'd simply wash our hands of it."

Melinda slowly nodded, his clarification soothing her ruffled feathers. "I see." She thought about her other commitments, and decided she could accept. Smiling, she told him so. "I'll do it. I'm quite excited about the prospect, in all honesty."

"I'm glad to hear it," Falken sighed his relief at her acceptance, and eagerly rose to shake her hand. "I can't wait to show you the dig site. If you're free, I can take you there now and introduce you to the lead archaeologist, and later we can go over the records of the excavations to date."

"Why, certainly," Melinda acceded, "we'll make a day of it."

Together they exited his office, and headed for the site.

The dig site was located on the outskirts of Athens, in an area that had been hit hard by the war. Buildings had been leveled for at least a block in all directions, which was a blessing to the excavation efforts, but a tragedy for those few still living who had been displaced by the destruction. Melinda silently said a prayer for the souls of the slain in the recent unpleasantness as she climbed out of the professor's car.

"I should warn you before we meet the archaeologist that she does take some getting used to," Falken rather haltingly apologized. "She has a good heart, but even so, she can be uncouth, foul, and very, very annoying."

"She?" Melinda asked with some trepidation. It couldn't be...

"Why, yes. Dr. Covington does have a bit of a reputation, but after her work in this country during the war, she's a bit of a local hero. She's been the consummate professional while working for us, and the ministry of antiquities has been very satisfied with her work; it's simplified my life enormously having her aboard."

It had to be her, Melinda breathed slowly, trying to regain her equilibrium. "I see," she said, keeping her inner turmoil well hidden. She followed the professor down an earthen ramp into what had once been the basement of a large building, but now housed the entrance to the excavation.

As they entered the dig area itself, Melinda was impressed by the hum of activity. The actual work area was cordoned off, with an elaborate grid system overlaying the excavation site, and several photographers were busy capturing pictures both wide in scope, and narrow in focus. She had the impression of an overturned anthill as the workers scurried about, busily clearing, cleaning, sorting, and photographing.

The buzz of activity ceased as soon as the workers caught sight of Melinda, and a low susurrus of surprise and awe followed. Across the pit, she could hear a voice cry out in the local dialect, "Hey boss, your girlfriend's here," accompanied by a chorus of snickers, and some rude side comments that Melinda decided it was just as well she couldn't accurately translate. What has Janice been telling these people? she wondered. And then Melinda heard her - her voice rising in a stentorian bellow that rose dramatically above the sudden silence that had fallen.

"God damn it, I don't pay you stinking bastards to stand around doing nothing but make jokes about my sex life! Get back to work before I kick all your asses!"

"I loved ya, Janice, but your language," Melinda murmured to herself.

"Doctor Covington!" Professor Falken called in turn, his voice loud and disapproving as the workers slowly went back to work, prodded by the lash of Covington's sharp tongue. Despite their activity, occasional side glances and snickers continued to come as Melinda followed him around the circumference of the dig.

"Look, I'm sorry about your niece, Falken, but she told me she was eighteen, and considering how drunk I was, I..." Janice rapidly said just as Falken began speaking.

"I want to introduce you to the new transla... What was that about Jenny?" Falken asked.

"Uh... Nothing." Janice fell silent and looked innocent.

I recognize that "butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth" look, Janice Covington, Melinda thought silently, You won't fool me again.

Looking vaguely disturbed, and highly dubious, Falken resumed the introduction. "I want to introduce you to our new translator."

Covington grinned and shifted the unlit stub of her cigar to the other corner of her mouth. "Hiya, Mel."

"Doctor Covington," Melinda replied coolly, pointedly not offering her hand.

Janice winced, recognizing the tone of her voice. Not that it's not deserved after the crap I pulled, she admitted to herself. "Nice to see you again," she said softly.

"Hmm," Melinda made a noncommittal noise, but declined to say the same thing.

"Ah, you know each other," Falken said with surprise. "How marvelous," he said, utterly missing the subtext of the exchange.

"We did some work together in Macedonia," Melinda explained, silently daring Janice to gainsay her.

"And I kinda screwed her over," Janice added, staring right back and enjoying the flush that rose to color Melinda's cheeks at the both literal and figurative truth of that statement. "We didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

"A pity," Falken observed, shaking his head at the foibles of youth. "Well, since you'll be working together again, hopefully you'll have the chance to patch things up. I'm sure you'll enjoy working under Dr. Pappas again."

A nearby worker almost collapsed in hysterics at his words, and for the second time, the worksite ground to a halt as hoots and rude commentary arose as he called out the translation to his fellows.

"Shut the fuck up!" Covington cursed in Greek, rounding on the worker who'd been eavesdropping. "Behave or I'll tell your girlfriend's mother what you've been doing at night."

The worker slowly regained his composure, but he hurried away anyway when he felt like breaking into laughter again.

"God damn idiots," Janice muttered.

"I say," Falken protested. "Rather an uncouth lot. And your own language is atrocious. Can't you maintain some decorum around Dr. Pappas? She is a lady."

"I can't," she began, then stopped. Janice looked as though she'd rather have her teeth pulled, but she grudging admitted, after a pause to spit a sizable glob of phlegm, "It's that god damned S12 we found. It's the source of their amusement. Ever since we found it, I can't get them to just keep working and forget about it."

"S12... S12," Falken murmured. "The catalog number sounds familiar, but I don't believe I remember ever seeing it."

"It was what made your sixth archaeologist resign - Indy knows me, so when he saw it, he took it to be proof of a hoax."

"A sculpture, eh?" Falken asked. Rubbing his chin, he said, "Well, lets see it, shall we?" He paused a moment as he was struck by a thought. "It's not another um, figure of Ares with a chicken, is it?"

Janice pulled off her hat and wearily scratched the back of her head. "Nah; not this one."

Looking vaguely relieved, Falken smiled distractedly. "Good. I'll take a look then."

"You're the boss, but I'll warn you: you won't like it."

Falken snorted at the very idea. "Lead on," he ordered, full of pluckish enthusiasm.

"Right," Janice muttered, rolling her stogie to the other side of the mouth. Turning to a nearby local, she ordered, "Keep it moving; I'm going to show them something in storehouse B."

The foreman leaned in close and whispered something to Janice that Melinda was unable to overhear, Something about her tent?

The punch to the arm she shot back was a bit too hard to be considered friendly, but despite the worker's wince, he didn't lose his grin.

"God damn assholes," Janice muttered, stomping across the dig towards a tent.

"She really does have a good heart," Falken murmured apologetically as he and Melinda hurried to follow. "Really," he repeated, though he sounded a bit strained even to himself.

"We've mainly found documents," Janice explained as she opened the tent flap that covered the entrance to the storehouse. Nodding to the armed guard standing nearby, she waved the other two inside. "Largely preserved in sealed amphora. Mostly plain, some decorated, a couple elaborately so. We're lucky so many of them remain unbroken - I recognize the style from some other digs - definitely low bidder work."

Melinda looked interested, but remained silent as Janice hefted an unsealed crate from a stack of similar crates, differentiated only by the code numbers stenciled on the side, and set it atop a sturdy table. "It's in here," Janice concluded.

Looking eager, Falken opened the top and looked inside, adjusting the shade on an electric light to illuminate the inside of the crate better. The blood immediately drained from his face. "I... see," he stated, staring into the crate.

"I finally gave up on getting the guys to shut up about it," Janice admitted. "I've worked with most of 'em before, and they're good workers, not prone to theft or any of the other crap you sometimes have to deal with from the workers. As long as they keep working, I'm willing to cut 'em some slack when they give me shit about this."

"Yes, the resemblance is," Falken trailed off, looking between the contents of the crate and the archaeologist, then back again.

"May I see, Professor?" Melinda spoke up, surprised at her father's friend's reaction.

Somehow his face grew even paler as he repeated his looks, this time between the crate and his new translator. "Oh, dear," he said simply, before lowering the lid. He opened his mouth, but nothing seemed to come out.

Melinda looked at Janice, who simply shrugged but wouldn't meet her eyes, and bravely stepped forward and opened the crate. Looking inside, she beheld a small statue. Pulling it from its bedding of straw she examined it closely in the harsh artificial light. "Amazing detail."

Janice spat, and muttered, "Yup."

Falken winced and averted his eyes as Melinda examined it in more detail.

"'The Taking of Gabrielle,'" Melinda read the title from where it was incised into the base. "Well," she breathed, her eyes drinking in all the details. "They've got the Amazon top on Gabrielle accurate, and the beads are fairly close, but somehow I don't think Xena's armor looked at all like that - it doesn't seem to provide much coverage; let alone protection."

Snorting, Janice retorted, "I don't remember ever reading that Xena had that particular appendage, either. Puts a whole new spin on the name 'Warrior Princess.' Maybe he should have been called 'Warrior Queen.'"

Melinda clucked her tongue reprovingly. "It's meant to be artificial." She pointed to the upright figure's sculpted thigh. "See? This is one of the straps to hold the phallus in place; the other is covered by this fringe on her skirt, but the belt, here..."

Unnoticed, Falken fled the tent when Melinda pointed out "the Minoan-influenced shape" as she gently stroked a finger along the shaft that connected the two figures, and pointed out the well constructed "Amazon ridge" running along the length of the marital aid. Janice learned more about the evolution of phalli in Mel's impromptu ten minute lecture than she'd learned in a lifetime as an archaeologist and historian, but only really paid attention when Mel's Southern accent vanished mid-sentence.

"... and it was a beautiful ceremony. Gabrielle had a new outfit made, and she was stunning in it. She always looked good in leather, but this one really flattered her figure. You could tell Ephiny was still hung up on her, but she performed the ceremony beautifully, and without a hitch. She did promise to kill me if I ever made her cry, though. That night was very special. I was so glad we waited, even if it did seem like an eternity before we truly expressed our love. It was certainly nothing like... this," Xena murmured as she carefully set the statue down.

Janice slowly pulled the unlit cigar stub from her mouth, "Xena?" she whispered.

"You hurt her, Gabrielle. You hurt her a lot."

"I'm not Gabrielle, Xena. Remember?"

Xena's eyes locked onto Janice's, and her voice was as cold as the ice in her eyes. "I remember everything. I remember finding you stinking drunk in our bed with that trollop. That hurt me almost as much as giving birth when I was Arminestra."

Janice winced, and turned away from her former lover. She was going to respond, but found her mouth speaking without her will, "That was your own fault, Xena. I was asleep at the time. You practically raped poor Shakti - and Janice only did that because she was afraid she would hurt Melinda. Janice loved Mel more than anyone else in the world - and she still does - but she doesn't think she's worthy of her, so she pushed her away before she could find that out for herself. As Aphrodite would have said, she has 'issues,' probably because of her mother leaving her when she was young."

Xena's smile grew as she slowly took off Melinda's glasses and shook her hair free of its confining bun. "I knew you were in there somewhere, Gabrielle." She ignored the panicked look in Janice's eyes above the confident smirk of her lips as she drew her soulmate in for a passionate kiss. "Think we should leave them alone to work it out?"

Gabrielle smiled and patted the statue. "I think so. Now that they both know the truth, they can figure out how to kiss and make up for themselves. Melinda just has to remember to make Janice grovel sufficiently, and Janice..."

What? Janice thought, unable to speak as her body was beyond her control.

"Janice has to remember that on our wedding night, Xena wasn't the one wearing the strap-on."

Janice blinked, and abruptly found herself holding onto Melinda, in control of themselves once more.

"Was that true?" Melinda asked quietly, tightening her grip on the shorter woman.

"How would I know? I don't even know if Gabrielle owned a strap-on, let alone used it on their wedding night."

Melinda smiled as tears rose in her eyes, and she laughed as she swept the smaller woman into a crushing embrace. "You dear, sweet, fool."

"I'm willing to grovel," Janice muttered into Melinda's breasts.

"Good. Now tell me you're an idiot."

"You're an idiot."

Melinda felt a weight and tension that had been crushing her spirit ever since their breakup begin to dissolve as she hugged the smaller woman tightly against her. "Janice?"

"Yes?"

"Know any leatherworkers? This statue has given me some ideas, and after all, if what Gabrielle said is true, it is your turn."

"Yes, dear," Janice murmured, looking forward to grovelling before the Southerner.

THE END

At long, long last...