Book The First Part Three: Athena's Directives, Continued.

Penelope hardly opened her eyes.  There was the merest flutter, and Athena sat back up.  A wave of distortion passed over her, and she shuddered, only slightly, as she became a mirror image of Penelope.

Literally: The bracelet Penelope wore on her left wrist, Athena now wore on her right.  She studied it and wondered, too, why that was: the gods could not exactly impersonate a living person.  There was some meta-rule out there, some logic outside of the universal strings that kept even people such as her, who themselves existed on all universes at once, from being able to duplicate something from another string.

No matter: nobody ever noticed.  She heard the servants coming, and stared down sadly at the woman below her, the one who had so recently hoped she had the strength to overcome her addiction, to finally learn to live in these brave new times.

The door to the bedroom would open in mere seconds, Athena knew.  She held her hands up, imagined or remembered or both a picture of a string far-off, a newborn string full of radiation and heat and light, expanding furiously, the energy bounding all over itself to get someplace else, so rambunctious it could not properly be called energy yet but was instead something more powerful.  She let that string overlap her own existence, she felt the power pulse into her hands and arms, and she leaned down, touching a single beautiful, slender finger -- a finger that was identical to Penelope's own-- to the woman's lips, remembering the soft pulsing heat of them from her kiss moment's ago.

"Farewell, Penelope," she whispered, and the energy flashed from that faroff string that she had found and vaporized the prone woman.

A wisp of smoke was all that remained as the bedroom door opened.  Athena turned and watched as the servant came in.

"My lady," the servant whispered, and then straightened up as she saw what she thought was Penelope, standing.

"Yes?" Athena asked.

This was a good form.  She would be able to hold this form for hours, so like was it to her own.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I thought..." the servant glanced, almost involuntarily, at The Machine, then cast her eyes down.

"It is all right," Athena said.  "I have not used The Machine.  Nor will I need it again."  She mused.  "Not in its present form."

"Yes, ma'am," the servant said.  "I did not mean to intrude, but your son: he wants an audience."

Athena nodded.  She, too, wanted an audience with Telemachus.  "I will see him in the Shroud room," she said.

The servant stayed a moment longer, and then muttered that she would tell him, and withdrew.

Athena spent a few moments more contemplating The Machine.  She understood its workings, of course, seeing it on several levels at once if she chose.  Her eyes darted back and forth as she examined the molecular structure of the porcelain, as she saw the ball bearings hidden inside, as she peered at it from every angle using senses that were a billion times more useful than a mere human's.

It could be used, perhaps.  She would have to think on that.  Telemachus would have to bring it with him on his journey, and though he would not like it, he would have to do so until she had decided whether or not he would need it.

Briefly, her mind cast outwards along this string, along others, finding, seeking, scoping.  I must be careful, she thought, and she found the path way, the link that led to the center of this new cosmos that the gods themselves hesitated to travel.  It had taken her years to get here, to get this close, and she did not want to tip her hand now, but she must keep an eye on the target, too, make sure it had not moved.

There.

She caught a glimpse of the Beginning, the center, and saw him, briefly: he huddled in a cell that seemed not to be a cell.  Trapped, a prisoner, held in comfort but lacking freedom, the man sat and read a book, a true book made of paper and leather.  She saw him look up, and felt the presence of his captor.  She withdrew her consciousness before the other could sense her, but not before she saw the man.... Homer, he was called... glance quickly off to the side, then stare straightforward again.

Do not give it away, mortal, she thought quickly.  She does not know what you have but she will not hesitate to use it if she finds it.

Fully back on this string in this time, she rang for the servants.  They arrived in moments, and she directed them to take The Machine, carefully, and load it into the truck.  She told them to begin loading provisions, as well, food and water and medicine and weapons -- they would need weapons, she knew, and with proper preparations begun, she went to meet Telemachus in the Shroud room.

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