Chapter One – City of the Goddess

Harry Mars knew trouble. As soon as the Eye of Helios, a glistening golden bubble, floated into his garden, he knew it was big trouble.

He was tempted to ignore it. Perhaps the golden bubble would drift away. He had no intention of violating the one law of Helios.

Gunnery Sergeant Harold Marlowe, United States Marine Corps, was a master of war. He had wielded every weapon, blunt and sharp, minuscule and planet-shattering, poison-hand subtle and iron-fist shocking, that Mars had ever stuffed into his arsenal.

He knew surveillance. Each and every one of the quadrillions of denizens of Kabiria was under the surveillance of Helios. In his vast computational cores, Helios might have a million cores dedicated to him, Harry Mars-538, worrying incessantly about the possibility that this one puny human might someday dare to try to interfere with his sole law: Do Not Interfere With Solar Operations.

No. The Eye of Helios was about something else. Harry Mars understood that the golden globe that hovered within sight of him, day and night, in his sleeping chamber or out on the grasslands of the south range or deep in the eastern woods, was a courtesy, reminding him gently that I Am Watching You.

If he had been up to no good, it would have terrified him, but Harry Mars had been a law-abiding citizen of Kabiria for so many decades – almost a century, actually – that this show of courtesy by Helios merely disturbed him.

It was trouble. Since he had been behaving himself, he knew that it must be trouble coming.

He needed only one other clue. The years-long day was nearing an end. It was twilight. Nightfall would be coming soon.

With the night would come Desdemona.

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Harry coughed. He spat into the dust. He pushed his sweat-banded straw hat back on his head, folded his leather gloves under his belt and stood tall outside his front gate, watching her ride the huge white stallion, trailing a cloud of dust.

He recognized the mount by his great size and the steadiness of his gait. It was Shadowfax. Harry grimaced. It was just like her to show up at his ranch, Tennessee, unannounced, riding a Turing 2.0 horse. She knew that he didn't allow post-human horses into Tennessee. Harry Mars believed that it was cruel to design a creature who had the intelligence of Einstein and hooves instead of hands.

Yet here she was.

Shadowfax galloped to a halt. Desdemona vaulted from her saddle and stood, smiling crookedly, ten paces in front of Harry.

Good evening, sir, she whistled.

Good evening, my queen, Harry whistled back.

He held his sweat-soaked hat in his hands.

His Desdemona was yet glorious in her beauty. Her sisters may have had more sweetness in their expressions and a more candid openness in their smiles. They lacked the darkness of her glance and the unhappy rictus in the corner of those plush lips. The baleful quality of his Desdemona disturbed him, because he loved her. He wanted her to be happy, but only a just universe would make Desdemona-538 happy, so Harry Mars had resigned himself to her unhappiness. He had held onto her as long as he could, but in the end, he had let her go. For decades now, he had lived without her.

Desdemona glanced at the Eye of Helios hovering behind Harry's head – the twin of the golden bubble hovering behind her – and pursed her lips, but Harry was addressing Shadowfax.

And good evening to you, sir, he whistled.

Shadowfax pranced, waggled his head and voiced a horse greeting before switching to a sibilant equestrian whistle.

Happy roads, Shadowfax said, with a strong rude overtone.

You are very welcome here, sir, Harry replied, allowing a sarcastic overtone to his whistle. Please do come in. My waters, cool shades, sweet clover and dry shelters are yours to enjoy for many days, if it so please you.

Thanks, Shadowfax replied, still prancing. His flanks were shivering. Harry Mars glanced at his loins and verified that the stallion was in a state of high excitement.

You have arrived, Harry continued, in a special time. As you know, I am a breeder of landrace Arabians. We are going to celebrate one more season of breeding, then we will be emigrating to another world. I have contracts signed for each of the colts who will drop in the spring. Therefore, unfortunately, my robotic horses will be protecting all of my herd.

Desdemona whistled and stepped to the side. Shadowfax bucked. Harry's speech had outraged him. It was offensive to suggest that Shadowfax would desire to mate with a species of such a lower Turing class, even if it were true.

Harry stood calmly, then whistled, You may chase them, sir, but you may not catch them.

The gate closed behind Desdemona and Harry, as they walked, hand-in-arm. They didn't start laughing until the thunder of Shadowfax's hooves had faded, far away on the other side of the high stone wall.

"Oh my god," Desdemona said, laughing. "I knew you’d put that pompous ass in his place, but I never –"

"Well, why did you bring him?"

"I didn't bring him. I rode him, yeah, but it was he who wanted to come."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry replied, but he didn't say anything else. He stored away his resentment of her disregard. It might help him to say, no, to whatever it was that she wanted. As he felt her body warmth on his arm and as he rejoiced in her return in full Desdemonic splendor, he doubted that this little coal of anger would be enough.

"English?" he asked, as they approached the compound. The barns and stables beyond the veranda-wrapped mansion, nestled in its dell, were shaded by towering maples, their normally deep green leaves flushed scarlet in the dying twilight.

"Yeah, I need the practice."

Harry didn't ask why. He wasn't going to make it easy for her.

"Are you hungry? Do you want to shower?"

Desdemona grunted.

"Do you want to see the herd?"

She smiled her crooked smile, while he studied her face, once again so close to his. They both remembered many hours of Harry prattling about his horses.

"Sure, but I don't feel like riding anymore."

Harry whistled up a copter. They hopped over to the grasslands of the southern range. Desdemona admired the herd. After suffering the pent-up frustrations of the genius horse, it was a tonic to her to witness, under SuperSpheric skies, the natural gamboling and frisking, and short, ecstatic dashes of the Arabians in their fields of clover. In such an idyllic setting, she felt easy in her confession that Guan Yin had requested that Desdemona preside at the invocation of a new sister.

“And Paco?”

“I decant him on Sunday. If you remember, he likes a week’s head start.”

“No. I mean, your Paco.”

Desdemona shook her head. "No. No Paco."

Harry thought that might have been it. He was willing to help preside over the invocation of a new Desdemona – despite the years-long, even centuries-long obligations that attending an awakening might lead to – but he’d be damned if he would volunteer, if Desdemona-538 couldn't be bothered to ask. It slowly dawned on him that, no, that was not it. Attending the awakening might be part of it, but that was not it. The trouble was deeper than adopting another Desdemona.

During their skinny dip in the granite quarry, his awareness of the enormity of the trouble slowly grew. As she laughed like the girl who had conquered his heart, five hundred years ago, as they swam and slipped twisting in each other limbs like two sea otters, Harry Mars understood that under the eyes of Helios, Desdemona was sending him a secret message.

As they lay naked, inclined on a cut granite slab, hand-in-hand, and gazed up into the SuperSpheric skies, Harry Mars did not know what Desdemona-538 was planning. He didn't know what she wanted from him. He wasn't even sure who she truly was, anymore. He knew only one thing.

She needed him.

That was all he knew.

That was all he needed to know.

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