“. . . it is a clever little automaton and the other objects are worthless as plunder, my lord Zeus,” said the two-and-a-half-meter-tall blond god.

“Lord of the silver bow, Apollo, do not dismiss such toys as worthless until we know whence they came and why. The balloon you destroyed was no toy.”

“Nor am I a toy,” said Mahnmut. “I came in peace and did not trespass intentionally.”

The gods did a collective double take and murmured amongst themselves.

How tall are these gods? sent Orphu on the tightbeam.

Mahnmut described them quickly.

Not possible, said the Ionian. The human skeletal structure begins to be inefficient at two meters of height, and three meters would be absurd. Lower leg bones would break.

This is Martian gravity, Mahnmut reminded his friend. It’s the worst g-field I’ve ever experienced, but it’s only about a third Earth-normal.

So you think these gods are from Earth? asked Orphu. It hardly seems likely unless . . .

Excuse me, sent Mahnmut. I’m getting busy here.

Zeus chuckled and sat forward on his throne. “So the little toy person can speak the human language.”

“I can,” replied Mahnmut, getting the words from Orphu, although neither moravec knew the proper honorific for the god of all gods, the king of the gods, the lord of the universe. They’d decided not to try.

“The Healers can speak,” snapped Apollo, still addressing Zeus. “They cannot think.”

“I can speak and think,” said Mahnmut.

“Indeed?” said Zeus. “Does the speaking and thinking little person have a name?”

“I am Mahnmut the moravec,” Mahnmut said firmly. “Sailor of the frozen seas of Europa.”

Zeus chuckled, but it was a deep enough rumble to vibrate Mahnmut’s surface material. “Are you now? Who is your father, Mahnmut the moravec?”

It took Mahnmut and Orphu a full two seconds of back and forth tightbeaming to decide on the honest reply. “I have no father, Zeus.”

“You are a toy then,” said Zeus. When the god frowned, his great, white brows almost touched above his sharp nose.

“Not a toy,” said Mahnmut. “Merely a person in a different form. As is my friend here, Orphu of Io, space moravec who works the Io Torus.” He gestured toward the shell and all divine eyes turned on Orphu. It had been Orphu’s insistence to reveal his nature. He said that he wanted to share whatever Mahnmut’s fate would be.

“Another little person, but this one in the form of a broken crab?” said Zeus, not chuckling now.

“Yes,” said Mahnmut. “May I know the names of our captors?”

Zeus hesitated, Apollo remonstrated, but in the end the king of the gods gave an ironic bow and opened his hand toward each god in turn.

“Your captor, as you know, is Apollo, my son. Next to him, doing much of the shouting before you joined our conversation, is Ares. The dark figure behind Ares is my brother Hades, another son of Kronos and Rhea. To my right is my wife’s son, Hephaestus. The royal god standing next to your crab-friend is my brother Poseidon, called here in honor of your arrival. Near Poseidon, with his collar of golden seaweed, is Nereus, also of the deep. Beyond noble Nereus is Hermes, guide and giant killer. There are many more gods . . . and goddesses, I see . . . coming into the Great Hall as we speak, but these seven gods and I shall be your jury.”

“Jury?” said Mahnmut. “My friend Orphu of Io and I have committed no crime against you.”

“On the contrary,” said Zeus with a laugh. He switched to English. “You’ve come in from Jupiter space, little moravec, little robot, most probably with mischief in your heart. It was my daughter Athena and I who brought down your ship and I confess I thought you all destroyed. You’re tough little abominations. But let this be the end of you today.”

“You speak this creature’s language?” Ares demanded of Zeus. “You know this barbarian tongue?”

“Your Father speaks all languages, God of War,” snapped Zeus. “Be silent.”

The massive hall and many mezzanines were filling up quickly with gods and goddesses.

“Have this little dog-man-machine and the legless crab taken away to a sealed room in this hall,” said Zeus. “I will confer with Hera and others who have my ear, and we will decide shortly what to do with them. Take the other two objects to a nearby treasure room. We shall evaluate their worth by and by.”

The gods named Apollo and Nereus approached Mahnmut. The little moravec debated fight and flight—he had a low-voltage laser on his wrist that might surprise the gods for a second or two, and he could run quickly on all fours for short distances, perhaps scurry out of this Great Hall and dive into the caldera lake to hide in its depths—but then Mahnmut glanced over at Orphu, already being lifted effortlessly by four unnamed gods, and he allowed himself to be lifted and carried out of the hall like a big metal doll.

According to Mahnmut’s internal chronometer, they waited in the windowless storage room for thirty-six minutes before their executioner arrived. It was a big space, with walls of marble six feet thick and—Mahnmut’s instruments told him—embedded forcefields that could withstand a low-yield nuclear explosion.

It’s time to trigger the Device, tightbeamed Orphu. Whatever it does, it’s preferable to letting them destroy us without a fight.

I’d trigger it if I could, said Mahnmut. It didn’t have a remote control. And I was too busy building our gondola to jury-rig one.

Lost opportunities, sent Orphu with a rumble. To hell with it. We gave it a good try.

I’m not giving up yet, said Mahnmut. He paced back and forth, feeling around the edge of the metal door through which they’d come in. It was also sealed by forcefields. Perhaps if Orphu still had his arms, he could rip the door free. Perhaps.

What does Shakespeare say about the end of things like this? asked Orphu. Did “Will the Poet” ever bid adieu to the Youth?

Not really, said Mahnmut, feeling the walls with his organic fingers. They parted on pretty sour terms. The relationship sort of petered out when they found they were having sex with the same woman.

Was that a pun? asked Orphu, his voice severe.

Mahnmut was startled into motionless. What?

Never mind.

What does Proust say about all this? asked Mahnmut.

Longtemps, je me suis couche de bonne heure, recited Orphu of Io.

Mahnmut didn’t like French—it always felt like a too-thick oil between his gears—but it was in his database and he could translate this. “A long time, I have laid me down to sleep at an early hour.”

After two minutes twenty-nine seconds, Mahnmut said over the tightbeam, The rest is silence.

The door opened and a goddess two meters tall stepped into the room, closing and sealing the door behind her. She carried a silver ovoid in both hands, its small black ports aimed at both of them. Mahnmut instinctively knew that rushing her would do no good. He backed up until he could reach out and touch Orphu’s shell, knowing full well that the Ionian couldn’t feel the contact.

In English, the goddess said, “My name is Hera and I’ve come to put you foolish, foolish moravecs out of your misery once and for all. I’ve never liked your kind.”

There was a flash and a jolt and an absolute blackness descended.