--to within an inch of
your damned immortal life. Just remember that, buster."

And then, the smile still set on his face, he had turned and swaggered
away.

Forrester had thought of Vulcan.

Mars wasn't a killer, in spite of his bully-boy tactics. He had too good
a military mind to discipline a valuable man to death. But he was more
than willing to go as near to that point as possible, if he thought it
justified. And what he allowed as justification resided in a code all
his own.

"Right" was what was good for Mars. "Wrong" was what disturbed him. That
was the code, as simple, as black and white, as you could ask for.
Vulcan was one of the results.

Vulcan had been Venus' lawful husband, as far as the laws of the Gods
went. That didn't matter to Mars--when he wanted Venus. He had thrashed
Vulcan, and the beating had left permanent damage.

The damage was translated into Vulcan's limp. Any God's ability to heal
himself through the machine's power was dependent on the God's own
mentality and outlook. And Vulcan had never been able to cure his limp;
the psychic punishment had been too great.

Forrester ordered another drink and tried to think about something else.
The prospect of a fight with Mars was sometimes a little too much for
him to handle.

The drink arrived and he sipped at it vacantly, thinking back to Diana
and her story of the Gods.

There was one hole in it--a hole big enough to toss Mount Olympus
through, he realized. Where had the Gods gone for three thousand years?
And how had they gotten to Earth in the first place?

Those two unanswered questions were enough to convince Forrester that,
in spite of all he knew, and in spite of the way his new viewpoint had
turned his universe upside down in a matter of hours, he still didn't
have the whole story. He had to find it--even more so, now, as he began
to realize that the human race deserved more than just the "security"
and "happiness" that the Gods could give them. It deserved independence,
and the chance to make or mar its own future. Protection was all very
well for the infancy of a race, but man was growing up now. Man needed
to make his own world.

The Gods had no place in that world, Forrester saw. He had to find the
answers to all of his questions--and now he thought he knew a way to do
it.

"Want another, buddy?"

The bartender's voice roused Forrester from his reverie. He had
absent-mindedly finished brandy-and-soda number eight.

"