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Should I warn the community?”
    “The community is part of the storm, but it is safe. You need to look to your own, Elder Ukiah, and know that the chaos winds will blow, and that the fires of conflict will burn. The dragons deep within the earth are restless, and great powers are focusing their attention on the events unfolding here. This is a time of change, and I am witness to this change; but even I may not be safe, for I have tried to help your offspring.”
    Ukiah licked his lips, wondering how to get better answers from the cryptic Oracle. He knew that the Oracle had access to information from Telemachus, and maybe even Hermes, but clarity seemed to be forbidden in her dealings with the human community. “Can you tell me what transpired here to warrant the attention of the gods?”
    “The gods are as men in their need to control the world,” she said. After a brief hesitation, her eyes rolled toward Ukiah, startling him, and she continued. “Portions of human space are divided equally among the gods of the Dominion, and those portions were established under autonomous control by entities such as Telemachus. Although the Dominion maintains open channels of communication between the gods, clusters of opinion have re-formed, and there are new factions that wish to destroy any potential threats to the Design before they become viable. The goal of protection and controlled evolution remains the same among all factions, but their methods differ. Telemachus has opted to take a more direct hand in the daily affairs of this community. Do you understand, Elder Ukiah?”
    He understood that she was trying to give him a clear message, despite her apparent restrictions to the contrary. “I understand that which is written in the scriptures. The gods are wise. But you’re saying that my family is in danger?”
    Her milky gaze drifted back to the ceiling, and the possibilities of tomorrow. “There is no outside agency that can interfere, and the few random elements within cannot effect a diversion from the current course. However, there are too many threads to make an accurate prediction. Although the present is my past, your own future is uncertain, lost in the gray mists of chance and destiny, yet I know that we shall not speak again. An ending approaches, but whether it is mine or yours I cannot say.”

Prometheus Road
     3
    TEMPEST concentrated on avoiding contact with the metal that cocooned her upper body. Bent over from her waist, her wrists locked inside the front of the steel clamshell, her back hurt from the strain of her position, and she knew she’d eventually weaken enough to sag against the hot bottom of the box. When she did, the pain of the electrical shock would be enough to tense her muscles and keep her alert for a while longer until she tired again. She had managed to stand on her shirt when her father locked her in, so at least her bare feet were padded against the sharp rocks. Dim light showed through the seams of the box to help her judge her position, but the sun had also heated the metal enough that her sweat sizzled when it dripped off her face and chest. She couldn’t remember the last time her father had been angry enough to put Humboldt in the box, but it had been at least two years, around the time her brother had beaten that neighbor boy almost to death. She hadn’t seen the inside of the box for more than five years, and her memories of the experience had finally faded, leaving her with only the occasional nightmare to remind her of the pain. Now, it would all be fresh in her memory once more.
    She tensed when she heard footsteps approaching on the gravel. She hoped it was her father, because there was no telling what indignities Humboldt might visit upon her while she was trapped in this position. Ever since he was a small boy, he’d enjoyed torturing defenseless things.
    “You disappoint me,” Memphis said, his voice catching in his throat. Tempest couldn’t see him, but she heard him